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1^ £ 3^74, 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 

i 



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The 
SHADOW RIDERS 

R 

ISABEL PATERS.ON 



NEW YORE: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
I0NIION: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEV HEAD 
TORONTO: .-. .-. S. B. GUNDY 

.•. .-. .-. :. MCMXVII .•. .•. .-. .-. 



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/<£ 3'^7fo 



Knt Impnoion, Ptbntuy, I9i4 
Snxmd Improiuoii, June, igifi 
lUid ImpTMnon. Jaaouy, 1917 



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^cre is an old proverb which says that one 
can catch more Sies with honey than with 
vinegar. It is doubtless a true saying; I only 
wonder what one does with the flies after 
bavins caught them. 

1^ AuiHOS 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 



CHAPTER I 

THREE short warning blasli of a locomotive 
whistle floated out of the Eastward darkness 
like an echo from the unseen hills ; a pinprick 
of light appeared, grew to the size of a candle flame 
and then to a great white hot moon. With a clamour 
of bells and thunderous iron wheels the Imperial Lim- 
ited — the Canadian Transcontinental Express — drew 
in, and lay alongside the long wooden platform puff- 
ing vaingloriously and glaring ahead at a switchman 
who crossed a black waste of cinders netted with shin- 
ing rails to throw the semaphore, swinging his red 
lantern. 

The Ptdlman windows were mostly dark ; throt^ 
travellers had already gone to their berths. The small 
crowd of people who had been waitii^ in disgusted 
patience moved forward with a sigh of relief, questing 
among the disembarking passengers, each for his own. 

Whittemore, emerging leisurely from the smoker 
and avoiding a hurrying baggage truck still leisurely, 
saw no one he knew. He dismissed the porter who 
followed him with suitcase and greatcoat, dropped both 
by a lamp pillar, and lit a cigarette to consider. He 
had expected to be met, and decided to wait for five 
minutes grace before going on his unattended way. 

The pale harsh light revealed him as a man near 
forty, yet not middle-aged in the stodgy, prosy sense 
the term has come to connote. Neither his clothes 



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10 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

nor his manner indicated that he had been travelling 
for four da3rs. His dark tweeds, soft hat and Eng- 
lish boots were all of a careless correctness which is 
the perfection of sartorial art ; but Nature more than 
his tailor had given him his indubitable decorative 
quality. His slight, sinewy figure was topped by a head 
of clf^sic contour, with grey hair that merdfully did 
not curl. His profile might have graced the bright 
disc of an old coin. The sole impress of a too for- 
tunate youth was discoverable in some quality of his 
manner which made plain that he was no longer in- 
terested in himself. Life had been too kind to him 
in every material way; he was politely perplexed with 
a profusion so great, and ambition lay dead of satiety. 
In keeping was the unexpectant survey he gave his 
surroundings, a look which unfailingly betrays one 
past the meridian of life, when change and adventure 
are no longer synonymous. Yet he had the eyes and 
mouth of a man of great powers of enjoyment ; hazel 
eyes, with occasional gold l^hts in them, and lips 
both close and mobile. But his hair was more than 
grey, it was almost white. 

"Sorry we've kept you waiting ; awfully sorry . . ." 
Walter Burrage, coming on the scene suddenly throi^^ 
the swing doors of the ticket office, seemed to have 
emerged, still gasping, from some flood tide of af- 
fairs. His round, ruddy face was the more comical 
for being of a gloomy favour, and he had the general 
air of disheveSnent of a fat man in a hurry. A 
younger man, whom Whittemore did not know, accom- 
panied Burrage. "I telephoned half an hour ago," 
the recreant one continued, "and they said your train 
wouldn't be in till twelve; 'phoned again just five min- 
utes ago, and it was in." 

"Yes, we made up time this side of Regina," said 
Whittemore, in a husky, uninflected voice that was 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS ii 

^et not devoid of character. "I can hardly lay Pve 
been waiting; what is five minutes when one is already 
thirty-six hours late?" 

"That's right Well, say, I brought Jack here with 

n»— Mr. Whittemore, Mr. Addison " They shook 

hands. "We were down at Folsom's committee rooms," 
Burrage resumed, picking up Whittemore's luggage. 

"Check them in here," the owner suggested. "Ill 
have them sent for from the hotel." But Burra^ 
clung to his booty tenaciously, meanwhile fnloting the 
other two through the station and starting full stride 
across the dim cinder paths of the railway gardens 
before he again essayed his explanation. His man- 
ner implied that a too loi^ absence might be fraught 
with incalculable disaster to some project too vast for 
explicit statement. 

"How are you, anyway 7* he began, in a perfunctoiy 
tone that would not have deceived an ^omaniac. "You 
look fine — fine. I was about to say, I couldn't get a 
room for yoo at the hotel. The town's full; you 
should have wired earlier. Besides, I was out in the 
country campaigning till this morning. But Addison 
wants to put you up. He has rooms down in the 
Carhart Block. His roommate " 

"But that is an imposition," Whittemore b^an. 

Addison waved the protest aside. "Glad if you'll 
honour me," be said heartily. He was somewhat ve- 
hement in manner, with dark, intent eyes and a touch 
of the South in his look. "The room's there, empty; 
and I doabt if you'U find another in town," he add«L 
"Between the spring rush of landseekers, and the elec- 
tion. . . ." 

"I am afraid I had forgotten about the election," 
Whittemore acknowledged. Only the most sensitive 
perception could have caught his inward laughter. 
In Montreal, where bis journey had b^un, this bye- 



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la THE SHADOW RIDERS 

election for the return of a western provindal legis- 
lator was not even a ripple on the surface of the public 
mind; here it was a most frothy whirlpool. He un- 
derstood Bur rage's preoccupation. "I suppose the 
returns are not in y^? I used to know Folsom quite 
well. Has he any chance?" 

They were turning onto Stephen Avenue already, 
where a crowd hlocked the pavement beneath a huge 
white bulletin hoard whose changing trends, an- 
nouncing the varying political temperature of the dis- 
trict, Burrage paused to read before answering. 

"Folsom's safe enough, I guess," he said at last, 
wiping his brow with a gesture of relief. 

It was earliest spring, but the night was capriciously 
warm, with occasional puffs of a chinoolc wind. There 
was a smell of dust in the air. There is always a 
smell of dust in the air; it is the characteristic scent 
of Alberta. 

"Perhaps you'd like to come round and see the fin- 
ish, after we've dropped your dunnage?" Burrage con- 
tinued. They were edging around the packed section 
of the street, and from force of habit still gazing at 
the big white square overhead. Whittemore, with- 
drawing his attention to reply, heard Burrage still 
speaking, but to Addison, with a strange guarded air. 
"Where is Garth, anyway?" 

"Banff," said Addison shortly. "If he takes my ad- 
vice, he won't come back." 

"Who ?' asked Whittemore involuntarily, and imme- 
diately felt excessively tactless. But they repUed 
eagerly, almost guiltily. 

"Garth — Harry Garth — my bunkie. He's out of 
town," they chorused. 

"I'm not putting you out?" 

"Not a bit ; not a bit. Delighted — ^honoured," Addi- 
son reassured him. Whittemore protested no more, 



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THE SHAJX)W RIDERS 13 

and Burrage lapsed into an elucidation of some fresh 
cabbala of the bulletin board. Bat when a few min- 
utes later they turned away decisively, Jack Addison 
had deserted them. Burrage, gazing back, muttered 
something under his breath. 

"A skirt, of course," he said disgustedly. In the 
glarii^ l^t they could not fail to see the_ delin- 
quent, talking to a tall girl in a blue sei^ suit, a few 
paces distant. The girl's head was turned ; only the 
pale curve of her cheek and a smooth sweep of black 
hair were visible below her broad hat. Addison's hot, 
dark-browed gaze was fixed under the depths of the 
dashing hat and he was talking eagerly. The girl 
stepped back lightly half a pace, as if in hesitation; 
even her shoulders were eloquent of undecided mis- 
chief. 

"Jackl" Burrage called, adding another smothered 
"damn" when he got no answer. He went back; 
Whittemore saw Addison take something from his 
pocket— a key — and hand it to Burrage, turning j^in 
to arrest the lady, now poised for flight. , 

"Hell come pretty soon — maybe," said Burrage, re- 
joining Whittemore. "Apologies ; says it's highly im- 
portant I wonder where he met Lesley Johns? I 
didn't think she was that kind — wonder if she knows. 
. . . None of my business. Excuse me; yes, this 
way. It's just down the street here. Jack said to 
make you comfortable, and I can show you everythii^ 
about his dump." 

Addison's rooms wire in a business building. They 
climbed an tmlighted stairway, on rubber treads that 
gave no sound ; and a door on the third floor yielded 
to Burrage's touch while he fumbled with the key. 
Whittemore saw the lighted rectangle of another door 
beyond a short entrance hall ; then he heard Burrage 
draw a quick short breath through his teeth like a 



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14 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

man who recdves an unexpected blow. He moved 
until he was looking over Burrage's shoulder. There 
he too stopped and felt the lu^ath go out of him, 
while his eyes riveted th«nselves on a wide mirror 
over a chiffonier that obliquely faced the intervening 
door. The Medusa's head a>uld scarcely have been 
more potent. 

Yet it was only a man and a woman they saw tn 
the mirror, against the inevitable red and brown back- 
ground of a man's tasteless, comfortable apartment. 
Indeed, these were hardly more than boy and girl. 
They stood not a pace apart, eye to eye, seeing only 
each other, as rapt in hatred as they might have been 
in love. He was not very tall, but he overtopped her. 
It was his only advantage; for in appearance he was 
like a thousand of his kind. One sees them in groups 
— the fairly r^ular, negative features, the forehead 
slofung to the edge of the brushed back hair, the 
mouth soft and selfish, the chin narrow — a. "dandt^ 
man," in drawingrocm slang. 

But there were not two in the world like her. She 
was slight, with the delicate, strong figure of the 
Dancing Maenad ; a creature of fine, vital, vivid colour- 
ing. Eyes like a smoky sapphire, cheeks the live 
clear crimson of a poppy, lips redder still ; all intensi- 
fied as if an inner fire burned through them; and 
she leaned forward, her hands locked behind her. 

It was the young man's vmce drowned the creak of 
die opening door and some word that Burn^ gulped 
down — "Garth" — which Whittemore heard and did 
not hear. 

"But, Eileen, for Heaven's sake, listen. ... Be sensi- 
ble — you know I can't. . . . You always knew. It 
would finish me, spoil all my chances. . . ." So much 
from him, before she seemed to snatch his unfinished 
plea and tear it to scornful rags. Shaken with fury, 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 15 

dioked with a very passion of despair, her words 
strode Whittemore's ears and stayed with him Uke 
arrows quivering in his brain, to be withdrairn and 
oomprehended later. 

"You can't — what?" They could see her burning 
mouth fonn the words, in ihe coW mirror, her eyes 
narrowed to two glittering lines, and her disordered 
hair, of the coIout of old copper, seemed to flutter like 
flame. She held their gaze pfunfully, dominated the 
scene. . . . Yet it was evident she had lost. The fair, 
pleasant, futile face of the young man had already 
paled and set into the obstinacy of his weakness. Her 
voice broke on a word ; she paused, and spoke again. 
"Did you think / wanted you to — marry me — now? 
Because my father does — I despise youl" Now she 
was horribly quiot, and it hurt one's nerves. She 
should have shrieked . . . with that look. 

With singular fatuity, tiie man put his hand on her 
shoulder, a cajoling gesture, characteristic even to 
one who had never seen him before. She stiffened and 
swayed back; her hands were clasped behind her. 

"Then what can I do?" he said. "Let me take you 
home now; to-morrow we'll talk it over " 

"Oh, to-morrow t" The word struck some deep 
vtbratii^ note from her fair throat, that rang and 
lingered in the air strangely, so that there seemed to 
rush into view a procession of endless to-morrows, 
too terrible to contemplate, impossible to live through. 
"There won't be any to-morrow," she cried, "not for 
as!" And she iiung ofi his clasp and whipped her 
hands from behind her. 

Yet not quickly enough; a woman's muscles will 
hardly match a man's in dedsion, for lack of train- 
ing. He clipped her in his arms like a lover ; there 
was no time to think of irony then, even had he pos- 
sessed the hard mind necessary for tiiat; for she had 



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i6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

the revolver, that she had been concealing in her skirt,- 
at his very breast It was his face she hated at that 
moment, and would have aimed for, else she had cer- 
tainly killed htm. She would have spoiled it for an- 
other woman's kisses, no doubt of that But he had 
her fast, strained to him in an embrace of hatred, her 
own face upturned, thirsty for death. A beautiful 
face, even in that ugly moment. Then he forced the 
gun from her resisting fingers. Her mouth quivered ; 
with a baffled expression she drooped and hung over 
his Arm, crimson, suffocating with shame. 

Whittemore, for all his poised experience, felt his 
own heart contract and was suddenly aware that he 
was gripping Burrage's ann so hard his hand was 
cramped. 

"God ]" said Burrage, in a harsh whisper. 

"Come away!" muttered Whittemore imperatively, 
and drew him back through the door. It slammed vio- 
lently, escaping from his nerveless grasp. He fancied 
he heard a brief sharp cry from within in answer. 

In the street they looked at each other with that 
feeling of shame one knows who has seen another's 
soul too intimately. Burrage wiped his moist brow 
once more. 

"Ought to go back," he said hoarsely. "Shell kill 
him — or something " 

"Not now," said Whittemore. He too was unable 
to speak lucidly. His mind had tamed back nearly 
twenty years, and he felt like a man in a nightmare, 
who knows he sleeps and yet cannot awaken. 
"Who " 

The soft, stirring sound of feminine garments, that 
curiously a^tating, fluttered sunsk of a woman in 
flight, smothered his voice in his throat Out of the 
entrance they had hardly quitted a girl darted past 
them. For a few paces she ran, l^tly but a little 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 17 

unsteadily, her figure giv'mg the impression of bein^ 
buffeted by heady gusts. She did not turn to observe 
them, but Whittemore felt the swift sidelong glance 
that swept and passed them by, and under her flying 
veil cau^t sight of a strand of her rich hair. Her 
running pace slowed to a rapid walk just b^rond, but 
she went straight ahead. 

The two men again stood staring until she was out 
of eyeshot, lost among other pedestrians beyond Cen- 
ter Street 

"If it's a fair question " Wliittemore began once 

more. 

"Fair enough," said Bur rage. "That — that was 
Ejleen Conway. Prettiest girl in Alberta, I guess. 
Lord, what's the matter with girls these days?" He 
paused, as if overcome by an insoluble problem. 

"Sometimes, no doubt, they are quite human," said 
Whittemore abstractedly. Burrage looked startled. 

"Eileen is," he said. "It's a damned shame. Her 
parents are nice people, but the good strict old- 
fashioned kind, hardshell religion, all that. Ever notice 
that if you try to tie any one down they go twice as 
far when they do cut loose ? I remember it just broke 
their hearts when Eileen began going to dances; I 
know one time I took her to a dance at the Barracks 
mjrself, and she told me she had sneaked out of the 
window and borrowed her gown from Esther Pur- 
ringtcm. . . . You see, it was all like that; she had 
to 6ght to get a little harmless fun, and it probably 
looked all alike to her, outside of the window yoif 
know." Burn^ did not recognise himself as a phUos* 
opher, but Whittemore thot^ht he did very well. He 
could reconstruct the whole life of a wilful, high- 
spirited, beautiful creature from just that fragment. 
Her parents' standards she found unbearably rigid, 
and ^e was not yet old enough to make her own. 



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i8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Say, there's no need for this to go any further," 
added Burragc, "though I suppose every one will 
know; they always do." 

"Ah, well, don't tell me sxef more," said Whitte- 
more. 

"Oh, you've seen it all, really. Maybe you know her 
father — ^Judge Conway? Plenty of principle, very 
little money." He seemed to be getting hopelessly 
involved in details. 

"And the man?" Whittemore did wonder, a little, 
what kind of man it might be; Eileen was so lovely 
to look on. 

"That was him, of course; Harry Garth. Been liv- 
ing with Addison. They're breaking up now ; he told 
Jack about this, and it's not quite Jack's way. But 
then Jack knew Eileen came up there. Fellow hates 
to interfere, though. And half the girls in town have 
been up there on the sly," he jerked his head backward, 
"they think it's kind of devilish and all that. Harry's 
engaged to a girl back East ; can't afford to break it 
off. He's getting his start in business here in one of 
her father's concerns. Maybe he's in love with her 
anyway ; she looks like a sweet girl. Well — last week 
Judge Conway found it all out. I think he played the 
fool, but he was pretty much upset, and I suppose he 
did think a lot of Eileen. . , . He came to Harry, told 
him he'd got to — marry her. That was when Harry 
told Jack, and Jack told him to do it--or get to hell 
out of here. Harry went to Banff, to think it over. I 
wonder how Eileen got him to come back?" 

Whittemore could easily imagine. "Found out 
what?" he asked, harking back a moment. 

Burrage told him, in unequivocal words. Whitte- 
more turned his head away ; in the dimness his com- 
panion could not see his drawn face, but heard some 
speech of "a cad." 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 19 

"No doubt," said Burrage, and yet his tone was 
doabtfuL He could hardly help seeing things from a 
man's standpoint Whittemore — once — had had the 
other viewpoint branded into his soul. He merely 
made a little gesture that said : "Go on." 

"You see, Harry wasn't the only . . ." 

"Do )fou think so?" said Whittemore. His tone 
made Burrage unaccountably uncomfortable. 

"Well, hang it, of course I dcm't know. . . . Harry 
said so himself. He is a pup. I wonder if he said 
the same thing to Eileen?" 

"What will ha[q>en to her?" said Whittemore, but 
rather as if he were talking to himself. 

"What does happen to 'em?" said Burrage. "Say, 
excuse me, old man, I never meant to keep you out 
here all night You'd better come and bunk with me." 
Perceiving his words had no immediate effect, he 
touched Whittemore on the arm. The other lifted 
his head with a start 

"I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, just as you say." 

Burrage had a very dismal sense of failure as a 
host; he wanted to retrieve the occasion somehow. 
"My car is over at the committee rooms. It will take 
us out to my place in less than ten minutes. Will 
you stop in and see Folsom first ? You're on the odier 
side though, ain't you?" 

"Theoretically," Whittemore reassured him, "but I 
am not exactly a rabid partisan. Yes, let's go and 
congratulate Folsom." He too wanted a saving anti- 
climax for the evening; almost anything to overlay 
tliat vivid and painful scene so fresh in his mind. 
And while he did not care^greatly whether he saw 
Folsom or not, still he was a little interested in him, 
as he was in most things. 

There are a few people in the world who, while 
admitting the dictum that all the world's a stage, yet 



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20 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

find themselves with more o{ a taste for looktng on 
than for strutting the boards in person. Ross Whitte- 
more counted himself as of that categOTy. He had 
even cultivated the attitude to some extent, for reasons 
of his own ; and in that direction Fate had chosen to 
be liis handmaid. For that he might not have quar- 
relled with Fate, since it afforded him a box for the 
great drama; but he would have stipulated for high 
comedy. He had had his own tr^edy. Now when 
he exerted himself he preferred merely to help set 
the scene or give a cue, with an impersonal cynicism 
that was seldom less than kind. In a theatre of ideas 
— whu^ the world is not and never will be while 
emotion is the driving force of intellect — ^he was all 
thit could be asked as an audience. Cultivated, nicely 
appreciative, ready to applaud gracefully when he 
might, a concealed yawn was the worst he would 
permit himself in disapproval. But for once even 
the perfect audience had failed of his occasion. He 
only wanted to forget 

They turned briskly up the street together, past the 
still lingerii^ crowd once more, and elbowed through 
to a door which admitted them into a cloud of cigar 
smoke and the presence of a couple of rat-eyed youths 
in shirt sleeves, who sat at a table and scrutinised 
all comers with an air of strange sagacity. The door 
opened constantly, to admit other c^rs, with human 
attachments. Burrage led throi^ to an inner room, 
where the centre of the commotion remained calm, 
portentously calm. 

This was the G)nservative candidate, Edward Fol- 
som. Tall and narrow, with a figure designed by an 
all-wise Providence for the exigencies of a statesman's 
frock coat, he had a clever, repellent face, round and 
bearing some resemblance to an alert pug, which as- 
sorted oddly vith his high-domed head. Needless 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS ai 

to add, he was invariably photographed with a finger 
pressed to his brow. 

Folsom and Whittemore had attended the same col- 
Uge. It was remarkable how logically each had de- 
veloped from the promise of his youth. They had 
never been intimates, but neither had they ever quite 
lost sight of each other. Folsom reo^nised Whitte- 
more with surprised cordiality. 

"Ross Whittemore I In the name of wonder, where 
did you spring from ? Have you been here helfMi^ the 
other side? You're too late." 

"Elected, are you?" asked Whittemore good-nat- 
uredly. "Well, what will you do up there in Edmon- 
ton with your three fellow sufferers? I suppose 
you think that where the Macgr^or sits is the head 
of the table?" 

"This is merely the first wave of the flood," retorted 
Folsom, in the orotund tones wherewith an orator 
sometimes finds himself too permanently saddled. 
"Wait till the next general election — no, the returns 
aren't all in yet, but I believe it's reasonably certain. 
What are you doing here? Going back into active 
politics? I haven't heard a hint of it" 

Whittemore shook his head. Once, more than ten 
years before, he had been considered a rising star 
politically, though in his inmost heart he knew he 
had played the game only for diversion. He had been 
a Liberal, owning that he could never have resisted 
trie word itself. It was there that Fate, always curi- 
ously consistent in her dealings with him, had gently 
put him aside, just in time to save him from yielding 
to the inherent fascination of the arena. A weakness 
of the throat, which could not be permanently cured, 
had incapacitated him from speechmaking. And a 
politician who could not talk, Whittemore had him- 
self said, would be more than an anomaly — he would 



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32 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

be a miracle. One might be deaf and blind, but not 
dumb. So he had stepped back gracefully, with no 
perceptible heartburnings. 

"Rest easy," Whittemore said, his husky, toneless 
voice faintly mocking, "your new laurels are safe 
from me. And they sit very well. No, I came West 
on business, and to broaden my mind, and because I 
have a nephew of sorts somewhere here in your No- 
Man's Land " 

A group of excited men surged in noisily, clamour- 
ing of "a sure thing" and "a landslide," and began an 
indiscriminate shaking of hands. Folsom rose to the 
occasion; indeed, he swelled to it. 

Whittemore would have felt free to smile, but that 
there was not even the grimace of irony left in him. 
He had failed of his object, got no diversion. Too 
much of this would bore htm hopelessly, and he con- 
sidered that at least he might be able to sleep. He 
needed sleep. Burrage caught his eye presently. 

"Want to go? I'm about all in myself." 

"In that case, yes," said Whittemore. "It is too 
late now to rout out Chan; besides, I've locked up 
his address in my luggage. If we had got in earlier, 
I might have gone over to the Liberal headquarters, 
but they won't be welcoming visitors now, I dare- 
say." 

"That's right," agreed Burrage. "Crape on the 
door. Well, let's beat it" They went out 



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CHAPTER n 

IT was afternoon of the following day before 
Whittemore finally found himself at the address 
his nephew's letter had given. He had been un- 
able to escape his business associates during the morn- 
ing; thqr had seized him and imprisoned him in a 
motor car immediately after breakfast and kept him 
till luncheon, a very mediocre luncheon at the Round 
Up Club. In the interval he had been taken up on all 
the high hills in the neighbourhood and shown the 
town, and had also exhaustively investigated the power 
plant, owned by the Belle Claire Company, which was 
in part himself. 

Whittemore had seen the town once before, though 
not the power plant. TTjere had been no power phmt 
then. TTiat was fifteen years earlier, and Whittemore 
had stopped over an idle day on his way to the Orient. 
The town is on the direct line of Europe's travel to 
the East by the Western route. He had first seen it 
as little more than a cowcamp modified by the coming 
of a railway. He might have forgotten the very 
name of it but for having somewhat later taken over 
those Belle Claire shares for the financial relief of 
an old friend. Later his interests had ramified and 
extended themselves, still at long distance. He had 
enough of a seeing eye to gamble on the Canadian 
West, if only for the sheer bigness of it. He could 
draw a parallel, without prompting, f rcnn the lesson 
across the boundary written by the last half century. 
Several times since he had meant to come back for 
a locdE, the more because a number of men he had 



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34 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

known in his youth, men mth far less to begin on 
than he, had come out to Alberta and risen to suffi- 
cient prominence to send an echo back East. Fol- 
som, for instance — and Geers, whose retirement had 
brought on the election, whom Folsom succeeded, 
who was a brother of a girl Whittemore had once 
admired, and grandson of an old friend of his father's, 
a grey old fox of a politician from Montreal. So he 
felt a curious familiarity with the place as he walked 
down Fourth Avenue West, past the oldest residence 
section of tiny grey houses hiding behind tangled 
grey scrubby trees — this, at such season, was a. world 
of grey and dun — and, half a dozen blocks beyond, 
discovered the number of the house he sought. Only 
the number would have identified it; there were six 
houses exactly alike, square two-story boxes with tiny 
upper balconies and naked-looking porches below, all 
painted a depressing yellow. It looked exceedingly 
dreadful to Whittemore, but Chan had written that 
he was entirely comfortable. Chan was his nephew — 
Channing Herrick. 

It was Whittemore and the doctor combined who 
had sent Chan out here. He was convalescing very 
slowly from typhoid-pneumonia, and had come West, 
in an I-don't-care mood and the charge of a tr^ned 
nurse, a month before. The nurse had gone back 
East already, and Chan would have been glad to go 
with her, though by no means for the sake of her 
beautiful eyes. She was forty, and knew it. Whitte- 
more had chosen her himself, at a time when Chan 
was in no condition to object. Chan had got pneu- 
monia from playing hockey with too much enthusiasm. 
Every hockey player gets it sooner or later. The ty- 
phoid had sidled in coyly without any especial 
invitation. When it became reasonably certain that 
the boy would survive — Ross thought of him as a 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 35 

boy, though he was twenty-«ight— the doctor said 
that if he were to do more than survive he should 
spend a year or two in a high, dry altitude. Davos, 
or Colorado. Or Banff, suggested Whittemore; he 
knew Banff was high anyway. The other places 
sounded so far away. But Banff was too cold in 
winter ; Quebec would be no worse. It was then that 
Whittemore suggested this alternative; he was often 
obliged to think of the place in the course of busi- 
ness. Some one had told him the winters were pe- 
culiarly mild and salubrious. He was quite ready to 
believe it as he walked through the February sun- 
shine down the dusty streets. The distant mountains 
were whitecapped against the far blue rim of sky, but 
here was not even a lingering spring drift. Yet his 
train had been blocked by snow in Manitoba for over 
a day. At the hotel they told him casually there 
had been a foot of snow on the ground four days be- 
fore; he merely asked for a whiskbrocm and smiled 
politely. 

On the whole, he felt relieved and satisfied. He 
bad had a secret second thought about sending Chan 
here, he owned to himself. Chan was the only son 
of Whittemore's only sister, and an orphan since his 
teens. He admired his uncle extravagantly, and that 
akme disquieted the older man, recognising in him- 
self a temperament ill-suited as a model for such a 
naturally energetic youth. Whittemore suspected Chan 
of intelligence, discounting certainty because of kin- 
ship and kindliness. And he knew the imperative 
need of an outlet for combined energy and intelligence. 
So he had fallen back on Horace Greeley and exerted 
the authority of affection. If there was anything in 
Chan, he thought the contract with a raw and visibly 
growing country would bring it out. It was time 
that supposititious intelligence had a chance. After 



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26 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

all, Chan had spent stx years and over thirty thousand 
dollars since leaving college, and had absolutely noth- 
ing to show for it except his rickety lungs. 

He had a long face to show for it this tnomii^. 
That his uncle was in town he did not know. Whitte- 
more, opening the door quietly, having asked the land- 
lady to let him go upstairs &lone, found him in a 
dressinggown and a state of extreme boredom, sur- 
rounded by newspapers and gazing out of the open 
window with a lacklustre eye. 

"Ross !" The young man sprai^ up, provit^ him- 
self the taller of the two, and reached a bony but 
vigorous hand for his uncle's grasp. He had al- 
ways called Whittemore by his first name. "I didn't 
expect you till next week." 

"I expected myself yesterday," said Whittemore. 
"Sit down, you living skeleton. How are you treat- 
ing yourself?" 

"Family skeleton, you mean, don't you?" said 
Chan, grinning. He was thin, and had the pallor of 
convalescence, but the healthy red of his firm, gen- 
erous mouth marked these signs of illness as only 
temporary. He had a very genuine smile, quick grey 
eyes whose under colour was green instead of blue, a 
shock of rough brown hair, and was accounted good- 
looking, in a purely masculine way, despite his irr^u- 
lar features. Full face, he had a boyish expression, 
but en proHle one suspected that with age the bridge 
of his handsome nose would assert its Roman sympa- 
thies; there was latent strength, even aggressiveness, 
in that nose. As her artist admirers said of Ellen 
Terry, Chan had "beautiful bones," as marked by 
the clean careful modelling of the eye socket and 
brow ; wherefore he showed the effect of a long, severe 
sickness less than most. "Well, I seem to be alive," 
he assured his imcle. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 27 

"You are marvellously ia^roved — in xppanhct," 
said Whittemore. 

"HeHo," renurked Chan cheerfully. "That sounds 
Kke the c^»ening gun. Honest, I haven't done any- 
thing." 

"No, I suppose not." Whittemore wanted to say 
his say at the very beginning, that he might observe, 
during the remainder of his visit, how his suggestions 
were taking root "The point is, are you thinking of 
doing anything? Chan, I've not been easy in my mind 
about you. I feel as if I hadn't paid my debt to you; 
as either a preceptor or an exemplar of youth I con- 
sider myself a failure." His seriousness could not be 
misapprehended ; Chan sobered instantly. 

"I'm not mudi good, am I?" he admitted. "But 
don't slam yourself for it." 

"I must, in justice. Youth is the imitative period. 
And I have a horror of interfefence. I feel rather 
like a hypocrite at this moment," he said thoughtfully, 
"or rattier, I feel as if I must appear like one. I 
saw your doctor this morning, on my way down." 

"Kd you ? I'm practically all right again." 

"So he says, but you ought to stay here at least 
another year. I really came to ask you if you'd 
give that year to me." 

"Ill give you ten," said Chan. "Do you mean to 
say there's anything I can do for you?" 

"Yes. I want you to go into the Belle Claire of- 
fices later, when you are really fit, and gain a first- 
hand knowledge of it for me. Then there are sev- 
eral other business propositions I am considering — ^I 
have to go to Edmonton about them before I leave — 
and I shall need some one to stay on the ground. In 
short, I want you for my unofficial representative out 
here. But I want you to consider your own interests 
too, always act for yourself first I would never have 



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38 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

asked you to exile yourself out here to do this for 
me if circunutances hadn't brought it about But as 
it — shall you mind?" 

"Mind? It will save my reason. The fact is, when 
the doctor told me a day or two ago I couldn't go 
back for a year without risking my life, I just about 
decided to throw it in the jackpot Of all the un- 
imaginable iumping-o£E places " 

"I thought it was rather lively last nig^t," s»d his 
uncle thoughtfully. "But you weren't out, of course. 
I see you've been taking observations through the 
press. Have you got acquainted at all with condi- 
tions here? I suppose not. Yet I thmk you might 
find it interesting." 

"Politics, you mean? It looks rather stale to me. 
Sounds ahnost Dickensy — ^'hole and comer Buffery,' 
you remember — that sort of argument is about their 
level, if one goes by this." He kicked aside the pile 
of newspapers. 

"They are rather infantile," said Whittemore. 
"That's why it's interesting — the things they don't 
realise. They're puddling about the shores of an 
oceao with teaspoons. But I suppose nations are 
always built that way. A good many magnificent 
chances have been missed in Canada for sheer lack of 
the man. So — we're Colonials. Sort of a naticxial 

stdntrb. Fifty years ago now But after all, the 

deal is not yet finished ; we have a long future before 
us. Do you fancy politics? I never heard you give 
an expression on that point." 

"I like a fight," said Chan. 

"That's where most of 'cm b^n and end," said 
his uncle cynically. "But it doesn't become a faineant 
like me to sneer at an honest fighter. By the way, are 
you fit to go out at all ? I have an appointment this 
afternoon with Geers — ^the Liberal member who just 



ovCioo^lc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS s»9 

resigned. Should you care to cotne? Or have you 
sMnethiiig else on hand ?" 

"Of course I can «)me. Thanks, awfully." While 
they talked, Chan had been keeping a casual eye to 
the window; 1^ a sUj^t change in his expression, 
Wliittemore perceived that at last the youth saw what 
he had watched for. He moved quietly to his nephew's 
elbow. 

They were gazing down into the r^on of badk- 
jrards, six of them also exactly alike. In the nearest 
a girl had suddenly appeared. Something about her 
tall straight figure struck Wtuttemore as vaguely fa- 
miliar; or perhaps it was the unconscious pride ex- 
pressed in the turn of her head. She wore a lai^ 
blue apron and carried a wicker clothes basket, which 
she set down while she re-strung a short clothesline. 
Her dark hair was uncovered, and drawn back from 
her clear oval face. 

"Ah, I see," said Whittemore gently. "You have 
an agreeable view from here." Chan started violently 
and even blushed. 

"Oh, chop it, Ross. The fact is, I was interested 
because — because of something interesting that hap- 
pened last night I haven't had much to do but look 
out of the window, you know." 

"She looks like an interesting young lady," said 
Whittemore encouragii^Iy. 

"I didn't say it was she that was interestiz^," 
growled Chan. "Fact is, I don't know her. But I was 
looking out of this other window last ni^t," he 
pointed to a window which, by reason of an angle in 
tiie side-wall, looked to the street, "and I did see some- 
thing queer." 

Wliitteraore passed his hand over his eyes, remem- 
bering last night also. 

"Yes," he said, this time with no note of persiflage. 



ovGooglc 



30 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"I suppose — a good many thii^s — ^happened last night 
But tell me." 

"It was quite late," resumed Chan. "Must have 
been just after midni^t A fool parade had waked 
me up, and I was sitting in the dark smc^ing. A 
cab stopped in front of the house, the next house, I 
mean, and that girl got out Some man got out too, 
and they talked a minute or so and finally she shook 
him, kept him on the outside of the gate. She was 
laughing at him, I think. He went away again in 
the cab, and she pretended to go into the house, but 
as soon as the cab was out of sight she came out again 
and sat on the porch steps. The moon was up, you 
remember, and it was rather a splendid night I'd 
have gone and sat out there with her, for half a 
cent But she didn't offer me one; didn't know I 
was watching. I suppose I had no business to, but 
Lord, it was almost an excitement to me, after the 
way I've been living here. So we both just sat 
around — and then I heard some one coming up the 
street; those board sidewalks, you know. I thought 
I'd guessed it then. ... I tried to make myself go 
away from the window, but I didn't And — it was a 
woman came. She was walking fast, looked as if she 
meant to go right by. She saw Miss Johns just as 
she got opposite " 

"Miss Johns?" said his uncle. So he had seen 
her. . . . She was pinnii^ up clothes by now, mys- 
terious white garments ; her uplifted arms threw her 
into a strong and graceful pose. Both men still 
watched her. 

"Oh, I heard her name quite a while ago, from n^ 
landlady. As I was saying, the other woman saw 
her, sitting there in the moonlight and she gave a 
little shriek and just wilted. Fainted. Now what do 
you make of that? Maybe she was only startled. So 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 31 

was Miss Johns, but I admired her commonsense. She 
dashed out and picked up the other one in her arms. 
Quite a load, I should think. . . . I've carried a girl 
myself, and it's not such a lark as it sounds. . . . 
Carried her right into the house. I saw the lights go 
up in the sittingroom — I guess it's the sittingroom. 
You couldn't have pried me away from the window 
then. I watched for about half an hour, and they 
both came out ag»n. Miss Johns didn't seem to want 
the other one to go, but she would. Went off at that 
quick walk again. Miss Johns went in, and the lights 
were turned off. Now what do you make of that?" 

"I don't know," said Whittemore. Yet he felt as if 
he must be stupid, as if he should have known. "Could 
you see what die other woman looked like?" 

"No. I should say she was youi^, that's all. But 
that's why I was rubbering just now. Oh, hang 

it " He retreated from the window in confusion. 

Miss Johns had looked up suddenly, intercepting his 
earnest gaze and returning it with steady eyes. She 
appeared to be amused. 

"I should say," remarked Whittemore, "that the 
yout^ lady is learning your habits. Ah, she's going 
in — by the way, is she a maid over there?" 

"No, she's not," said Chan, appearing almost irri- 
tated. "She does something or other in the Recorder 
office — circulation department. . . ." 

Something in his uncle's eye, rather quizzical than 
minatory, caused him to break off in utter and unex- 
pected confusion. 

"You must have been reading 'Who's Who,' " said 
the older man, and went on mercifully. "By the way, 
I have to meet Geers in an hour, and I have to send 
some tel^rams first If you like, well call for you 
here with a car in about that time. And meantime, 
don't consider your decision is made in the matter of 



ovCiooglc 



3a THE SHADOW RIDERS 

staying here. Take time. As long as you like. Walt 
till you're really on deck again. I should be sorry 
to crowd you into anything distasteful." 

"Nothing you'd like me to do would be distaste-' 
f ul," said Chan, with almost painful earnestness. "I've 
often wished I could do something for you, Ross. 
You've been so decent — darned sight more of a friend 
than a relative — I owe you a good deal " 

Whittemore was genuinely surprised and wanned. 
He had not the faintest idea what Chan thotight he 
owed him — the boy had spent his own money on his 
protracted and rather inconsequent education, and 
had not yet needed to come to him for any help, not 
even to be extricated from the usual "scrapes" of the 
callow age. Whittemore would have been almost 
staggered had he known that it was because of Chan's 
admiration for his uncle's breeding and conduct of 
life there had been no such scrapes. His uncle was 
his unconscious ideal of a gentleman. It was a sur- 
vival of the days of his very small boyhood, when 
he had expended his hero worship on the debonair 
young man who was never too busy or preoccupied 
with the grave concerns of age to hear his confidences 
and solve his problems. It never occurred to him 
later to consider ungraciously that his uncle had no 
need to be busy at any time. The fixed star kept its 
place. In the light of it, Chan had tried to be neither 
a cad nor a rowdy. But this was the nearest he had 
ever come to expres^ng the feeling. 

"Delirious," said Whittemore, with great gravity. 
"So sad — a relapse at this stage. I wonder, ought I 
to trust you with a razor ? And yet, the need is tir- 
gent." 

"Oh, get out. I've been raising whiskers to kill time. 
It's the only interest I've bad in life— barring the 
window." 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 33 

He applied himself to a search of his dressing case 
for the needed articles, and Whittemore departed. 

It was without ulterior motives that Herrick went 
to the window again. He merely desired a good light 
for the delicate operation in view, and it was not 
until his lean cheeks were properly shaven and he 
had finished rubbing the powder on and o£F that he 
looked out again. A breeze had come up and played 
with the curtains. It also toyed brazenly with the 
articles Miss Johns had exposed to view in the neigh- 
bouring back yard. The line swung back and forth 
merrily, and one of the poles which supported it de- 
veloped a rakish list to port With idle concern, Chan 
watdied it s^^ging and jerking until the thought pene- 
trated to his mind that yet a little morq and those 
snowy banners would be trailing in the dust. And 
a very nice girl would have several hours' work to 
do over again. . . . From force of habit in tending 
his health, Chan hurled himself into an overcoat (un- 
doubtedly he needed it more than he did a collar), 
and charged downstairs to the rescue. He might have 
called Mrs. Thompson, his landlady, but Chan always 
acted first and thought afterward in an emergency. 
There was no more than the rudiments of a fence 
between the yards. Chan caught the pole at its 
last drunken lurch. And then he was quite at a loss 
what to do with it I It needed re-setting and tamping 
down. All he could do was to hold it. He did bold 
it, like the standard bearer of a forlorn hope, and 
kmked about wildly for rescue. To brace against the 
freshening wind he was obliged to stand with his 
bade to the house, so he did not see Miss Johns until 
she was at his elbow ; indeed, he heard her first, and 
for the first time. 

"Noble youth I" she said. "Oh, I beg your pardon, 
I didn't mean to be so idiotic I meant, thanks ever 



ovCioogIc 



34 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

so much. Millions of thanks." Her enunciation was 
quick and clear. Her voice was rather high, but 
without a sharp note in it, expressing gaiety and cour- 
age and a sincere spontaneity. It was evident she could 
not resist the humour inherent in any situation, and 
she was now more embarrassed than he because she 
had yielded to that element of the absurd in her very 
first words. It still glimmered in her eyes. They 
were the mysterious colour of water in shadow, de- 
fined, with the clear sharp line seen in a good Japanese 
print, by fine black lashes. And her short upper lip, 
which was of the tint and texture of a pale clove 
pink, struggled with a smile. 

"I only done my duty, ma'am," returned Chan, 
restoring her to composure by playing up. "Now 
what's the next move?" 

She cast a considering eye on the situation. "I 
can fix it Hold on just another minute." She deftly 
untied the line and walked to the back porch, letting 
out the slack end. A hook on a pillar served to fasten 
it up again. Chan's post, in both senses, became merely 
honorary. He followed her. 

"Let me," he said. But she had already knotted it. 

"Just as much obliged," she said. "Now I'm 
afraid youll catch cold ; and your beautiful red slip- 
pers are getting spoiled." 

They were very red, of fine morocco, and distinctly 
intended for privacy. 

"Oh, I'll go," he said discontentedly. No one ever 
accused Chan of shyness with women. "Never mind ; 
I'm used to ingratitude. Say, lady, don't you want a 
handy man to make that pole firm?" 

"Well, yes. But we need some one to fix the fence 
more; any one can get through it now." Chan's 
mouth actually fell open, and Miss Johns, after one 
berok effort at gravi^, loosed her laughter over him. 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 35 

He bad to join her ; he enjoyed a good riposte as well 
as any man. 

"I beg your pardon," he said at last. "I do really. 
I know [ prestuned. And — and so I'd like to presume 
again. Do you know that I haven't a soul in the 
world to t^ to except my landlady? And my 
name is " 

"I know your name, Mr. Herrick. And you've got 
your uncle to talk to. Did you imagine I wouldn't 
know? I have a landlady too. But I really do not 
think you were presumptuous — and I do think you'll 
catch cold." She did not run away, qtute, but her 
swift, graceful gait took her within the house before 
he could formulate an answer, or decide for himself 
just what she meant . . . about his being presumptu- 
ous. He went in to finish dressing, and consider the 
matter. 



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CHAPTER III 

THIS was on a Saturday afternoon, else Lesley 
Johns would have been at her desk in the 
Recorder oSice, instead of playing the part of 
the maid in the nursery Thyme. Not that she felt 
at all like any one in any rhyme. A comparison with 
Nausicaa herself would not have reconciled Lesley 
to what only necessity could enforce. Not even if she 
had known exactly who Nausicaa was. Lesley de- 
tested domestic tasks, and washed her own apparel 
from the most utilitarian of motives. 

For once, however, she had been barely conscious 
of her occupation. An undercurrent of sorrowful yet 
excited retrospection was carrying away her thoughts, 
fixing them firmly on the night previous — until she 
caught Chan Hernck watching her from his window. 
Then a certain annoyance and embarrassment super- 
vened, mingled with some shy gratification. All of 
this was prompted by the most feminine of motives. 
For, though she knew it was absurd to suppose he 
would observe such a detail at the distance, she was 
painfully aware that her hands were roughened by 
the water and the wind. Lesley hated her hands. They 
were strong, and not small. Her feet, which were 
of the same type, also infuriated her. Lesley was not 
vain at all; she was merely sensitive to beauty and 
its defects. Not vanity, but experience, had warned 
her suddenly that she was under observation. She 
had learned to expect that bored countenance with 
the cheerful eyes, ambushed behind the white muslin 
curtains opposite, following her movements with can- 
36 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 37 

did interest To deny that she was reciprocally in- 
terested would be to deny that she was young, fem- 
inine, and human. In fact, she enjoyed drawing Chan's 
gaze, and one might put it down to a sense of justice 
that she feared he mi^t not extract an equal pleasure 
from it. She was very certain that it did not add 
to her pleasure to look at her own hands and feet. 
Still, he m^ht not be so finicky. 

Before Chan's close-cropped brown poll at the win- 
dow had diverted her attention, she had been mentally 
going over, again and again, the events of the preceding 
night, election night. It would be a long time before 
she forgot that particular night Her life had been 
unduly monotonous for one of such spirit, and for 
once the prayer of her heart had been answered ; things 
had happened.' 

She had stayed late at the office purposely, sitting 
in the newsroom and watching the returns come in. 
The managing editor was rather a friend of hers. 
When the issue was no longer in doubt, and the room 
was BO thick with tobacco smoke that Lesley could 
hardly see, she went out, meaning to go directly home 
after a glimpse of the crowds on the street. And 
there, just as she would have turned on her heel to 
go. Jack Addison had caught her. 

She could not remember where she had met Addison 
first Probably in the office. More than once he had 
come in on a transparent pretext and hung over her 
desk, bringit^ her a flower or bonbons — anythii^ too 
small for her to refuse. But what possessed her to 
relax her rule of snubbing him this night . . . ? 

For she knew all about Jack Addison ; Burrage need 
not have wondered. He had a wife, living uptown, 
while he inhabited gay bachelor chambers in the Car- 
hart Blodc; he had a little girl, too, who stayed with 
her mother. Also, he had money. Some decency 00 



ovGoo^lc 



38 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

doubt he also possessed, because he never explained 
just why his wife was uptown alone. Of course that 
reason might not be to his 9wn credit, but no one 
ever saw any tears in Mrs. Addison's eyes for his 
absence. 

Their domestic affairs formed one of the most 
piquant staples of local gossip, though neither of 
them ever contributed any items thereto. Across the 
border, such a state of affairs would have presaged 
divorce, but divorce is not simple in Canada. 

However that might be, Lesley had simply chosen 
to fot^et. There was something in the air, perhaps 
an emanation from the febrile mind of the crowd, 
that made her reckless. She wanted some one to 
laugh with. And Jack Addison was always gay. 

"Do you think it's safe for you here alone?" he 
had said to her suddenly over her shoulder, while 
she stood looking up at the bulletin board. But h« 
did not find her at a loss. 

"I think the crowd will protect me," she returned, 
eyeing him demurely to point her words. 

"Ain't you a " He had the grace to pause. 

"A what?" she enquired, thereby givit^ him per- 



"A charmit^ vixen/' he finished. "That's right; I 
like to see your eyes flash. Did you know you've 
got the queerest, prettiest eyes — and I want to talk 
to you. That old cat at the next desk to yours is 
always listening at the office." 

"You are taOcing," she reminded him. 

"Will you be nice?" he asked anxiously. 

"I am nice," she assured him. "Very nice, don't 
you think?" And she preened herself wickedly in 
his admiring gaze; so light and straight tn her severe 
blue serge suit and the big hat that struck a sharp 
feminine note by contrast and drew a line of shadow 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 39 

just at the et^ of her kissing rooath above the firm, 
ivory-white chin. 

"I'll tell you what I think if you'll come out for 
just fifteea minutes in my car. Will you? It's cmly 
around the comer; I've been driving sheep to the 
slaughter in it all day — voters to the polls, I mean. 
I want you to reward me for it" 

"Nobody voted for me," she reminded him, bub- 
bling into a laugh. 

"I did," he said. "I do now. Miss Johns, do yoa 
want to entirely waste a night like this? Please — 

pretty please — I'll sit up and b^^ " It was just 

then that Burrage called to him, and he resolutely 
stopped his ears. For he almost thought she was 
coming, and when Burrage interrupted them, he al- 
most Uiought she had gone. It certainly was not his 
pleading carried the day; he had not time to begin 
again when she tilted her chin at him and satd : 

"Will you be nice?" 

"Honour bright" A man of impulse and emotion 
can always sound sincere, because he generally is stU' 
cere — at the moment. Lesley was sick of being pru- 
dent, of living out copybook maxims about industry 
and thrift and proprie^. Fifteen minutes . . . 
could she not steal just fifteen minutes from one leaf 
of the copybook? 

"I'll go," she said. 

"Good." He tucked her arm into his and bore her 
away with mighty strides. The little motor, a light 
but powerful roadster, was hardly a block away; the 
engine had not been stopped. Some one had just 
stepped out of it They were off with magic ease. 
Lesley caught her breath and looked at her com- 
panion. 

"Do you know," she said, "I've never been in an 
automobile before." 



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40 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Why, you poor child t" He was positively scan- 
dalised. "You shall have a ride every night." 

"Oh, no." On that point she was quite decided. 
"Never again. So this once I'd like you to go as 
fast as ever you can. I want to see what it's like." 
Also, she wanted him to have something to do. She 
was having a fearful joy of her adventure — for he 
broke all speed laws instantly in his desire to carry 
out her wishes — and she did not want it spoiled. To 
a certain extent, Lesley saved her emotions; she al- 
ways preferred just enough tcJ a surfeit. 

They were at the bridge and climbing the Mts»on 
Hill in an incredibly brief time ; he took advantage of 
the slowing on the heavy grade to resume his con- 
versation. 

"Where do you want to go ?" 

"Around by the other bridge and back through the 
East end of town," she s^d promptly. That would 
keep them close to the dty, which seemed to her 
desirable. 

"Just as you say. I'm going to show you how nice 
I can be, and if you tell me to get out and stand on 
my head on the hood, I'll do it I ttiought I'd never get 
a chance to speak to you." 

"Why did you want to speak to me?" she asked 
incautiously, simply because no woman on earth can 
resist asking that question of at least one man. 

"Why?" Now he thought of it, he was rather 
stumped himself. It was always like that ; he followed 
his impulses without ever slipping to leam whither 
they would take him. His enthusiasm about doing 
as he pleased was really refreshing. "I don't know — 
because I wanted to. Don't you do what you want to?" 
he enquired. 

"I don't think women can, much," she said. "I know 
I can't. Of course I am now." He turned to her, 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 41 

his daric, eager, handsome face soddcnlj altgfat. 
"Thanks," he said. 

"But we can't, just the sanw," she repeated finnljr. 
"Dwi't yon know it? Honour bri^t again?" 

"Oh," he said, rather harassed. She was making 
him think. He preferred to feeL And she could make 
him feel — he didn't know exactly what, but reckless 
— and decent. Any way she chose; that was it. If 

only she'd choose But she wanted him to stop 

and think, whether women could do as they pleased 
— say, if they pleased as he did 

She succeeded in making him think, and of some- 
thing he wished to forget. It had left a had taste 
in his mouth. 

"No, I suppose you can't I've just seen it tried. 
Say, diMi't talk about it" 

"About what?" 

"CMi, you couldn't guess. Just a girl that did 
what she wanted to. Something you'll never hear 
about" 

Now Lesley, althou^ she knew very few people 
out«de the immediate drcle of her work and the 
house where she lived, did hear about a great many 
things. The managing editor had a penchant for 
gossiping with her; he knew her discretion. It ex- 
ceeded his own. Sometimes she had difficulty in re- 
straining his confidences; the nature of them was 
not always highly correct Her mind went throi^ 
a process not unlike joining the links of a chain, at 
Addison's allusion. It was because he lived with 
Garth, of course, that she got the connection ; a con- 
nection with some obscure matter, only vaguely hinted 
at, but carrying two names, very definite and dear. 

"Maybe I have heard," she said. "She has red hair, 
hasn't she J" Immediately, of course, she r^retted it. 
She mast be mad, to talk to him so I 



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43 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Good heavens, who told you ?" He almost ran over 
the cutbank ed^ 

"No one told me. I don't know anything," she said 
quickly. 

"How many people know it?" 

"No one knows. . . . Everything comes to a news- 
paper office. I'm sorry. Can't you forget I spoke? 
I'm awfully sorry. I hate myself." The distress in 
her voice touched him. "I am dreadful. And I don't 
believe there is anythii^ to know." 

"Yes, there is — everything." Apparently the whole 
town knew it, so he did not mind, now. He had 
never mentioned it to a soul ; Burrage knew because 
nominally Garth was in Buirage's employ, and had 
betrayed himself when he got leave to go away. And 
while Addison didn't want to think about it, by some 
curious inversion of mental processes he did want 
to talk about it The thing burnt him ; it made him 
ashamed, and he wanted to get it off his mind. 

"Don't, please," she begged. "I don't want to hear, 
I only heard a hint, and from only one person, and I 
was the only one heard it. Now, we came out to be 
cheerful, didn't we?" 

That was enough; he said no more. His amazing 
volatility even enabled him to forget it all in five min- 
utes, and remember only her. She was the most ex- 
hilarating creature he had encountered in weary 
months. There was a morning freshness about her. 
Though he forced her to play the ancient game, she 
put a new flavour into it. His shoulder touched hers 
as they sat, but she managed to keep him at a meta- 
phorical arm's length. In the bottom of her heart 
she wished herself well out of it, but she knew better 
than to say so. And at least he still kept the letter 
of the contract, and also the route she had specified. 
She drew a quick breath of relief after (hty had 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 43 

crossed die lower bridge and were again within the 
far boands of town, the old town that antedated the 
railroad and had gathered about the Mounted Police 
barracks. 

"I ought to be at home," she said. "I am so tired, 
and sle^f, and I have to work to-morrow." 

"Can't we go up over Crescent Hill?" he coaxed. 
But she was firm ; only for one nerve-rackii^ moment 
she did not know but he would once more do what 
he wanted. His hands seemed visibly undecided on the 
wheel; and it was really that indecision, leading him 
to jam a lever unthinkingly, that stalled them. They 
were certainly stalled; the motor stopped dead. He 
got out and tinkered about, and it did no good. 

"And I'm so tired," she repeated pathetically, 

"III get you home," he reassured her. "Wait a 
nunute." The sound of wheels approached then ; he 
scrutinised the vehicle through the uncertain moon- 
light, and finally hailed it. "Got a passenger. Cap?" 

It was one of the town's venerable cabs, of which 
there were three. The driver pulled up, chuckling. 
"Naw," he said. "Want a lift?" 

"Oh, we do," cried Lesley, and positively ran for it. 
Addison opened the door for her, and spoke to the 
driver: "Drive to " 

"To ' — Fourth Avenue," cried I-esley insistently, 
^ving her own address. The driver nodded, and Addi- 
son ste;^^ in after her. It was not entirely dark 
within; a ray of moonlight fell across their faces. 
She watched him, through her eyelashes, her face very 
composed. 

"May I smoke?" he asked abruptly, and struck a 
match. The light of it was reflected from his dark 
eyes, making little points of flame in them ; his hands 
shook a trifle, and he said something under his breatfi. 
Lesley knew there was nothing to fear, but she wanted, 



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44 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

desperately, to be able to look back on this and smile; 
to keep it just gay, with no more than enough daring 
for a spice. She was only a girl And life had been 
rather ungenerous to her. 

"Will you come again?" he asked, leaning toward 
her. There was something, her honesty whispered, 
that attracted her in him, a genuine magnetism. She 
felt it, as if it were an aura about him. 

"I don't know." She did know; she would not 
But Lesley was bom clever in some ways. "Of course, 
if it had been any one but yoti. ... I can trust yotu 
You've been nice. Thank you." They were getting 
nearer her house all the time, was the undercurrent of 
her thought. 

It was true that she had some power «ver him. He 
leaned back, looked out of the window, and said some- 
thing commonplace. Then, in ten minutes or so, the 
driver drew up; they had reached their destination. 
Addison helped her out. She felt the warmth of his 
clasp through her gloves. He followed her to the 
gate, and she slipped through and latched it against 
him, laughing a little because the suspense was ended. 

"You didn't say when you'd come again," he re- 
minded her. 

"Because I can't — ever. Good-bye." 
■ "Lesley," he cried. *Tfou little cheat! No, don't 
go!" 

"Your promise," she reminded him. "Mrs. Cran- 
ston will hear, and it's so awfully late. Oh, you did 
promise I And I didn't. And I never said you could 
call me Lesley," she ended with severity. 

"And I never said I wouldn't," he retorted. Then 
she coolly reminded him he was keepit^ the cab 
waiting. 

"I had a lovely tim^" she added sweetly. "Now 
good-bye." 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 4$ 

A man may hardly go and pound on a respectable 
householder's door at midnight in pursuit of a lady 
who laughs at him, no matter what his feelings. Ad' 
disott got into the cab and rolled away. He was near 
his own rooms before he remembered that he had 
a guest By that time of course he did not have a 
guest And what he said to Hariy Garth would need 
an unexpurgated edition. 



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CHAPTER IV 

IT was not until she was sure he was out of eye- 
shot that Lesley ventured out ag;am. She had 
meant to go straight to bed, but the night was 
too exquisite, and while there are many such delight- 
ful intervals in the highly variable climate of Alberta, 
they are mostly brief. An hour can witness in- 
credible changes, from winter to summer or back 
again. It is probably the most irritating climate in 
the world, though extremely healthy. A stock joke 
of the country is that one should never go out without 
both an overcoat and a fan. 

This night the moon was nearly full, and a great 
stillness prevailed. In the thin dry air of that alti- 
tude the moonlight is most brilliant and clear, cast- 
ing shadows that look like black velvet and making 
the whole earth pale where it falls. Lesley liked 
night, and the moon; it gave her imagination scope, 
and she sometimes crept out very late, when her nar- 
row room became too painfully symbolic of her nar- 
row life, and escaped from the town to walk up the 
river. A little island beyond the power plant, reached 
by a bridge over the fliune, she often explored almost 
by sense of touch. But to-night she had had enough 
of movemenL She only wanted to sit quietly and 
dream, and she fell into an unconsciously serene and 
statuesque pose, her hands clasped about her knees 
and her face upturned. A ghost of a smile clung about 
the comers of her mouth. 

At sound of the footsteps which had drawn Chan 

Herrick's attention, she frowned and was of a mind 

46 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 47 

to go inside. She was aware that it kwlced odd for 
her to be sitting on the steps so very late, like a 
prod^fal locked out But perceiving it was a woman 
who approached, she sat stiU. And when the solitary 
figure, starting violently at sight of her, screamed 
faintly and dropped to the sidewalk, Lesley found 
herself singularly self-possessed. She saw the start 
of surprise and had previously realised the unusual- 
ness of herself being there; she felt guilty as of a 
social stupidity and ran to the gate as much in con- 
trition as alarm. The strange woman's hat had been 
disarranged by her fall and her hair escaped; in the 
pale lif^t it had ahnost the colour of blood, and her 
face was dead white. Lesley slipped an arm under 
her shoulders, raised the prostrate form deftly, and 
kicking the gate open with her foot, went up the short 
walk with stumbling speed. She recognised Eileen 
Conway instantly and her mind was in a strange jum- 
ble, in which one thought alone was clear, that it 
would be unpardonable to let any one else see the 
girL Certainly not Mrs. Cranston, in whose house 
Leslqr lived. How she would chatter I 

Fortunately Lesley had left the door unlatched. She 
pushed that open with her shoulder, and found her 
way in the dark to the sofa in the sittingroom, where 
she dropped Eileen with a gasp of relief. Her arms 
ached. She got a glass of water from the kitchen 
before it occurred to her to put on the light Eileen 
was still unconscious when the light revealed her ; she 
lay on the sofa awkwardly, one arm drooping to the 
floor, her head thrown back and her pretty throat 
curved. Still with the instinct for secrecy, Lesley 
held her handkerchief ready to clap over the girl's 
mouth, while she drenched her brow and hair. She 
had never met Miss Conway, though she had seen 
her often. 



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48 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

But Eileen did not scream, nor make any sound at 
all, when her dark blue eyes opened slowly. She 
looked at Lesley, in a bewildered way, and dropped 
her lids again. Then she put up her hand, as if to 
brush away a fancy, and looked agwi. 

"I thought you were dead," was her first extraordi- 
nary utterance. 

"^hy, no, I never was dead in my life," said Les- 
ley. Her tongue had a habit of tripping over a situa- 
tion and bringing forth strange speech to suit a 
strange occasion. They matched eadi other for ab- 
surdity. "I mean — I don't know what I mean, of 
course. I don't understand." 

Eileen was looking about the room, as if for some 
familiar object to orient herself by. She saw none. 

"Of course not ; what a stupid thing for me to say. 
But I saw 3rou on the steps — didn't I see you on the 
steps?" she broke off, as if testii^ her own sanity. 

"Yes, I was on the steps. Don't move, please. Rest 
a minute.*' 

"I am quite all right, thank you. You brought me 
in ? How good of you. ... I must explain that silly 
speech. I saw you out there in the moonlight, and 
your face was so white ; you were looking at the sky 
and your eyes were half shut . . . and I thought of 
a drowned person. ... I'd been over by the river. 
The water is so dark. . . ." She was sitting up now, 
and she shuddered. "You see ... I was think- 
ing . - ." 

Lesley felt cold. She reached impulsively and took 
Eileen's hands in hers, holding them tight "You poor 
girl," she said, her eyes suddenly wet. 

"Don't," said Eileen. "Don't make me cry." But 
she buried her face on Lesley's shoulder, with a 
wrenching sob. 

'Tton't cry, then," said Lesley soothingly. "Don't 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 49 

do anything you dcm't wish to. Don't say anythii^ 
you would rather not." 

"I am tired. I walked for hows — miles. I wanted 
to get away. There's no place to go, is there? I 
shall cry if you are kind to me. You ought not to be 
kind to me. I don't deserve it." Lesley felt the tean 
through her thin blouse. 

"Nonsense; you never did anything to me," she 
said distractedly. What could one say? She saw 
this unhappy creature, looking at the midnight river, 
longing for the silent obscurity of it, beaten by its 
darkness and mystery and the stark loneliness of death, 
walking for hours dogged by her own terrible and 
despairing thoughts. It is only youth that can know 
despair. Lesley held her close, rocked her to and fro. 
'T)on't you mind," she said in a tender voice that 
atoned for her meagre words. "Everything will be 
all right after a while, I do understand." 

"Do you?" said Eileen, lifting her wet face, that 
seemed to harden into a mask. "Do you really know? 
Does every one know about me?" 

"I know your name — I've often seen you. No, I 
don't think any one knows. I just guessed — indeed, 
I don't know anything, except that you are miserable." 
But Eileen's steady eyes a^ed, and got their answer 
from Lesley's pitiful gaze. 

"You do know," she said in a dull voice. And after 
a long silence she added: "I thought I should kill 
any one who knew. But I don't believe you're like 
most people; it doesn't amuse you. The others will 
pretend to be horrified and sorry, but they'll enjoy it 
really. ... I remember the way we used to talk. . . . 
And they'll all hear it soon. They always do. Only 
I don't mind about you. ... I have to go home. I 
won't apologise for bothering you ; that would be silly. 
Did I have a hat?" She forced herself to a mechanicaJ 



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so THE SHADOW RIDERS 

courage, and pinned on her hat with steady hands. 
But her eyes were sick and her mouth strained. 

"m go with you," said Lesley. 

"No— please. I promise you, I'll really go home. 
Don't trouble; I've already failed . . . altogether. I 
couldn't screw myself up to that jMtch twice. Nobody 
can, i{ they're sane. And I'm quite sane, if I am a 
— fool I" There was some bitterer word than that 
on her tongue. Lesley felt Eileen's dark thoi^hts 
about her like a cloud; an air of violence still clut^ 
to her. It was insistent, as if her frustrate deeds stiU 
had spiritual form, and Lesley might have seen their 
incorporeal shadows by opening the shutters of her 
brain. It was a feeling she knew quite well, that of 
standing by a curtain which a strong, uncertain wind 
blew upon, giving her glimpses of things she could 
not touch. But instead of making the tangible pres- 
ence of things unreal, it illuminated them. Only she 
could not see enough . . . and she feared seeing too 
much. Nearer than that she could never define it. 

Lesley's mind was of a balance both delicate and 
strong; and her judgment of people was unerring. 
She knew Eileen Conway now, and would always 
know her, as well as if they had been close all their 
lives. She disliked letting her go, but knew also that 
a protest would be useless. Eileen would go. Some 
things simply are so. 

Had it not happened before, in lesser measure, Les- 
ley would have been astonished how much she knew 
of Eileen, and of Eileen's story. All she had heard 
was of the vaguest, a word or two from CressweU — 
the managing editor — of scandalous surmise, a sen- 
tence from Jack Addison in confirmation of that bodi- 
less rumour. Eileen had supplied the rest, and Eileen 
had said nothing at all. 

Lesley followed her to the door. With her hand on 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 51 

die knob, Eileen turned suddenly. All her movements 
were dramatic, but without vul^r emphasis ; she posed 
now in the light streaming from the sittingroom, an 
enigma of sad and imreluctant farewell, as if all that 
had ha{q>ened were to be shut in behind her here and 
she took nothing but memory with her, not even 
hope. She was not 50 tall as Lesley, and of a rounded 
slenderness, with fine hands and feet and the porce- 
lain complexion that goes with her shade of hair. In- 
deed, she was all a porcelain beauty, exotic in modem 
tailored garb such as the dark suit she wore ; and her 
veil, flung back, cast a shadow over her eyes. 

"Would you — give me your hand?" she asked, al- 
most coldly. 

"Oh," said Lesley, wounded, and gave it. 

"Don't say anything," said Eileen, her tones sud- 
denly muffled. "I won't kiss you; I hate kisses. I 

should have liked you if I'd met you before I 

wonder if you would have liked me? I forgot; wlH 
you tell me your name?" 

"Lesley Johns. And I wish you would telephone 
me in the morning, at the Recorder office. I know I 
ought to go with you." But she knew Eileen wanted 
to be alone again, to brace herself against something 
she dreaded. 

"Yes, I will telephone. I'm sorry I won't ever see 
you again. I must hurry. I think my father — will 
be — kwkiiig for me." Her face grew set and bitter 
again. She went down the walk quickly, and Lesley 
left her at the gate. 

Lesley walk^ back into the house in a sort of 
daze, and looked about with a start to see all the 
lights still on. The clock, a cheap little brass thing 
with a tawdry brass Cupid above it, was ticking nois- 
ily, as if to call attention to the hour. Nearly one 
o'clock I And if Mrs. Cranston had been awake and 



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52 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

listening — heavens, how she would talk, questioning 
Lesley inanely in that drawling voice of hers. Lesley 
switched off the light hastily and crept upstairs. She 
was opening her own door, and thought she had es- 
caped, when the drawling voice, thickened with sleep, 
intercepted her. 

"What time is it, Lesley ?" 

"Oh, it's quite late ; I didn't notice," Lesley called 
back mendaciously. Both women spoke in that half 
tone one uses in the dead hours, liiey might waken 
the baby. 

"I thought I heard you talking down there," per- 
sisted Mrs. Cranston. "I was too sleepy to get up 
and see. IHd you bring some one home?" 

"No. I fell over the cat, and talked to her for 
quite a while," Lesley continued shamelessly. "She 
wouldn't go out." 

"Oh," said Mrs. Cranston. Silence supervened. 
Lesley shut her door. It was one of Mrs. Cranston's 
most annoying habits to sleep with her bedroom door 
ajar, to miss nothing of any nocturnal activities c»i the 
part of others. She thoi^ht Lesley "quite cracked" to 
be such a prowler, and complained of interrupted re- 
pose when Lesley, on pretence of raiding the pantry 
— not always a pretence — would steal downstairs at 
unseasonable hours. Nevertheless, she did not close 
her door to keep out the sotmds. 

Meditating on that exasperating characteristic of 
the lady, Lesley slipped down from the mood of ex- 
alted and romantic tragedy which the strange com- 
ing of Eileen had induced. Her brain was fatigued 
with too much activity, and she prepared for bed with 
sleepy haste. Yet, though the mood had passed, Lesley 
realised that it was not the extraordinary occasion, 
the moonlight and the solitude that had induced it, 
so much as some quality inherent in Eileen herself. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 53 

She was a romantic creature, whom even the most 
sordid story could not strip of her glamour, nor tarnish 
in her special character. The mere type of her beauty 
— Lesley sighed over that desired gift — exempted her 
from the common fate of dinginess, if not from the 
common lot of suffering. Whatever she did, she 
would be unusual, and would provoke as much wonder 
as contempt. And she was yet very young and un- 
formed, no more than nineteen, Lesley guessed, quite 
rightly. Lesley was twenty-one. This while she did 
her hair for the night, standing before the greenish 
wavy mirror of her dresser, which forced an odious 
comparison on her. The mirror did not do her justice, 
nor did her deshabille ; there was a suggestion of the 
classic about Lesley, or more exactly, the pseudo- 
classic, and in petticoat and stays, of mere couttl and 
cotton at that, she was sadly handicapped. She 
hastened to put out the light and dismiss her mean 
attire from her thoughts, which again followed after 
Eileen, But that was too painful. Eileen would be 
at home by now, facing her family. ... A shudder 
of sympathy went through Lesley; she curled down 
and buried her face in the pillow, and her heart was 
hot with the sorrow of being a woman. She had to 
forget that, or get no sleep, and she had to get some 
sleep. There was always her work. The one looming 
fact in Lesley's life was work, and had been for over 
four years. Ixion's wheel may have been more painful, 
for Lesley was an active creature, but it could have 
been no more insistently the controlling factor. 

There was no inclination left to think of Jack Addi- 
son, The episode seemed negligible by comparison, 
though perhaps rather common and silly. It dismissed 
itself. And so, with her thoughts chasing themselves 
in a circle, like a kitten after its own tail, she was 
presently whirled into slumber. 



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CHAPTER V 

IT was natural that Eileen's name should spri:^ to 
mind in Lesley Johns' first waking moment next 
morning, to haunt her for days thereafter. The 
spell was not exorcised even when Eileen kept her 
promise and telephoned, perhaps because she said the 
least possible — that she had reached home safely. Les- 
ley could not refrain from asking: "Are you well?" 
"Oh, well enough," replied the bodiless small voice 
out of the void, and there was the ennui of despair in 
the phrase. "Thank you again. Good-bye." And 
that was all- Lesley himg up the receiver and went 
back to her desk reluctantly. She wanted to do some- 
thing, but it was very clear there was no further ac- 
tion in her power. In the bald light of day, with the 
prose of business droning about her, Lesley saw Kleen 
not less real and appealing, but other facts loomed 
equally substantial and suddenly inimical. She could 
not take Eileen in her arms and carry her to tofety 
metaphorically, as she had done in simple reality. She 
wondered and wondered, during the morning at her 
typewriter or talking to patrons over the counter, dur- 
ing the afternoon while she struggled with sloppy soap- 
suds and wet linen ; she wondered just how Eileen had 
fared, and how much the truth had spread. It made 
her Shrink again to think of the gossips tearing that 
pretty thing to horrid fragments and holding them 
up to the public gaze. If any one knew what nmwur 
was current, of course Cresswell would, but a scrupu- 
lous delicacy prevented her seeking information of 
him, because in a sense she had Eileen's confidence. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 55 

So, sitting before an open fire in the livingroom on 
the Monday night following, she still turned over the 
same unprofitable thoughts, even while she tucked her 
feet under her skirt and scrutinised her hands with 
hostility and disgust. She had powdered her hands, 
and polished the nails — but that did not make them 
any smaller I "And he can't help remembering bow 
red they were," she thought hopelessly. 

She was waiting for Chan Herrick. He had bra- 
zenly waylaid her on the intervening Sunday. She 
had seen no occasion for flight, and because Chan 
was not at all stupid with women, it had somehow 
arrai^ed itself, without her invitation or his asking, 
that he might caJl. His uncle, he explained, had a 
board meeting to attend, leaving Chan at loose ends. 

But for Eileen's persistent image, Lesley would of 
course have been thinking only of her expected guest, 
with the faint pleasurable thrill any normal girl feels 
when a new man, a possible conquest, swims into her 
ken, voluntarily. Of course any young man is a pos- 
sible conquest, though Lesley would have mentally 
excoriated herself had she overheard her inner self 
indulging in such speculations. But Nature laughs 
in her sleeve at all of us, and gets her own way whether 
we approve of her — and ourselves — or not 

So Lesley only gave him half her thoughts now, as 
she poked Uie hre and looked at her hands and repro- 
bated her feet. When she looked at her own hands 
she thought of Eileen's, and when she rose and anx- 
iously patted her hair she wondered absently why 
it was not a splendid red, and was sad because she felt 
the bitter ashes of shame falling on that other charm- 
ing head. Chan's ring actually startled her, and she 
was breathless when ^e let him in. 

"Did you run downstairs!^' he asked her teasingly 
as he put his hat and coat and stick on the yeOovr 



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56 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

oak "hall diair" without which no respectable Amer- 
ican household is complete. 

"No, I was thinking," she said. "It's quite an un- 
accustomed exercise, so I puff and pant over it like 
we did over our first writing. Don't you remember 
how you used to write with your entire being when 
you were at the stage of 'That is a cat'? Or were 
you an infant prodigy? Come in; this is only the 
hall." The inexorable kindness of the gods permits U9 
to latig^ when we are young, though the whole world's 
heart is broken. 

"I do — and I wasn't" He followed her into the 
sittingroom, in which there was not even a last vapour 
of tragedy. Tragedy cannot long inhabit the sitting- 
rooms of comfortable respectability. It will hardly 
survive a green velvet "parlour suite" and a red carpet, 
and crayon protraits of immediate ancestors, and a 
centre table with a smug calf-bound volume of Tenny- 
son enthroned thereon. This room had all of these. 
The fireplace mitigated the horror of it, truly, and there 
was a brown leather Morris chair and some growing 
plants also, so it was habitable. Though Herrick 
had known luxury most of his life, being merely a 
man he thought this well enough, seeing only the 
chair and the fire. Lesley had had few opportunities 
of comparison. 

"How jolly this looks," he s^d, drawing a chair to 
the fire for her. Winter had pounced on them again 
overnight, and a sharp North wind shook the window 
casings. "I'm much obliged to your clothesline pole. 
You don't know what it's like being a strainer in a 
strange land, do you. Miss Johns ?" 

"I should. I've only been here a year, and I haven't 
many friends yet" 

"Are you an American — a Yankee, then? I wish 
you would tell me about yourself. I have invented 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 57 

several histories for yoa, iriiile I watched you out 

of my window Did you know I watched you out 

of my window? I daresay you'll think me a dtedcy 
b^gar, but " 

"But you had nothing else to do," Lesley lathed. 
*^ou tell me one of tfie histories and Pll adopt h. 
I have no history." 

"A ha[^ woman ?" be quoted. She had never heard 
the epigram ; she lifted her eyebrows and shook her 
head. 

"No — oh, I don't know. Anyway, I'm not an Amer- 
tcan ; I'm an abori^e." 

"A what?" This time it was he who did not fol- 
low. 

"I was bom here. Isn't that what it means ? Not 
precisely here, but in this province, in a little sod- 
roofed shack near Fort Macleod. That's all my story. 
I was bom ; I am here. You tell me yours." 

"Perhaps that is why you are different," he mused. 
"Not like the Eastern girls, I mean." He pondered 
her frankly with his merry grey eyes. Lesley never 
flushed ; her white skin, clear and opaque, was always 
without a tinge of colour. But she felt hot inwardly. 
She thought he was making comparisons with the 
girls he must have known. Girls who could be always 
dainty, who did not have to work — and act as their 
own latmdry maids 1 Actually she did him an in- 
justice. He was wondering if she were a Western 
type ; an absurdity to expect, of course, in one genera- 
tion, but he was still at the age of generalisations. 
And he thought he had seen the type before, but 
could not place it He had, in foreign art galleries, 
in the paintings of an era as remote from Lesley as 
die poles. The colouring was different, and he failed 
to identify them. Black, brown and ivory, her hair 
and eyes and skin, are subtler shades than the pinks 



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58 THE SHADOW RTOERS 

snd blues and gold Wattcau and Boucher and Frago- 
nard loved. But Lesley's straight, delicate, rather long 
nose, her narrowed oval face, small dove-carnation 
coloured mouth, not curved to a bow but with a slight 
mischievous lift to the short upper lip as if a smtle 
lurked just behind it, and the shape of her brow, 
which became best the low soft roll of hair affected by 
La Pompadour — all these might have belonged to one 
of the ladies of Louts the Magnificent or his unspeak- 
able successor. So too her long graceful limbs, the 
low breast and straight round waist. 

But she wore a walking dress of shabby black serfe 
with a high white lawn collar ; and lacking the voluptu- 
ous elegancies which forever surrounded those others, 
without powder on her hair nor a graine de beaute to 
accentuate that fascinating upper lip, she might have 
been only some stray descendant filtered through a 
Puritan alliance. Without the accessories and the 
glamorous rose and gold she hardly passed for pretty. 
Herrick, for instance, thought she was certainly a joUy 
girl, and had nice eyes. In that Jack Addison had only 
paid her her due. Her eyes were rare, long and havii^ 
that shadowy depth which is half a trick of Nature's, 
gained by dropping the eyelid below the edge of the 
iris. One thought them brown under the black lashes, 
but they were of two colours, brown and grey alternat- 
ing like the sections of a complementary colour disk. 
But Herrick could hardly look close enough to per- 
ceive that. Besides, he was remarkably interested in 
the sod-roofed shack. One read about that sort of 
thing, but it never seemed real. He had lived in a 
tent, of course. Perhaps a sod-roofed shack would 
be more fun. Better, at least, than an igloo. 

"Tell me more," he urged. "Why, I never saw a 
sod-roofed shack. Is it preserved for posterity ? How 
did you like it?'* 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 59 

"I don't believe I ever thought much of it at the 
time," she said. "No, it isn't preserved ; shingles have 
replaced its ancient glories. It did have advantages, 
of course ; it was a real roof-garden in summer. Per- 
fectly enormous simflowers grew up there. But one 
can't have everything; it leiked. One leak always 
leaked on the middle of my bed. There's a special 
arrangement of Providence about that, I understand, 
though it's a trifle amb^ous, isn't it? I remember 
so distinctly how my father used to get up if a run- 
stonn came in the ni^t, and poke his head in at the 
door of the lean-to where we children slept, and say : 
'Arise, take up thy bed and walk.' And we did. Did 
you ever hear a leak falling into a milkpan at three 
a. m., when you were particular^ sleepy? Ah, you 
have missed a great deal." 

"I begin to suspect I have," he said regretfully. "Do 
go on. Does your father still live at Fort Macleod?" 

"My father is dead," said Lesley, her clear, abrupt 
voice striking a chord of singular pathos. It made 
the fact so bald and simple and inescapable. 

"I am sorry," said Herrick gently. "So is mine. 
■My mother too." 

"My mother is alive," ssud Lesley, looking at htm 
with her dark eyes wellii^ with sympathy. "But she 
isn't very strong. She lives with my brother now; 
I have only one." 

"I have none. 'I am all the daughters of my father's 
house,' also. Ross is all my family, in fact. But 
tell me more about the sod-roofed shack and your 
non-existent history." 

He saw he had touched on a sorrowful subject, and 
wished to lead her away from it And he had not 
ceased to be interested. 

"But how can I, if it's non-existent? And I haven't 
unearthed the secret of your birth yet," she parried 



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6o THE SHADOW RTOERS 

gaily. "Let's tell us all about ourselves at oace, so 
we can be comfortably bored with each other here- 
after. B^in, please." 

She had it out of him that he had been horn in 
Hamilton, had been schooled in Montreal, in Munich 
and in Switzerland — it reminded her of Laurie in 
"Little Women" to hear of his schooldays at Vevay. 
That was due to Whittemore, who had spent a long 
time on the Continent following the cessation of his 
scarce b^un career and another event whereof Chan 
had never heard. Chan had come back to a Canadian 
coll^, sauntered back to Germany to sample Heidel- 
berg and decided that hairsplitting over the cosmogony 
did not suit his temperament, returned to Montreal 
and played at banking a Uttle while to please Whitte- 
more, dropped that and attached himself to a Ca- 
nadian arctic exploring party to shoot a musk ox — 
which he missed — and had come home again to suc- 
cumb ingloriously to a Quebec winter and go into 
exile in the West 

"Isn't that a record of uselessness ?" he mused. His 
uncle's words still gnawed at his consciousness. "Why, 
look at you, a bit of a thing I could break in my hands" 
— which was a touch of masculine vainglory hardly 
justified of the facts — ^"and I bet you've done about 
four hundred times as much real work. Do you like 
it — ^what you're doing, I mean? You don't write, do 
you?" 

"No." She felt her confidence being drawn from 
her against her will, for her secret ambitions, already 
twice deferred, were precious to her, and she cher- 
ished them with a hope that was half fear. "I want 
to write. I'm the entire staff of the circulation man- 
ager now. And I want to get a year or two of col- 
lege before I begin to write. They might let me do 
it here, but I'd rather wait." The rest she would not 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 6l 

teD him, and he did not guess she was holding any- 
thing back. 

It was that when Lesley was sixteen her father, who 
had promised she should go to coll^, had died, and 
left his small family with a smaller estate, a heavy 
burden on his young son and delicaiQ wife. Of the 
three, I^esley was the strongest and most capable, aAd'^'' 
for a year she had shared the manual labour of the 
little ranch with Dick, quitting high school in mid- 
term. Only because she could bring in more actual 
cash had she gone to work in a lawyer's office in Mac^ 
leod. There she had saved and hc^>ed for two years, 
and seen college rising above the horizon — whdi Dick 
broke his Ic^, and the expenses of that and of hiring 
a man for .the ranch and 'a thousand other unex- 
pected items left her where she began. Now, by such 
economies as Chan had seen, she dared to hope again. 

"I want to be a journalist," she added in a defensive 
tone. "Not a.^ really literary person, you know. 
I like — things — happenings — yes, and people. And 
newspapers. I will not write society news," she fin- 
ished ferociously. 

"You shan't," he said soothingly. "Youll be a fe- 
male Greeley, a Stanley if you like; and I will be 
a meek and lowly clerk in a black alpaca coat, with a 
pen behind each ear. That is settled." 

She surveyed him doubtfully, and was on the point 
of telling him such a metamorphosis would be almost 
miraculous, when the curtains in the arch beyond 
which, like Italy over the Alps, lay the uncharted 
r^on of the dming-room, parted softly, and Mrs, 
Cranston appeared. She stood with a deprecating foot 
advanced, smiling sleepily ; a thin, kitteny woman with 
a chlorotic cwnplexion, velvet-brown eyes and a 
pointed chin. 

"Oh t excuse me," she said. "I didn't know you had 



ovGooglc 



6a THE SHADOW RIDERS 

company, Lesley." The lie was so obvious tha£, even 
though she did not know Mrs. Cranston had been lis- 
tening behind the curtains for ten minutes, Lesley's 
short upper lip disclosed her teeth in an exasperated 
smile. Mrs. Cranston's ways always went against 
the grain with her; she was too forthright and can- 
did to like the other woman's feline stealth, her pas- 
sion for petty deceit, her general air of satisfied sly- 
ness. To be quite honest, she did not like her landlady 
at all in the depths of her heart, but the arrangement 
between the two was so mutually convenient they 
never openly disagreed. And then Mrs. Cranston did 
not dislike Lesley ; she did not dislike any one who did 
not get in her way. Lesley was a convenience ; ei^, 
she Sked Lesley. Mrs. Cranston did not need to keep 
a kidger, Lesley lived with her because Mr. Cranston 
was a commercial traveller, and his wife found it 
lonely during his frequent absences. Lesley paid a 
just simi, and provided her with company. Also, 
she never objected to caring for the baby when Mrs. 
Cranston wished to spend an evening out Lesl^ 
could not have got so much comfort and freedom any- 
where else at a price within her means, and re- 
proached herself for not being really fond of her 
landlady hostess. So now she subdued her smile to 
mere welcome and performed the needful introduction 
as graciously as might be, 

"Awfully cold, isn't it?" said Mrs. Cranston, seadng 
herself deliberately and stretching her little feet to 
the blaze. Lesley hastily drew her own pedal extrem- 
ities under her skirt and throttled an unworthy suspi- 
cion. Chan agreed that it was very cold. 

"I'm so glad we've got acquainted at last," Mrs. 
Cranston prattled on. "It's so dull here, especially 
for Lesley; and I've often been sorry for you, too, 
when I've seen you sitting up at your window like — 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 63 

like What did you say he was like, Lesley? I 

thought it sounded so funny." 

"Mariana in the Moated Grange," said Lesley sulk- 
ily. It annoyed her that Chan should know they had 
talked him over. But Chan laughed, and she was 
forced to join him. 

"I suppose I did," he agreed. "Only I should have 
been sitting in that quaint old baronial castle up- 
town. Some one showed it to me the other day when 
I was out with Ross. I thought it was an asylum, 
but I am told it belongs to one of your leading 
citizens." 

"Oh, yes — the Vameys. We don't know them," 
sij^ed Mrs. Cranston. "They are awfully rich. But 
I suppose you'll meet them now, through your uncle, 
and then you'll forget all about us." 

Lesley felt symptoms of imminent suffocation. She 
wished benevolently that she could share them with 
Mrs. Cranston — in short, that she might choke that 
injudicious lady. 

"Oh, no I" said Chan cheerfully. "I'm not a bit 
proud." He was coaxing Lesley for another smile, 
watching her out of the tail of a latching eye. She 
would not be coaxed. 

"Are you going to stay long?" asked Mrs. Cranston. 
"Mrs. Thompson said she didn't know. You ought 
to do well out here, though ; and I'm sure you took 
ever so much better than you did when you came. 
But I suppose you don't need to work." 

The naivete of this amused him as much as it an- 
noyed Lesley ; even her annoyance amused him. He 
only thought Mrs. Cranston rather transparent and 
provincial, and that she meant to be agreeable. He 
would have felt a boor if he had tried to "draw" 
her in her own house. So he yielded up all the in- 
formation she desired, and she Ustened with rapt and 



ovCiooglc 



«4 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

flattering attention. But now he had quite definitely 
made up his mind to stay, and was going on the mor- 
row to the Belle Claire offices to meet the manager, 
with his imcle, though it might be some time before 
he would actually commence work. On the whole, 
he thought he should like living in the "jumping-off 
place," and perhaps he had been unconsciously influ- 
enced by the geniality of all Whittemore's acquaint- 
ances. They had offered to put him up for the Qub, 
and invitations had been instantly forthcoming to meet 
the ladies of their families. Those he had politely 
barged should be deferred to a future date; he did 
not fancy posing as an invalid at social gatherings, and 
had grown perhaps a little lazy in the matter of such 
amenities, as is the barbarous nature of man when 
left to his own devices. To step in next door and 
talk to a girl who had already intrigued his curiosity 
was a different matter to buckling on the armour of 
dinner parties and exerting himself on behalf of bat- 
talions of girls he had never yet laid eyes on. Be- 
sides, he r^ly meant to work hard. 

Geers, the retiring member to whom Whittemore 
had introduced him, had made a strong impression on 
Chan. It was not that there was anything very re- 
markable about the man himself; he was merely 
an intelligent, hardly brilliant young lawyer, with a 
slowness of speech that might have been either 
thoughtfulness or diffidence; the very opposite of 
Folsom. What Chan could not forget was his age; 
Geers was but little over thirty, and had resigned 
political life from pressure of business. He told Chan 
and Whittemore that he had not yet made enough 
money for a competence, and meant to go back into 
public life when financial circumstances permitted. 
So there he was, very little older than Herrick, but 
with a start made on two careers, and the prospect 



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THE SHAIJOW RIDERS 65 

of coatpaasing both. Truly, this was the country of 
young men. Chan chafed under his own record of 
idleness, the more because it was not too late. Most 
of us resign ourselves very comfortably over a mat- 
ter that cannot be mended. In ten years, had he 
spent another ten years like the last, Chan would have 
been resigned. 

But he had been caught at the critical period. His 
mind had fallen fallow from forced retrospection dur- 
ing the days of his ilkiess. A seed of ambition, of 
whatever kind, would sprout in it with astonishii^ 
vigour. The soil was ready. And, he rejected rather 
shamefacedly, if he could not match Geers for parts, 
he would write himself down a fool. 

Mrs. Cranston naturally never got so far as that 
in her catechism. All she learned was that he would 
work for the Belle Claire Company, and look about 
him for a time, and that he certainly would not n^lect 
his new friends for newer. This gave her an oppor- 
tunity to look at him coquettishly and expound the 
novel theory that men are all alike. 

"Aren't tfiey, Lesley?" she appealed. 

"I haven't seen them all yet," said Lesley coldly. 
"Amy, isn't that the baby crying ?" She rose and went 
out Mrs. Cranston said, "No, I will go," but made 
no move. 

'Xesley*s such a nice girl," said Mrs. Cranston 
plaintively. "But you know she has the most jealous 
disposition; oh, yes, she's rather queer. Now, I 
□ever was jealous in my life ; I say to Mr. Cranston 
that I trust him, and I expect him to trust me. I 
don't see why a married woman can't have men 
friends, do you, Mr. Herrick? Of course, I haven't 
any here; ever since we came the baby has taken 
up all n^ time — but in Winnip^ — we came here from 
Winnipeg — I was always getting flowers and choco- ' 



ovCiooglc 



66 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

lates. I tell Lesley her beaux aren't nearly so gen- 
erous as mine were." 

"You couldn't expect that," said Herrick gravely. 
"I am sorry to have to leave your hospitable hearth, 
Mrs. Cranston, but Ross may be waiting for me now; 
he promised to come in if the board didn't keep him 
too late. I wonder if Miss Johns won't say good-night 
tome?" 

"Oh, you mustn't mind her ; she is so funny," s»d 
Mrs. Cranston easily, making no effort to call Lesley 
as he hoped she would. "I'm sorry you have to go. 
Do come again." And he would not have seen Lesley 
at all if he had not purposely lingered in the hall get- 
ting hia coat Mrs. Cranston came with him, to be 
sure, but a coal fell out of the fireplace and she has- 
tened back to save her rug and, just in time, Chan's 
finesse was rewarded. Lesley appeared on the upper 
landing, with a white bundle in her arms, her face very 
gracious. Catching his eye, she laughed silently. 

"Good-night," she called softly. "S-sh, don't slam 
the door." 

"May I come again ?" he hissed, with line dramatic 
effect "It wasn't my fault, was it?" 

"What wasn't?" Lesley breathed sweetly. "Yes, do 
come. 'Bye." She disappeared. Chan called a hasty 
good-night to Mrs. Cranston, and escaped. 

L.esley was glad he had waited that moment. She 
had been enjoying herself thoroughly until Mrs. Cran- 
ston came, and now she felt she had been gauche, 
perhaps even rude, and altogether he must think her 
an idiot, only he evidently did not, so that was all 
r^ht She went to her own room immediately to pre- 
serve that agreeable impression from a post mortem 
by Mrs. Cranston. 



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CHAPTER VI 

WHITTEMORE could only stay a week, but 
he went away fairly well content He 
thought he should probably return before 
the coming summer was spent, and perhaps rusticate 
at BanflE— in the million-dollar C. P. R. hotel— with 
Chan up for the week-ends. And if by that time 
Chan had not wearied of his task, Whittemore felt he 
might even establish a pied-a-terre in town. After all, 
he had no one but Chan, and too he was a little tired 
of everything he was used to. His business interests 
had long been tending westward; and his visit to Ed- 
monton might bear fruit that would need careful gar- 
dening. The negotiations he had opened were of the 
most tentative nature as yet, but no serious obstacles 
seemed imminent. A good deal of money would be 
required for what he had in view, more than he could 
or cared to raise himself. For that he meant to go to 
Montreal. 

The scheme also required close secrecy until tt was 
matured, though under other circumstances such a 
course might seem absurd. He was merely ptannii^ 
to organise a company and build a street-car line for 
the city, a very natural outgrowth of the electric power 
plant. But government ownership was in the air of 
the West just then. A good many towns had already 
taken over their lighting plants ; the province of Al- 
berta owned all the telephone lines ; and there was talk 
of expropriation of the grain elevators. There would 
midoubtedly be opposition to a private corporation 
buiMii^ and owning the street-car lines of the prov- 



ovGooglc 



68 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

ince's largest dty, if that opposition were allowed time 
to ripen. The city itself could hardly yet afford such 
an enterprise ; it was already growing too fast for the 
amateur financiers in the Council, so that they found 
difficulty in extending their honding privil^es to keep 
up with at}soIutely necessary expenditures. But that 
would not matter, nor the fact that street cars were 
utf;;ently needed for the city's expansion. The public 
would object. Quite rightly, no doubt, Whitte- 
more admitted, playing Advocatus Diaboli i^inst 
his own interests. But there his interests were. They 
were back of him, pushing him on. Business was his 
chief amusement now that so many other amusements 
had palled. He kept no office, and attended to his 
own affairs in hts own good time, but he had insensibly 
grown b> like the activity that had at Srst been forced 
up(»i him. 

So if he could build that road he would. Per- 
haps it was the idea of building something that ap- 
pealed to him. The desire to create is in us all. Some 
part of it we satisfy with children, some with the house 
wherein we live; an artist has his own peculiar joy; 
a farmer acts as God's vic^erent, even. Ross had 
none of these outlets ; he lived in a club, he had neither 
wife nor child, and he only looked on and admired 
the beauty that other men wrought. He had thought 
himself content to be a spectator, and laughed now to 
find that the dull prose of business had its charm. 
He was half minded to put it all aside and go abroad 
again, lest he harden into a mere money-making ma- 
chine—but then there was Gian. Chan had kept him 
in touch with much of life for fifteen years past. 

So he left Chan with regret, which was mutual. 

Another r^ret, which astonished him by its per- 
sistence, concerned Eileen Conway. There was no 
caie he would ask of her but Burrage, of course. But 



ovGooglc 



THE SHAIK)W RIDERS 69 

if be bad asked the whole city, he would have learned 
no more. 

"She's gone," Burragc told him. 

"But when— and where 7" 

"I don't know. Jimmy Busldric said he saw her 
taking the morning train East" The morning train 
went at two a. m. "Her brother saw her off. Her 
mother says Eileen's gone away to study music I" 

There tfie tale ended. There were a million n*- 
mours, hut Burr^;e knew they were no more than 
rumours. "It is current gossip, then?" Whtttemore 
asked him. 

"Yes, it's all over town," said Burrage angrily. He 
must have liked Eileen; there was Bomething bright 
and dangerous about her, Whittemore guessed, that 
drew men's eyes and hearts. And Burrage remem- 
bered her as a little girl, a headstrong, gay, violent, 
fascinating little minx even then. "People smell a 
story like that," he added, "like coyotes after a car- 
cass. I guess her parents know where she's gone, but 
I don't, and even Garth doesn't He ought to be 
tarred and feathered." Now that she was suffering 
the extreme penalty from society, Burrage had noth- 
ii^ left for her but pity. "Her father and mother 
aren't wearing mourning, but they might as well be. 
My God, what a waste I" 

"Wbat's Garth doing?" asked Whittemore, 

'T)oing? Nothing that I know of. He told Jack 
he was going away soon, though. Said he was going 
to be married I" 

"I suppose he may 6nd it pleasanter elsewhere. 
People can hardly overlook the matter here." 

"Well, I don't know. You see, nobody really knows 
anything; they guess a lot but that's different, espe- 
dally now her folks seem to have decided to make a 
bluff. You and I and Jack Addison are the only ones 



ovCioo^lc 



;o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

on the inside. It makes me kind of sick, the whole 
thing." He was torn between a desire to cook Garth's 
goose for him by seeing that the story reached the 
family of his fiancee, and mere masculine laissez aller, 
obedience to the code of not telling on another man. 
Of course he chose the latter course, and held to it 
Bat it galled him. "I mean the women — say, tiiey 
really seem to want to make a fuss over Garth. . . . 
Some of 'em, anyway," he amended. "I will say Mrs. 
Vamey cut him off her list. The others — they're 
curious, I guess. Besides, people stand for a hell of 
a lot out here. This gets me on the raw, but then I 
saw. . . . You know, I can't forget her face that 
n^t. If I'd ever done anything to make a woman 
hate me like that, I'd be afraid to die." 

An original way of putting it, Whittcmore thought. 
But it was all strange enough. For instance, the point 
that had struck Burrage left him even more perplexed ; 
the waste of so much loveliness. Why had a girl like 
that been moved to throw herself away on a youth so 
palpably commonplace as Harry Garth I But then she 
was too young to have any sense of values. 

"So people don't really know," he repeated thought- 
fully. 

"No. But what's the odds ? They don't need any 
remarkable intelligence to guess." 

"I wonder. . . ." said Whittemore; and went away 
still wondering. Spring and simimer both passed too 
quidcly to permit of his return. 

He forgot to ask Chan if he had met the girl next 
door. By such small curiosities Whittemore kept him- 
self alive on the surface. He could not guess that 
Lesley Johns came nearest to sharing his own specu- 
lations on Eileen. 

She, too, had heard what he had heard. Rather 
wistfully she wished Eileen would send her a word 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 71 

from wherever she was, that it might not seem as 

though she had joined the Shades. That in a sense 
was what Eileen had done; the ghost of her walked 
the familiar streets and made her one-time friends 
lower their voices and look askance suddenly. Cress- 
well told Lesley all the baseless conjectures that sprang 
up, and said he did not believe any of them. She had 
gone to Europe, gone on the stage, gone to perdition, 
the variations ran. The talk lasted more than the 
usual nine days ; she was hardly forgotten before the 
end of summer. Every community is shaken and har- 
rowed by some such ugly rent in the social fabric once 
in a way. A crop of small scandals sprang up in the 
shadow of the large one. It was, in fact, a very busy 
summer, and at the end of it nothing in particular 
had been done — quite as usual. 

Probably Lesley remembered Eileen more vividly 
than most even of those who had known her longest. 
■But she did not suppose Eileen remembered her; 
Eileen would be going through deep water now, and 
small things would be washed out of mind. In like 
case, Lesley could imagine she would have no wish 
to remind herself of things past by writing to one so 
closely connected with them. And if life had you 
cornered, it was better not to cry out 

Life did not have Lesley cornered ; she was full of 
v^ur and purpose. In the autiunn it seemed certain 
she would herself be going away, to b^n her cher- 
ished "career," or at least the essential preliminaries. 

At bottom there was a good deal of similarity in 
that summer's campaign for Lesley, Herrick and Whit- 
temore. They were all going through a preparatory 
period of drudgery. Chan saw the end least clearly, 
had a less defined plan, but he felt something evolving 
in his mind. The new country was taking hold of him. 
He did not know that for a year past he had been 



ovGooglc 



72 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

playing harder than ever merely to stmmlate a flagging 
zest in play. 

In May he went into the Belle Claire offices. Loi^ 
before then he had quite definitely pre-empted a comer 
by Lesley's hearth, and possibly that did more than he 
ever knew to anchor him when he might so easily have 
drifted back East, if only for a day or two. Such a 
day might have stretched into forever, but he never 
took it He let Lesley represent her native province 
to him, and found it an agreeable study. It revived 
in him the instinct of the natural man for new worlds, 
so clearly apparent in every boy but later overlaid and 
atrophied by circumstance. A pioneer Chan might 
not have been in any event, but he too had the con- 
structive instinct, and what a field for it herel He 
had the perspective of a fresh eye, and saw what she 
did not, for her roving blood also cried for "some- 
thing new and strange," and they gazed in opposite 
directions. 

So he overlooked the tameness and drudgery of his 
immediate task, losing it in the novelty of all things 
e!se. Before the novelty wore off, he counted con- 
fidently on getting far beyond the drudgery and reach- 
ing a constructive vantage. 

As for Whittemore, he was coin collecting, as he 
{Erased it, in the financial marts of the East, and 
encountering no special difficulty. His reports from 
Edmonton and Ottawa were also quite satisfactory, 
so far. 

Lesley was happy that summer, the young happiness 
that does not examine its sources. She thought it was 
only because very soon she was going away. She 
had not told any one that, not even Chan. The in- 
hibition had not lessened in force ; it seemed as if to 
tell would be to give warning to unkind Fate. Th^ 
talked about everytiiing under the sun except tb* 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 73 

future. They talked the fires of winter out and car- 
ried discussion out under the summer sky, 

Lesley felt herself expanding in her fa-st real com- 
panion^p. It was most grateful to her. She knew 
so few women that she suffered for friendship. Mak- 
ing friends with a man had hitherto partaken of the 
nature of walking a tightrope. Nor was she vain 
enough to wonder why Chan gave her no such mo- 
meats of insecurity. But once she came very close to 
stumbling on the truth. 

They were riding, coming home after three hours in 
the saddle, and paused, by a mutual and unspoken 
feeling, just before they raised the crest of the hill 
above the river. Beyond was the city ; it sits in the 
fork of two rivers that make one, and had not yet, as 
it has now, grown up the edges of the cuplike valley 
to peer at the skyline. 

Chan had been obliged to coax a good deal to get 
Lesley to ride with him. The truth was, she had no 
habit, and did not want to afford one. When she 
found herself ordering a skirt for the purpose, she 
felt positively sinful in her self-indulgence. It cost 
ten dollars! 

Also she had seen Chan ride, and he worried her 
into telling him the sub-reason of her first refusal 

"I don't ride the way you do," she said, tactfully. 
"I ride astride " 

"But that's the way I ride," he interrupted gravely. 
He was always so solemn in his teasing, it made her 
laugh the more. And she sometimes wished she could 
slap him, though perhaps not very hard. He seemed 
like a boy to her, and she was not experienced enough 
to realise it for a dangerous symptom. 

"Just for that," she said, "I'll tell you that I think 
you bounce. Oh, I know it's the proper park style, 
and you had the best masters, and all that. And you 



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74 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

win think I ride like an Indian, and we shall silently 

sneer at each other the whole time. Now do you want 
me to go?" 

"Next to riding," he assured her, "sneerii^ is my 
favourite sport. Come along." 

Perhaps she did ride like an Indian, but she was 
very g:racefu1 in her own way, long-limbed and sup- 
ple, with that slack, indifferent ease of one who has 
ridden more for necessity than pleasure. It is a style 
that suits the businesslike gait of the small, wiry 
bronchos they got from the livery stable. Chan would 
have bought himself a good horse from one of the 
great ranches near High River, where one can get the 
best, but he knew Lesley would not allow him to buy 
her one also, and he did not want to make an ill- 
matched pair. As it was, they covered the country 
very effectively. It gave him a new view of it, with 
Lesley as cicerone. What had been to him an abomi- 
nation of desolation when he first beheld it from a 
Pulbnan window, took on a fresh face with the advent 
of spring. The endless stretches of snow-covered 
plain, the little desolate farmsteads, had a beauty of 
their own in that magic time, the beauty of illimitable 
space and air, and that Italian sky of the prairies. He 
understood the prairie towns, which at first had struck 
him as horrible beyond words for human habitation. 
Here was room for a man to do something. Her^ 
too, he was in sight of the mountains, which are aston- 
ishingly clear in fine weather, thou^ sixty miles dis- 
tant. When midsummer came it never grew too hot, 
though the world turned to a tawny gold under the 
sun. By September the gold was a soft brown, but 
the sky was no less blue, and the air on a still day 
was like a blue val of impalpable mesh. 

"But it was much nicer before the people came," 
Lesley insisted. "Yes, really. Look, now, the grass 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 75 

is hardly ankle high, tmt when I was small it would 
come above my head in the valleys, and hide me 
standing. Now it's all grazed down, and there are 
disgusting barbed wire fences, and people. Once you 
could ride fifty miles from our own front door, 
strai^t, without ever seeing a fence or a human being. 
It was all our own. And the game, and birds, and 
the wild flowers t I think this was the happy huntii^ 
ground." 

"There are wild flowers jret," objected Chan. "Locde 
here. Old Faithful is stepping on a rose bush. Don't 
they bloom late." 

Lesley thought she had never known so short a 
summer. It was mid-September. Chan dismounted 
and picked a spray of small low-growing wild roses^ 
pale pink and pure white, of a scent as faint as their 
colour. 

"Put these on your coat ; they suit you," he said. 
*^ou see, not even the disgusting people who have 
come and spoiled your Paradise can stop the flowers 
blooming. Cheer up You have all my ssonpathy." 

"Is that a compliment ?' she asked suspiciously, tak- 
ing the flowers and pinning them securely. "I am 
never quite sure — you say such things so — so insidi- 
ously. Practice, no doubt." 

"You should know how much practice I get," he 
said, with his most ingenuous air. "Do I know any 
girls but you?" 

"Not here," she admitted. "Don't you find it hor- 
ribly dull? I did, and I never knew anything dif- 
ferent But you've always gone about a lot, seen 
things. . . . Chan, I believe you're a stiff-necked snob. 
You don't think we're worth your while. You won't 
take any trouble about us." 

"Oh, woman, woman," said Chan. "I can see I've 
been boring you, and you wish I'd take myself off. 



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76 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Well, I won't. And I take exception to that Ve.' 
You don't belong in this gallery. I never said you 
did." 

"In a minute," she said scofBngly, "you'll be telling 
me I'm different." Quite unniiBed, he retorted: 

"You are. I said so the first evening I called." 

"Would I be different. In Montreal?" she asked 
shrewdly. She was swimming under the surface of 
their conversation ; her words were litde torpedoes. 

He thought she would, and said so. But she re- 
mained unsatisfied, feeling, without being able to for- 
mulate the main fact, that in Montreal he would 
never have got near enough to perceive that difference. 
She was the first woman he had ever known who 
worked for her living 1 

"I didn't mean any harm," he pleaded. "You know 
society in a small new town is funny. Such quaint 
distinctions and pretensions." Truly enough, he did 
not identify her with them. She never made any pre- 
tensions. But — neither did he place her with the other 
girls he had known as intimately. That was what she 
caught, with that diabolically fine-spun sensitiveness 
of hers. She was a little confused, but she had got 
hold of something. 

"But why are they funny?" she challenged him. 
"Any funnier, I mean, than anywhere else? Of course 
you know the Countess de Cruchecassee and the Duch- 
ess of Schlangenbad abroad, and in Montreal I believe 
you've even dined with a director of the C. P. R. — it 
makes me dizzy to think of it I — ^but that ought to help 
you to see just why our leading plumber and the wife 
of a real wholesale grocer should be treated with con- 
sideration. Do you set yourself above Csesar as an 
authority on values? Oh, yes, I've read Thackeray; 
he's the consolation of all the unsuccessful and un- 
arrived. If they actually bore yoa I forgive you. 



ovGooglc 



THE SHAIJOW RIDERS 77 

But didn't any of your own social Iq^hts ever bore 
you?" 

"Horribly," he said, with an air of sincere penitence. 
"Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I didn't know what 
I was saying; I have been thinking of other things. 
I have been following stem ambition rather than but- 
terfly pleasure." 

"Then why didn't you tell me?" she said aggriev- 
edly, fot^tting her own reticence. "What ambi- 
tions ?" 

"It's dinner time," he reminded her. "If you will 
brave the horrors of that what-you-call-it restaurant 
— you know, with the mummified palms and armour- 
plate dishes — and dine with me, I'll tell you my inmost 
thoughts. It's so long since I've taken a lady to din- 
ner, I feel I must sacrifice you." 

"It will be fun," she agreed. "I have never been 
taken to dinner. Think of thatt" 



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CHAPTER VII 

LESLEY stipulated that she should go home long 
enoi^h to freshen her toilette and change her 
skirt before they dined. So they struck into a 
gallop, and were silent, enjoying the fine day and the 
motion and the sensation generally of vigorous life and 
youth. Once Lesley looked at Chan, who carried his 
hat in his hand and rode with his head bent as if in 
deep thought, though his eyes expressed nothing; but 
dreamy contentment. She opened her lips to speak, 
and then waited until at the bridge they were forced to 
slow to a walk. 

"I shouldn't have guessed," she said, "that you are 
a shadow rider." 

"A what?" he asked. When she fell into her own 
vernacular he was always interested. "What is a 
shadow rider? Sounds rather poetic" 

"It isn't," she retorted cruelly. "You watched your 
own shadow for a long time back there. If you did 
that on the rodeo, and the range-boss saw you — you'd 
be looking for a new job. It's the lazy ones, the in- 
different ones, do that." 

"Again?" said Chan, with an accent of deep pa- 
tience. "Lesley, do you want me to call you a shrew? 
Just one kind word — just one. I'm black and blue. 
My self-esteem is in rags. Please remember that I 
was riding for pleasure anyhow." 

"Well, there it is," said Lesley, laughing. "Most of 
us get most of our pleasure — what a superlative sen- 
tence — out of watching our own shadows, one way 
or another. There's something fascinating about it, 
78 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 7J 

I know. I wonder how much of the real things we 
miss because of it?" 

Chan laughed with her. "You aren't Xantippe, 
you're Socrates. Right, very right We forget what 
we're riding after, the great objective, to watch our 
own shadows. Whoa, January I" They stopped at 
Lesley's gate ; she dismounted too quickly for him to 
help her, with a flash and jingle of her little silver 
spur; and he galloped off, leading her horse, while 
she went into the house. 

Mrs. Cranston was asleep on the sitdng-room sofa; 
her lord and master was out of town and she was not 
disturbing herself about dinner. Something cold 
would do. The sound of Lesley running upstairs 
woke her and she called after her fretfully. 

"Can't hear you," Lesley sang out. "Downstairs 
again in a minute or two." Her skirt caught on the 
spur. Dick had made it for her, out of a half dollar 
for a rowel. She sat down on the floor, muttering to 
it earnestly, to tug it off. 

"But some one called for you," insisted Mrs. Cran- 
ston. Lesley thought she said : "Is some one calling 
for you ?" 

"Yes," she screamed down hurriedly. "Chan is 
coming back in ten minutes." Mrs. Cranston sat up, 
fluffed out her hair, extracted a chamois skin from 
the top of her stocking and rubbed it over her face; 
and then sat with a pensive and watchful expression, 
listening, and looking meanwhile, sly even when alone, 
at a vase of deep red roses that were elbowing Ten- 
nyson on the centre table. There was a card with a 
pencilled message beside them, in the emptied box. 
It was signed with initials only, and Mrs. Cranston 
did not know whose. 

She had tried a dozen poses, and powdered her nose 
three times, before Chan rang. Lesley was not yet 



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8o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

down. Mrs. Cranston had been afraid she would be. 
She slipped to the door, holding out her hand as she 
opened it. It was a small hand, but not soft, with 
greedy, thin fingers and a dry, hot palm. She wore 
four showy, inexpensive rings. 

"Thank you for the candy, you extravagant thing," 
she said, drawing him after her to the sofa again. 
"Though you shouldn't have — Lesley will be jealous. 
Come here ; you're losii^ your tie pin." 

The idea of Lesley being jealous struck Chan as 
humorous, though it grated on him for some reason 
he could not define. 

"Will she ? Then we won't tell her." Mrs. Cran- 
ston, standing on tiptoe exa^eratedly, pulling and 
patting at his white piqu6 stodc, dropped her eyelids 
and then looked up again deliberately. Her soft, 
shallow eyes invited; Chan was suddenly aware of 
her nearness, of the pressure of her fingers on his 
coat lapels. . . . 

"If you don't want me to," murmured Mrs. Cran- 
ston. Chan did not speak, nor move. Fearing silence, 
forgettii^ or never realising how much more than 
herself she could represent, the vain, sensual, silly 
woman hurried on, speaking again to drown her own 
words: "What a pretty pin!" She drew it out of 
his tie, removing her hands from his coat ; he found 
himself drawing a short breath of relief. 

"Could I get one like it, I wonder?" she was ask- 
ing. It was a gold horseshoe, with a black enamelled 
crop twisted about it Chan thought it rather flam- 
boyant; somebody had given it to him, he forgot who. 
Probably some woman. He had always detested it 
He thought so now, at least 

"Keep it," he said promptly. "Just give me a 
skewer, or something to hold me together. . . . 'Pon 
my vrord, I'd like you to have it." She thrust it under 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RmERS 8i 

a tall of lace on her blouse, and gave him a steel pin 
in return. They heard Lesley's hurried feet on the 
stairs and drew apart, eyeing each other; Mrs. Cran- 
ston's pouting reddened lips shut mysteriously, the 
air was close, and neither of them could find a word 
for Lesley as she entered. 

"Ready," she said. "Oh, Amy, I should have told 
you when I came in ; I'm going out for dinner." 

"For dinner? I don't see where you'll get any," 
said Mrs. Cranston. "Don't you want your flowers? 
You missed a motor ride ; he brought them himself." 

"Who?" said Lesley curtly, vexation sparkling in 
her eyes. She took up the card, glanced at it, and 
tore it across. "Idiot I" was her brief comment, and 
she turned to go. 

"I thought they'd wilt if I didn't take them out of 
the box," said Mrs. Cranston apokigetically, watchit^ 
Chan sidewise : "He was so disappointed " 

"Really I" And that was all she got out of Lesley. 
She guessed rightly that Lesley was annoyed at her 
prymg about the card, and wondered virtuously why 
she should be so secretive. In Mrs. Cranston's house, 
too. . . . Left to herself, she pouted again, looked 
once more at the torn card, and then sidled over to 
the window and watched from behind the curtain Les- 
ley and Chan walking away, apparently deep in talk 
and herself forgotten. 

But Chan knew she was watching him, . . . For 
a long time now he had been conscious of those vel- 
vety eyes of hers fixed on him when he thought no 
one would notice, ready to droop or turn away just 
the moment after he had caught them. . . . They 
were full of a surreptitious, personal intelligence. 
They were in a way to become a fixed idea with him, 
and while at first he went to her house with a free 
mind, looking only for Lesley, now, while he did not 



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83 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

look for Mrs. Cranston, he knew he should find her 
there. . . . The dark side that U in all of us, that 
is titillated, excited by anything clandestine, asserted 
itsdf, fed on her sudden appearances, her lowered 
voice, her insistence on confidences shared. That 
there were no confidences to share hardly mattered. 
"Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is 
pleasant," said a poet, looking into his own heart. 

Her cobweb net fell away from Herrick as soon as 
he was out of sight. He and Lesley, seated opposite 
each other in a stuffy restaurant box, inadequately par- 
titioned from the vulgar world by flimsy walls of red 
burlap, had something less tenuous to discuss. 

Mrs. Cranston's aspersion on the culinary resources 
of the city had not been ill founded. There was not 
then a good hotel ; the two or three restaurants were 
all about the equivalent of a cafeteria in quality. No- 
body who could avoid it ever tried to find sustenance 
in those dreary places. But by a piece of good fortune 
this night Lesley and Chan found there was prairie 
chicken on the menu; probably it had come cheaper 
to the bontface than domestic fowl. And Chan or- 
dered champagne, at a price which would have turned 
Fifth Avenue pale with envy. 

"I never tried it," said Lesley warily, "but I will. 
This is an occasion. ... Do you know, I like it I 
. . . Oh, well, you may laugh, but my ancestors were 
Presbyterians." 

"Would you rather have Scotch, then ?" asked Chan. 
"I say, I wouldn't drink more than one glass. It's 
tricky stuff." He had wanted some himself, or at 
least, he wanted something, he scarcely knew what, to 
quiet that jumping of his pulses, that expanding rest- 
lessness, stirred in him by the vast outdoors, the 
crystal air, his restored and now abounding health — 
and Amy Cranston's following soft brown eyes an4 



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THE SHA150W RIDERS 83 

clutching titde hands. But he liked and esteemed Les- 
ley far too much to feed her to his personal devil, 
even to the extent of allowing her to make herself 
ahsurd. 

"I shan't," she said serenely. "I am really a very 
cautious person — you must never forget those Presby- 
terian ancestors." The truth of that was evident; 
her poise and good sense quieted him sympathetically. 
It was then perhaps for the first time that he insensibly 
leaned on her, felt himself braced by her presence. 
Not that there was anything flabby about Chan, but 
it is no less than truth that the world of men dresses 
by the world of women, and falls into a disorganised 
mob, socially, without them. A community of old 
maids may be a dry and sterile and unlovely assem- 
blage, but it preserves all the pmictilios of civilisation, 
nay, refines them to the fith degree ; where an isolated 
group of men, though it may construct railwa3rs and 
bridges, tame floods and remove mountains, sinks to 
a condition of savagery in its personal conduct of life. 
And Lesley was one of the women men dress by. 
"Hiere is nothing very romantic in being a moral tonic. 
It was not a very happy circumstance for Lesley, pos- 
sibly, that Chan's feelings for her should thus first 
resolve themselves, and neither of them ever knew 
that any such thing had happened. But there it was, 
a sword between them. They talked over it amicably 
without ever perceiving it. 

"And your ambitions," she reminded him, when the 
waiter, with a final flourish of a dirty napkin, had 
removed himself. "Don't keep the presses waiting." 

"EJi, what? You know, if I get talking I'll probably 
never stop, because I can feel enthusiasm creeping 
over me. I think I shall go into politics. Oh, later, 
a lot later. D'you know Clarence GeCrs, ex-M, P. ? — 
What courage, to be a politician with a name lite 



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84 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Qarence — well, I met him here through Ross, and he 
thought he was quitting politics. I've seen him a few 
times since, and talked to him; he's a pretty good 
talker, in a prosy way, and I think we like each other. 
And I joined the Liberal Association through him. 
He came into some money just lately." 

"I remember," said Lesley. "We gave him half a 
column of perfectly good glory over it. Well?" 

"Well, he only quit politics because he needed money 
and had to go back to his practice. Now he's enter- 
ing the ring again. He will run for the Provincial 
legislature this fall, just to keep his hand in, and then 
when the next Dominion election comes, he'll go in for 
that. He asked me, or I offered myself, to work for 
him. I want to learn the ropes. There's plenty of 
room for young men here, Ross likes the idea, too; 
Geers wrote him about it, and he told me to go ahead. 
Give me ten years, and I may do something. I under- 
stand it's the ozone in the air," he smiled deprecatingly, 
"but I find I really want to work out here." 

"The ozone in the hot air," said Lesley sceptically. 
"What do you really want to do ? Want to go to the 
Senate?" Her mind, on the practical side, had always 
been extraordinarily clear-cut and definite, and she 
sometimes marvelled at the powers of self-obfuscation 
displayed by the average person, 

"Do I want to join the Old Ladies' Home?" said 
Chan disgustedly. "No, I'd like to make a record for 
myself." 

"For yourself?" Lesley could mock charmingly. 
"Indeed, you were bom to be a politician." 

"What's the matter, little sour note?" he asked. 

"Am I detestable ?" She did not want to check his 
expansive mood. "I'll tell you, it's a reaction. I hear 
so much talk — and talk — and talk — you know, from 
our wildcat boomers, and everybody that's getting rich 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 85 

quick — and that's everybody but me — the Hundred 
Thousand Qub and the Canadian Qub and all the 
other self-appointed promoters, and it's all on the same 
note. Something for us — for me — right away — pros- 
perity — bring people in and get their money — grab it 
—quick — boom, boom, BOOM 1" She puffed out her 
cheeks and laughed. "And the politicians hear it even 
as far as Ottawa and thump it on their little drums, 
and then we all join the chorus again. What do we 
stand for — as Canadians ? Neither fish nor flesh ; we 
pretend to democratic institutions and issue proclama- 
tions beginning with statements about a 'Majesty by 
the Grace of God.' Have we got an idea, a real, 
whole, Canadian idea, to bless ourselves with ? When 
you were abroad, did any one know by your nation- 
ality whether you were an Eskimo or a Patagonian?" 

"Oh, I hope so," said Chan apologetically, but with 
a 8%ht twinkle in his eye. "I wonder, what ever 
made such a Radical of you ?" 

"Ignorance, perhaps," said Lesley cheerfully. "I 
am open to enlightenment. No, I think there are real 
causes. One is that fifteen years or less ago in this 
country, when we were all living in what I've read is 
the second stage of human progress, the pastoral stage 
— am I right?" 

'T believe so. Hunter, herdsman, farmer, and so 
on. You've read a good bit, haven't you?" 

"No, I haven't. That's probably why I remember 
what I did read. I was going to say, we were not 
only pastoral, but a pure democracy in our social rela- 
tions. Sometimes it makes me believe Henry George 
— that is, I might if I knew more about Henry George 
— because I think it was the way we held land that 
did it. We all had all the land there was, and no one 
could have more than one quarter section, at least not 
{easily. Just one homestead, you know. We were aU 



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86 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

rather poor, of course — but we were rather hapi^, 
too. Every one had an equal chance. And it does 
seem a strong argument for democracy that tliose 
who've experienced it demand it." 

"Yes, if renouncing it won't bring them prefer- 
ment," said Chan thoughtfully. "Any other reasons?" 

"The last Birthday list, perhaps," she laughed. "Or 
the spectacle of a' subsidised press. Or natural cussed- 
ness. I seem to feel that we're growing a land of 
crust that will hurt when it has to be peeled off; 
like a plaster cast." 

"So . , , that is quite true. Of course, we're a 
curious after effect of the American Revolution. The 
backwash of it spun our little craft around and left it 
in the trough of the sea. Without that, our own Re- 
bellion might have mounted to a revolution — we should 
have blazed a path ourselves. But we got the half 
loaf and ceased crying for bread." 

"Which Rebellion do you mean?" 

"Mackenzie's Rebellion; our histories give it a 
paragraph, but they don't mark the page. We had 
another, a moral and invisible rebellion when 
Lord Lome was put in his place for interfering 
with local politics as Governor-General. Aren't you 
unreasonable? We have all our liberties, and we be- 
long to the greatest Empire the world has ever seen." 

"You foi^t," she said, "that I haven't got all my 
liberties. And I think we are just a hundred years 
behind the times in clinging to a word like Empire. 
And I despise half loaves, and the eaters of broken 
bread." 

"Then," said Chan, "you know your I<^cal con- 
clusion ?" 

"Certainly," said Lesley. 

"You are too late, and too soon," said Chan. "In 
the sixties, England did everything but beat us over 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 87 

the heftd with an oar to make us get out of the boat — 
h looked overloaded and they were trying to heave 
ballast But we were impervious to hints, and stayed. 
Now it looks as if we could pay our passage, do you 
tfiink we ought to get out?" 

"Pay it and get out," returned Lesley. 

"You and I may both live fif^ years yet," said 
Chan. "Time for the tide to turn and re-turn. But 
I'd like to do something while I'm waiting." 

"Oh, go ahead, do things by all means. And to 
come down to cases, what do you propose to do to 
help Geers?" 

"Committee room work, drafting pamphlets — maybe 
a little sttunping. I was on my college debating team. 
Come out and hear my maiden speech. It's far enough 
off yet for you to prepare your mind in advance." 

"I wish I could," said Lesley. "But I shall be far 
away by then." 



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CHAPTER VIII 

GOING away?" Chan felt as if he had a per- 
sonal grievance; it seemed unnecessary that 
she should go away. He couldn't spare her. 
Not yet, anyway; not until he had found something 
to take her place, "Where are you going?" 

"To Montreal, to McGiII. I shall probably get only 
two years there, but it will serve. Then I'm going to 
begin to be a journalist. How impolite of you to have 
forgotten." 

"I didn't forget," he said blankly. "I didn't think 
it would be so soon, that's all. Do you know any one 
in Montreal ? McGill was my college ; I can write to 
people there to be nice to you." 

"I don't know a soul," she said gratefully. "I will 
take all the letters you can write." 

"And when ?" 

"Next month." She was rather sorry herself that 
he would not be there; by no means that she would 
not be here. The world was not so large but that 
people met again. "I shall read of your career. Per- 
haps some day I'll write of it," she laughed. "When 
we are both famous, we'll have dinner here again." 

"Never. Some indignant diner will bum it to the 
ground first. Well, I'm sorry. Wholl I talk to now?" 

"There are millions of girls," she said, but not teas- 
ingly. "I'm sorry, too. If I were staying I'd make 
you give me a course in Canadian history and politics. 
Why did we never talk about them before ? I never 
•tjspected you were so well informed." 

'I'm not, but I mean to be. Ross has it all at his 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 89 

6aga ends, though. He's very thorot^fa — and then 
he knows all the good old political warhorses of the 
lait generation — those of them that are left You 
know his father — my grandfather — helped underwrite 
the C. P. R., and knew Sir John A. MacDonald, the 
plausible old scamp, our tin hero, and Blake and Mac- 
kenzie and Cartwright and all the rest of 'em. I've often 
sat around and listened to their reminiscences myself, 
a few years ago, when several of them were still alive. 
It's the kind of thing that's interesting to a degree if 
you know the people concerned in it. And not other- 
wise. But I don't know but what I felt you were 
right; we haven't any especial significance to the rest 
of the world; so I didn't suppose it would be any- 
thing but a bore to you." 

"I told you I like people and things. That's why 
I'm going away," 

"It seems a kind of shame," mused Herrick, twirling 
his champagne glass in his fingers. "You were bom 
here — and there ought to be some share in all this for 
you. Why don't you come back here after college? 
This afternoon I think my imagination woke for the 
first time ; you phrased it all, but you put it in the past 
tense. Now it looks to me just as it did to you fifteen 
years ago. So much to work with — so big — so new. 
Can't you move up a notch ?" 

"Move the country up a notch for me," shrugged 
Lesley. "For women, I mean. I was bom disinher- 
ited, wasn't I? 'Women, and Indians, and lunatics,' 
my chivalrous and just country's laws mention. Do I 
get a foot of all this land ? Or a word of what's to 
be done with it? I do not. My brother does, not me. 
I get my head and my hands, and I'm going to take 
them and vanish without even saying thanks." 

"Is it the suffrage question annoys you ?" questioned 
Chan. 



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go THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Oh, not only that — everything. We're Tcny, to 
the bone, in our — our mental attitude, as well as in 
most of our common law. Spoils and place and priv- 
il^e — for money over men — party over priaciple — 
men over women. It suffocates me." She looked 
like a runner straining for the race, her curious flecked 
eyes almost black by reason of the enlat^ed puinls, 
her fine nostrils quivering. 

"Well, I'd hardly go so far. There's a fair chance 
for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, I should 
say. You just commented on the wisdom of the 
fathers in dealing with the land here." 

"The land will all be gone some day. And there's 
always a fair chance for — the lucky ones I Anywhere, 
any time. . . . Chan, we've been here for hours, 
and i positively must go home and do some sewing. 
The trousseau for my career 1" 

She put on her shabby gloves ; Chan paid the bill, 
and they moved toward the door. Lesley, craning 
her neck at a mirror as she passed, did not notice 
Addison standing near the cashier's desk, quite evi- 
dently waiting for her with a fine young thunderck>ud 
on his brow. 

"Good evening," he said. 

She frowned by instinct, stirred antagonistically by 
his mere tone; then smiled unexpectedly. "Thank 
you," she said, sotto voce, and was for going by. But 
he meant to stop her. She seemed to grow taller, met 
his eyes squarely, beat his glance down, and passed 
him like an empress. 

"That man," said Chan profotmdiy, when they had 
reached the street, "doesn't like my necktie, nor the 
way I part my hair. I met him once, but I diiok he 
fot^ot Am I impertinent in mentionit^^ him? And 
does he ever annoy you Y" 

"He annoys me with flowers," gurgled Lesley. 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHA13DW RIDERS 91 

*^0U know how annoying flowers are? But I like 
him. Dtm't kill him, please." 

"Very well," said Chan. "He wore 3 green plush 
hat; I'U let him live and suffer. Do you like red 
roses especially?" 

He sent her some himself the next day, without 
thinking much about it, then or after. He could 
fancy her dealing very competently with any man who 
annoyed her too much. And he had a feeling of being 
let into her confidence in this matter, which was not 
at all the same feeling Amy Cranston gave him. . , . 
He sent Mrs. Cranston violets, and more chocolates, of 
which she seemed able to consume incredible quan- 
tities for all her thinness. 

Lesley had stated the case fairly enough, about Jack 
Addison. He was persistent, but merely wishing to 
see her could hardly be construed into an offence, and 
she never did see him, so his offending took no other 
form. How could it ? Sometimes, anyway, he forgot 
her apparently for quite weeks at a time, which was 
a relief. It probably meant some other woman, for 
his brief and ardent affairs were a joke. But then 
something would bring Lesley to his mind again, and 
he took up the thread with renewed vigour. Now for 
two weeks he had been besieging her, even waylaying 
her on the street. But he was trained in the con- 
ventions, and she could always dispose of him on 
the street. He said he had some special reason for 
wantii^ to see her now, but he had tried that ruse just 
once before, and she was wary. In a day or two more 
he would probably be off on some fresh scent, she 
thought 

And in the very bottom of her heart she did like 
him, if only because her human and feminine ego took 
its required nourishment from his inconvenient devo- 
tion. Every woman wants, and should have, her share 



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92 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

of masculine adulation; the need of it is merdy a 
phase of adolescence, but unsatisfied it leaves a blank 
and chilly memory, a dead spot in the soul. To be 
undesired is a blight to the emotional life; and the 
emotional life is as important in its way as the intel- 
lectual side. Lesley had not been altogether undesired, 
even before she left home, but familiarity had bred 
contempt in her. The approaches of neighbouring 
young ranchers, or the clerks and mechanics of Mac- 
leod, had left her exceedingly cold. She had got a 
shadowy ideal of a man out of books and her own 
imagination; and he was not like these. It would 
have been easy to have deceived her ; it is always 
easier to know the true than to detect the false. But 
no plausible villains had appeared, probably because 
there are none outside of Laura Jean Libbey's novels. 
It was really finish she wanted, unerringly asking for 
the one thing her own milieu couldn't supply. There 
was not a grain of the snob in her ; she could honestly 
lau^ at social distinctions ; she only wanted a match 
for her own innate daintiness and delicacy ; she want- 
ed ease of manner, and culture. Not an unworthy 
aspiration. And she thought, as most proud girls will 
think, that she would easily reconcile herself to never 
marrying at all if her knight never sought her out, or 
did not exist. Chan's friendship gave her courage, 
just as Jack Addison's pursuit fed her necessary wom- 
an's vanity. Altogether, she was in a fit mood now 
to go out and conquer. So for a fortnight she car- 
ried her head in the air and prepared for departure. 

She had to see Chan less because of that. He found 
himself always missing her now, arriving and finding 
her not yet home — and Mrs. Cranston to tell him so. 
One wedc end she went down to Macleod, to the ranch. 
From force of habit he rang the bell next door that- 
evening before he retnembered Lesley was not there. 



ovGoogIc 



THE SHADOW RTOERS 93 

, . . His restlessness mounted steadily h^jfaer be- 
cause of the break in his habits. He missed the men 
he had used to know ; old memories rose and crowded 
on his mind, ghosts of his careless days, things he had 
mshed to foi^et. The melancholy of approaching 
winter seized hiia And yet masculine companionship 
seemed singularly incomplete, did not make all his 
memories. 

But he did not think of Lesley tenderly, in one sense 
of the word. She had such a definite place in his 
mind it would have required a shock to dislodge her 
from it. When he did see her they talked about her 
going away, and he told her about Montreal, and won- 
dered if Ross could not help her in some way when 
she got there. He wrote Ross about it, and got a 
cordial letter in reply. Ross did not mean to be in 
Montreal the first part of the winter. He was coming 
West first, and then would be in New York a good 
deal, and might run over to London. Ross had some^ 
thing to talk over with Chan when he came. 

Lesley had no time to think of whether she missed 
Chan, or would miss him. She laughed at herself for 
being so exultant over things yet unaccomplished, but 
sometimes when she rose in the morning she would 
fling out her arms as if to embrace the whole world. 
Her spirit escaped from the little room to encompass 
the world and find it good. Amy Cranston's self* 
satisfied slyness, never so apparent, went unnoticed. 
Lesley even relented toward Jack Addison. He could 
not follow where she was going I 

He telephoned, when she reached home after dinii^ 
with Chan. She knew who it would prove to be, but 
did not feel annoyed ; she laughed into the telephone, 
thinking of his green plush hat, and Chan's absurdity. 
Chan was in the sitting room, and Mrs. Cranston had 
come down; they were talking. 



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94- THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Hello. . . . Yes, I know who is tatktng," said 
Lesley. Addison heard her la1^^hter ; she. had never 
spoken to him so softly before. But she could not 
know how his heart jumped at the sound. In some 
^ays she underestimated Jack Addison, 

"I want to see you," he said. 

"Sorry, but I'm not receiving to-night" 

"You can see that Herrick pup," he flared. 

"If you only want to be rude," said Lesley coldly, 
"talk to some one who is obliged to listen to you " 

"No, no ; I beg your pardon. Lesley, please, don't 
be brutal. I tried to be decent to you ; I only wanted 
to be your friend. And you're going away " 

"How do you know that ?" she cried. 

"I was in the next box to you to-night." 

"Oh." She thoiight perhaps she ou^t to be of- 
fended — and would have been, could she have remem- 
bered anything in her conversation with Chan that 
should not have been overheard. All human motives 
are mixed. 

"Yes. I couldn't help hearii^; I was there first" 
Perhaps he had been. "Aren't you gott^ to see me 
just once before you go? I think I deserve that" 

Oh, well, what did it matter? 

"I don't think I can," she temporised with the 
temptation to use her moment's sovereignty, just for 
a moment. 

"Oh, yes, you can. Let me come over to-morrow 

Mot with Amy Cranston to watch and wonder and 
come into the room casually to find out who it was. 
Amy did not know yet. 

"No. You can't come. . . . Telephone me to- 
morrow at the office — no, next Tuesday; I forgot 
to-morrow's Sunday, and I shall be busy till then. 
If you telephone me before then, I won't see you. 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 95 

Good-night." Whatever else he might have said bene- 
fited no one, unless a listening Central. 

"Why didn't you tell him to come over, and make 
four?" asked Mrs. Cranston, as Lesley reappeared 
in the sitting-room. 

"Because I didn't want to," replied Lesley shortly. 
Amy did jar. Lesley began walking about the room, 
pacing up and down with her chin in the air in total 
disr^;ard of manners. Chan had ceased to be a 
guest, to her, 

"O, saw ye bonny Lesley?" he began to slt^, in 
an agreeable light baritone. "Good-bye, Lesley, you're 
gone already." 

"Oh, I can't be still," she said apologetically. Now 
she had told him, she did feel that she had gone 
already. That was how it happened that the quietness 
he had drawn from her earlier in the evening, at din- 
ner, vanished so soon, and left htm at the mercy of 
his own untamed impulses. 

They ended the evening with a kind of romp, the 
first time they had ever so relaxed; for he rose and 
began pacing with her, mocking her step with his 
loi^^r stride, and when to save her dignity she turned 
on him, he bowed and asked her for a dance, and 
made her waltz about the table with him, whistling the 
air. Then he had to take Mrs. Cranston, and Lesley 
vent into the dining-room and pounded out music of 
sorts on the upright ptano, for which there was not 
space in the sitting-room. She had her back to them; 
and he had Mrs. Cranston in his arms, with her hair 
against his cheek, her hand slipped under his arm, 
pressing it closer. And Mrs. Cranston was speaking 
to him in a warm, muted undertone. . , . 

"I only know three bars of that," Lesley called 
r^retfully, and ended. "You see, I only had three 
lessons. So sorry." She came back. Chan was glad. 



ovCiooglc 



96 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Or he tboufi^ he was glad. . . . He went htune, 
and slept ill. 

So a little time passed, until the evening he found 
Lesley, alone in front of the cold fireplace, weeping 
over a crumpled letter. 



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CHAPTER IX 

MRS. CRANSTON was out Chan knew she 
would be out Her husband was in town, 
and they had gone to a moving picture 
theatre. . . . She had told Chan herself, carefully, 
in advance. And he waited until he saw them leaving, 
which was not exactly what Mrs. Cranston had in 
mind. Then he walked in without ringing, meaning 
to play some foolish game of surprise on Lesley, out 
of an overflow of spirits, of that continued restless- 
ness. So he found her. 

"Oh," she said, jumping to her feet, with a little 
gasping sob. Even weeping had not reddened her 
white skin ; only her eyes looked heavy and very dark, 
swimming with tears. Sorrow is not unbecoming to 
a young girl. 

"For God's sake," he said, astonished — one never 
thought of Lesley and tears — ^"what's the matter, my 
dear girl?" 

"I — I'm not going to collie," she said. "There, 
you see how selfish I am, to think of tfiat first My 
mother " She choked ^^in. 

"She's not dead F" He felt almost as if a personal 
loss impended. 

"No, no. But she's sick; you know she's never been 
strong. She has rheumatic fever, and her heart isn't 
good. And winter's coming on, and it will be too 
cold for her. She must go to California, or some- 
where." She looked about vaguely. 

"Yes, of course. But she'll get better, I'm sure." 



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98 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

In his experience, sending peo[Je to California was 
simple enot^. 

"Of course she will." There was more defiance 
than confidence in the assertion. "The doctor says 
so. Itll be lones4Hne for her, though." She wept 
i^in. 

"Lesley, you mustn't worry." He took her soppii^f 
handkerchief from her and gave her his own. It was 
not the first time he had seen a woman cry. But it 
touched him no less for that. "Don't ; your mother 
will be all right. If the doctor said so " 

"I know." But she kept her face hidden, and her 
shoulders shook. "I'm a selfish pig. I — I — — " 

"Selfish? I don't see that." He really did not un- 
derstand. 

"Because I can't go to college now." She lifted 
her face and looked at him, as if expecting to see him 
disgusted. "You sec, I am a pig. I'm so — disap- 
pointed — it's the third — time " 

"You'll have to go with her, of course." 

"I can't do that either," she cried in exasperation 
and renewed grief. "We can't afford it I just — 
can't — do anything — but stay here " 

"Poor kiddie r He simply had not thought of that. 
He put his arm about her shoulder and drew her to 
the sofa. "It's tough. But it may not be so bad; 
we may think of something " 

"No, there isn't any chance. When I can save 
enough again it will be too late." Stony despair sat 
on her features ; then two great tears balanced on her 
thick lashes a moment before they fell. "Oh, I do 
care about my mother, Chan, I dot I don't grudge 
her anything ; it's for her, too. She isn't strong ; and 
I wanted her to see me succeed — I wanted " 

"Lesley, dear I" He dried her eyes and held her 
close, with no emotion but the most generous sytof 



ovGooglc 



THE SHAiDOW RIDERS 99 

patlty. He was r^ecting that he bad a little money 
yet of his own, but it was no time to speak of material 
help. Lesley was proud ; he must be tactful and coax 
her around gradually. She should have her college, 
and her career — if he had to manufacture a relative 
of hers and then mercilessly slay him for the sake of 
a Ic^cy, still in imf^nation. Let him think it over. 
... A little time. . . . He smoothed her hair 
with his strong, deft hand. . . . "Poor child, don't 
cry any more just now ; don't, dear." She was quieter, 
in his arms, hiding her face against his coat, with his 
handkerchief. His touch on her hair gave her the 
feeling of a cat being stroked. The nape of her neck 
was delicious, so creamy white at the edge of her dark 
hair. And then when she lifted her face again, blink- 
ing her wet lashes, trying to smile, he kissed her. . . . 

Because he was sorry for her, and because she was 
at the flowering age of girlhood, which invites kisses 
as naturally as a flower invites one to smell its fra- 
grance. He kissed her because she was a girl — ^not be- 
cause she was a woman who drew him above all others. 
There are true kisses of consolation. 

A faint tremor touched her ; she looked at hlra with 
parted lips, as if she would speak. But she was silent, 
and hid her face again. There was a singing in her 
ears that was like a spring torrent; she thought he 
must hear her heart beating. He smoothed her hair 
again, and let her rest. . . . 

"Better now, dear?" he asked softly. 

He had not heard. ... ' 

"Better now," her voice came back, very muffled 
and small. Then she drew away from him gently and 
decisively. 

He let her go. 

With a violent inward effort she controlled herself. 
She felt light, ^ddy, lacking the Arm support of his 



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100 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

shoulder. And there was an emptiness in her bosom. 
Lesley had never deceived herself intentionally. She 
did not now. She knew. . . . And she knew he did 
not know. . . . Without seeming to look at him, she 
saw nothing else; in the minutest detail, the crisp, 
upcurling crest of his close^ut brown hair, the nar- 
row edge of white below it, where his hat brim was 
wont to keep off the sun, his pugnacious jaw, with its 
clean line from chin to ear, his merry, anxious, dark 
grey eyes, the whites of them so dear one looked 
again to meet his gaze with unconscious pleasure, 
even his clothes, a grey tweed suit, that still had the 
smell of peatsmoke, tan shoes, a narrow green tie, 
were all dear to her. Her cheek still felt the roug^i- 
ness of his coat, and she smelled the heather and 
smoke. Her senses rebelled against her will, and 
though she retained command, for a sweet and terri- 
ble moment she couM feel her inner self bend and 
sway toward him like a reed in the wind. It cost her 
e sharp, sickening pang to rise, and move away from 
him a step. . . . For a long, long time afterward she 
could feel that pain again when she remembered, for 
it seemed as if she had then lost something out of 
her life that would never come again with quite the 
same power, the same promise of completeness and 
del^ht 

All he saw was that her mouth set bard for a 
moment, the short pink upper lip losing its latching 
tih; and her hands, so lax and helpless in her lap, 
shut determinedly. She had grit, he knew ; she was 
not going to cry any more, thoi^h the shuddering of 
her bosom, subdued at last with a long breath, gave 
him another impulse to take her in his arms and quiet 
her. It was not a woman he had held, but a friend. 
He was capable of that, and had risen to it. Poor 
Lesley ! There was hateful irony in the fact that his 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS lOX 

senses had never been more quiescent in his life, be- 
cause he had been thinking only of her. 

"Won't you sit down j^in?" he begged her, for 
lack of some other word of sympathy. 

"Oh, I . . ," It was difficult yet to 6nd words 
stifiiciently meaningless. "No— don't mind me, please. 
m be — all right — now." She listened to herself in a 
detached way at first, then a quick revulsion came over 
her, a feeling of safety because of what she had not 
said nor done. Her mind grew very clear and calm. 
"How silly I've been," she said. "Do forgive me; I 
felt quite Scriptural, and just had to weep on some 
one's neck. I've raised several blisters on your nice 
clean collar, but then I'm sure you have millions of 
collars. . . ," 

"All at your disposal," he said. She was not de- 
ceiving him, but he liked her for trying. Yet he did 
not want her to think he thought it amusing. "You do 
know I'm sorry, don't you, Lesley? You know I'd 
like to help you ?" He took her hands, and she felt 
comforted, and still strong; he armoured her against 
herself. Since he could not feel, it was immensely 
good of htm not to see either. She leaned back, hold- 
ing by his hands, and laughing, as if they were playing 
"Ring around a rosy." 

"Yes, I do know. Thank you. I'll talk about it 
pretty soon, and get it all off my mind, but now— 
Listen, I think the baby's cryingl" 

A little tentative wail, the waking cry of a child, 
came to them. 

"ni go and get her," said Lesley, glad of the 
diversion, for with two things she did not want to 
talk about for the moment, the topics of conversation 
seemed singularly limited. She came downstairs again 
immediately, with the child in her arms. She never 
looked better than this, her tall, round figure poised 



ovCiooglc 



102 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

to cany the soft burden, her head bent over it Mrs. 
Cranston's baby, a little girl named Eve, was not yet 
a year oM ; she had not learned to walk, but she had 
the most engaging manners, and her silky eyelashes 
alone would have given her a claim to be considered a 
pretty child. She ogled Chan in a manner so femi- 
nine that they must both laugh, and then produced 
two dimples, showing as many tiny pearly teeth, and 
gurgled at him. She knew him by sight ; and royalty 
itself is not more gracious in the act of recogniticm 
than infancy. 

"She does know you," said Lesley. "Little rogue — 
no, mnstn't suck her darling thumb. If you please, 
Chan, she wants your watch fob. She does not want 
to go to you ; it's your money she loves ; I'll show you." 
They sat on the sofa side by side, and Eve lunged at 
the watch fob with one hand and clung to Lesley with 
the other. 

"She's a bit like her mother," said Chan, and had 
the grace to colour faintly, though he knew Lesley 
could not know what he meant. 

"Do you think so ?" Lesley had a real affection for 
Eve, and refused to see the resemblance, though it 
existed, an innocent resemblance. If Mrs, Cranston 
had known it, she might have adorned herself with 
her child's charm. But thou^ she really was fond of 
the baby, and did not neglect it, she wanted some time 
free of the thought of maternity. 

"Eve hasn't any troubles, has she?" Lesley smiled. 
1 wonder if shell spoil people's collars some time, 
and make her funny nose red crying for the moon ?" 
It seemed a little as if it had been the moon she 
cried for, already, to Lesley ; the matter grew remote, 
and altogether of less consequence. Perhaps because 
Chan was sitting beside her. She did not have to 
leave him, at least Would he ever. . . . With a 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS IQ3 

mental jerie, she dosed the shutters again oa specula- 
tion. 

"Oh, I suppose so, we all do," said Chan com- 
fortably. 

"Did yoa, ever?" 

He thought a moment. "No, I haven't yet" 

"But you will some day," said Lesley, her eyes 
dosed. Knowledge lay in ^at darkened chamber of 
her brain; things of the future. It crowded on ber, 
and she repulsed it. 

They talked at Ust of her spoiled plans, and of 
her one alternative. "But I don't want to think 
of it to-night," she pleaded. "I feel as if I must have 
a rest ; and I've got my mother to think of first I 
must make arrangements right away for ber to go 
South." 

She had already enquired about rates to various 
points. Chan recommended Pasadena. He had been 
in California for a winter, and insisted on wiring en- 
quiries to hotels and agencies he knew there. 

"You've been everywhere, haven't you?" Lesley 
said enviously. "Lucky you." 

T have had a lot," he said, though he had never 
realised it before. Lesley's tears had cleared bis vision. 
And be was still determined to help her, though it did 
not seem quite time to speak, and he said good-oight 
without broaching the question to her. 

Lesley, sitting in her room after he had gone, still 
holding Eve, rosily asleep again, as if she nursed 
her vanished hopes, felt quiescent, in such a calm 
as may be found in the heart of a storm. She would 
not think, for fear of sunimoning undesired that 
strange percipience, and seeing something it was bet- 
ter not to know yet. Sufficient unto the day had been 
the evil thereof. To wait a little before stripling 
any more was all she asked. When Mrs. Cranston 



ovGooglc 



104 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

came home, pouting and yawning over a dull play, 
and took Eve perfunctorily to her crib, Lesley went 
to bed, closed her eyes on the grateful dark, and 
slept as quietly as Eve. She had had a full day, 
and it was finished. The double shock had reacted 
on itself, and was spent. And there was still 
Chan. . . . 

There was also Jack Addison. He got short shrift, 
and none of Lesley's society. She sent him word she 
would be busy, and why. Thereon he remembered, 
and when her mother arrived, sent flowers, and a 
hodge-podge basket of fruit, for her to take to the 
train. It melted Lesley's heart toward him, and she 
decided later she would see him long enough to thank 
him. 

Chan also made himself practically useful by attend- 
ing to tickets and reservations and tippii^ railway 
porters in advance, and loading Mrs. Johns with Cali- 
fornia literature and directions. Mrs. Johns was small 
and shy, with the remains of a Scotch burr on her 
tongue, gained from her own mother. Her thin face 
was tanned, and her hazel eyes seemed faded from 
long gazing over wide sunny surfaces. Years of 
prairie exile, before many neighbours had come near 
the ranch, made her unready of speech, but her na- 
tive simplicity and the hospitality the West once en- 
forced on its people gave her a kind of graciousness 
of manner that kept her from being ever ill at ease. 
She never spoke much of her illness ; she had been 
so long a mother her own pains did not seem to mat- 
ter much. 

Chan won her heart. "He's such a nice boy; he 
reminds me of Dick," she told Lesley, as they were 
preparing for bed, the night she spent at Mrs. Cran- 
ston's before taking train. Lesley refrained from 
expressing any amusement Dick was a nice bc^; 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 105 

they did have that in common, if nothing else^ She 
merely hugged her mother, and kissed her soft, faded 
cheek. Later she rubbed both cheeks with cold cream, 
and did her mother's hair in curl-papers, and lathed 
with moist eyes. When she was a child, she had 
made a game of such things; her mother did not 
tmderstand, but submitted to her ministrations with 
me]q>liaible pleasure. But to Lesley, her mother was 
a qaeeo, and she a maid of honour. She had got this, 
at the age of ten, out of some old romantic novel; 
and it had for years after that been her favourite play 
drama. She used to pin on an old skirt of her 
mother's, take a feather duster for a fan, and walk 
in such quaint grandeur as only a child can imagine. 
She did not revive that part of the play now, for 
this was a play on a play, pretending again what had 
never been anything but a child's pretence ; and there 
was some feeling of irony in her mind, but not toward 
tier mother. She only wondered if her mother had 
never had any impossible dreams as a girl ; if her life 
had satisfied her. Was it really enough? She did 
not ask. Mrs. Johns, after one gently amused glance 
at herself in the mirror, shiny with cold cream and 
BUimounted by a coronet of curl-papers, waited untU 
Lesley had got into her high-necked cotton nightdress, 
and then drew her down to her knees. 

"Sit here on my lap, little daughter, and let me 
rock you," she said. 

"Oh, mammy, I'll just squash youl" Lesley pro- 
tested. "I'm twice as heavy as you." 

"You couldn't be heavy to me," her mother said, 
and truly her bosom seemed wide enough, and her 
arms enfolded her girl amply. 

Perhaps it was enou^I Lesley, sitting lightly, 
resting her weight on the arm of the wooden rocker, 
warmed in the breast that bad nourished ber, felt 



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io6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

drugged into a strange peace. It was as if slie sav 
herself asleep, and wondered when she would wake. 
The enigma of the elder generation content in the 
younger that is not content was unsolved, but she 
could not contend with it now. 

Nor, for a time after her mother had gone Soutfi, 
did she spend herself on any problem. There seemed 
nothing left of her to spend. She was not exactly 
tired ; she was simply balked. Ambition, gone lame, 
rested in the shafts. 



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CHAPTER X 

IN the period that followed Lesley, because she bad 
teraporarily abandoned initiative action, had a 
feeling that nobody was doing anything anywhere. 
Her world drifted, spun about in the briefest circle 
rattier, but made no headway. Yet under the surface 
motive powers were gathering, casual things happening 
which later m^ht become significant. It might be we 
could all control destiny if we knew any more of cause 
and effect than that they exist. But one heedless word, 
spoken at the critical moment, can loose an Alpine ava- 
lanche, quite literally. The seed of an oak, dr<q>ped 
from a tomtit's beak, may sprout and in time to[^le a 
palace wall. Who shall foresee either event P 

Perhaps nothing so momentous occurs in the span of 
any purely private life. Yet we are all immensely im- 
portant to ourselves. 

Qun put off speaking to Lesley about his wish to 
help her, because he did not have much left of his own 
money, and that little was tied up. It was necessary 
to get his hands on it; he hated indefinite promises 
and offers. In the meantime he found no difference In 
her; was not eveq sure that she cared greatly for what 
she was losing. One evening while they talked and 
read before the grate — it was suddenly established as 
a custom that he bring her books, which they read to- 
gether, and discussed afterward — she leaned forward 
to poke the fire absently, looking at him the while with 
her dark bright glance. He saw her jtunp and her 
body tauten. 

"It's nothing," she said immediately. "The coal 



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lo8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

dropped — it startled nte. What were you saying?" 
And she went on, talking in her fluty abrupt expressive 
voice, laughing and eager, apparently absorbed in his 
description of Westminster, the old grey mother of 
Parliaments. They had been reading Morley on Wal- 
pole, and she had a way of using Gian for commentary 
on such things, making him supply the jnise-en-scene 
if he chanced to be familiar with it. Facts seemed 
more impressive to her understanding if she could 
reconstruct surroundings, even at second hand. Her 
hungry mind constantly astonished Chan, who had 
known learning as a handmaiden, not a goddess who 
was somewhat cold and difficult of access, healey 
drank up knowledge like a dry sponge taking up water. 

When she stood up to bid him good-n^ht, and faced 
him directly, he saw the long red mark of a bum on 
her forearm. It had accidentally touched the grate, 
because she had not been looking. 

Of course, that was the way she took things. . . . 
The next day he wired and tried to hasten his liquida- 
tion. 

They read political memoirs and treatises a good 
deal because Qian was drafting some leaflets and arti- 
cles on Geers' behalf for the approaching contest A 
small political crisis impended in Edmonton over the 
treatment the Province had received from the Domin- 
ion government in the matter of Crown lands and other 
rights. This question was not new ; it dated back ten 
years or so, to the time when Alberta had been erected 
to the status of a province from the tutelage of a mere 
territorialship ; but it had been revived suddenly by 
certain large grants and concessions to companies easily 
to be known as backed by political favourites from 
Ottawa. The Premier of Alberta did not escape scath- 
less. He had blood ties with the most "successful" 
politician, financially, of recent times, a man who in 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS loj 

seven or d^lit years had become a tnulti-milUonaire 
while — retnaricable coincidence I — he occupied the c^Bce 
of Minister of the Interior. All this meant a dissolu- 
tion and a new provincial election, undoubtedly, by 
the new year. There was just a chance for the puny 
OjqKtsition to grow fat on their enemies' misdoii^s. 
The history of politics is mainly a series of mistakes 
an(! dishonesty turned to profit by an opposite party, 
with di^ust serving the people for high motive, and 
blind indignation for clear thinking. 

Geers and Herrick, in an unofficial half hour, rather 
cynically canvassed that aspect of the contest 

"I don't think they'll beat us," said Geers thought- 
fully. "This isn't enough; we have too much of a 
lead now." It was his party was in. 

"We are too prosperous," s»d Chan, thinking along 
his own lines. "A people as prosperous as we are now 
don't mind graft Prosperity's fat; it cushions and 
deadens the sensitive nerve centres. Besides, Canada's 
inured to graft . . , Wait till there's not enough to 
go round, though — oh, quite a few years from now. 
It's amazing how conscience gets up and roars in the 
lean years, eh I" 

"It's got to stop before them," said Geers with sud- 
den heat, as if touched on a personal point "We've 
got to clean house — and we will, if I have any in- 
fluence. But do you suppose the Conservatives 
wouldn't do just the same thing? And they would 
come into office hungry. They wouldn't get the public 
lands back, either. That's only bait for the unthink- 
ing; if we can't get them — and I mean to try — while 
our own party is in at Ottawa, how could they ? It's 
just talk." 

"The public lands will never be recaptured," said 
Chan laughing, "they are much more irrecoverable than 
the thrush's song. Worth more. Why don't you get 



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no THE SHADOW RIDERS 

tip and say all this oa the hustii^? 111 get to work 
on a pamphlet on it to>night. . . ." 

Gem for half a second took him seriously; he had 
that type of stow moving mind whidi sees everythii^ 
literally at first glance. 

"It would be fatal," he said earnestly, and then, 
recovering himself: "No, one can't tell the pubUc 
everything. But just the same this flagrant looting has 
got to be stopped. It m^ht not be a bad thing for us 
to have a stronger Opposition ; it would certainly help 
to dean out the party. A free hand is a strong 
temptation." 

"You may not need to pray to be delivered from 
that," said Gian. "But I agree with you ; that Oppo- 
sition certainly n^lected its duty. To let your party 
get so blamed rotten they hardly dare face the electors I 
It was their business to keep you — us, if I may — 
straight Couldn't I say that, at least? 

"But isn't that the virtue of the parQr system 1" said 
Geers, refusing to smile, perhaps a trifle flushed. He 
liad some sensitive spots left, and he took his career 
seriously. Chan had no career, as yet, to render him 
equally vulnerable. 

"Checks and balances," Geers continued. "... But 
we've got to do better. Even if we can't make a clean 
sweep. It's there ; you've got to reckon with it. All 
our biggest men have had to concede something to it 
How are you going to hold a party tc^^ether?" 

"The measure of our g;reat men, in a sentence," said 
Chan softly. "And of us — principles wouldn't hold 
us together, would they? But untortimately there's 
no other party to belong to. The Conservatives are 
jtist a vast negative. Their history is equally odorifer- 
ous. And one feels so foolish flocking akme." 

"That's it," said Geers warmly. "The Conservatives 
were worse, when they were in ofllce." 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS m 

"Oh, why go so far back?" asked Chan, his eyes 
twinkling. 

"But you can't deny the Liberals have made Canada 
what it is," said Ge«rs. "Why, with all our enormous 
natural resources, we were losing steadily, until 1896," 

"Of course," said Chan. He did not want to offend 
Geers, whom he liked. The man was sincere, within 
his limitations he was desperately sincere, and Chan 
sometimes had to conceal a smile at his glowing faith 
in certain shibboleths and war cries. Chan himself did 
not believe that any party had the power of a Joshua, 
to make the sun stand still or stop shining, or stop 
certain great folk movements such as had gradually 
filled the United States and overflowed into Canada, 
within the last generation. But he wanted to work, 
he wanted to take a full part in the life of his country, 
and his mental make-up doomed him to be a Liberal, 
an affirmative. 

It may have been the atmosphere he had been ab- 
sorbing in committee rooms that kept him from feeling 
any surprise or idealistic repugnance, when Ross re- 
turned and unfolded definitely the object of his visit, 
Ross never minced words. Only, if he did not want to 
tell a thing, he absolutely did not tell it. In this case, 
it was what he had coax for. 

Ross returned in October, and was delighted with 
the change in Chan. The youth was made over, subtly 
hardened. It was an inward adjustment that corre- 
sponded with a slight physical alteration. His face had 
not r^ained its boyish contour, quite; and the tan 
seemed bitten in permanently, no mere summer's coat- 
ing on youth's fresh cheek. And he was alert, though 
chagrined that Whittemore's purpose had not occurred 
to him months before. 

"Of course, a street railway. Only Ic^cal develop- 
ment of an electric plant," be said disgustedly. They 



ovCiooglc 



113 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

were smoking peacefully in Chan's own room ; Whitte- 
more had dodged a dozen invitations, and left the hotel 
purposely, that he and Chan mig^ht not be disturbed. 
He looked very well himself. To be busy agreed with 
him, and he had been busy, and successful All the 
money he needed was now pledged, by important men, 
men with their hands on all the remote political strings 
and with influences that extended and ramified indeii- 
nitely. He had secured his outlying defences ; he need 
expect nothing now but local opposition. That he did 
expect 

"Yes, it's k^cal enough," he said. "But logical 
things are generally the hardest to pull off. I've had 
soundings made, and we can look for difficulties. 
They'll want to build it themselves." 

"I haven't heard it mooted," objected Chan. 

"Because, while it's not too soon for us, it's too soon 
for the city. Their borrowing power won't stretch 
far enough ; and they'll ask for delay. It's our business 
to make delay seem criminal, wasteful. And — I think 
I've already spiked their guns as far as getting their 
credit legally extended for some time to come is con- 
cerned." 

"Yes." Chan was obviously listening. 

"Well, then, there remains to win over the needed 
majority here. The mayor we can carry if we can 
secure a majority of the council ; he's standpat anyway, 
doesn't care for innovations, public ownership, and all 
that. Calls himself a practical man. We've got one 
of the newspapers — the Recorder. The owner will 
have some stock. There are two men here for you 
to woric with — one, rather, and he'll deal with the 
other. That one's Burrage, and he and a chap named 
Addison" — Chan decided there was only one Addison 
— "can wield a lot of influence for us, in a decidedly 
undeiiground way. Do you know Addison? Real 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 113 

estate. He has just got his hands on aome suhurban 
property that a carline would boom. Hell let the 
right people into it — Verbum sap." 

"How simple," said Chan feelingly. "I thot^ht you 
were going to let me do something for you here?" 

"I am. You've got to be my eyes and ears, my amt 
damnie. We're lunching with Butrage to-morrow. 
We shall have to have a company reorganisation. I 
expect to be here at least a montfi." 

"Going to reoiKanise? Why not a separate com- 
pany?" 

"I never liked that way of doing things, dividing in- 
terests," said Whittemore deddedly. "It gives too 
good an opportunity for wrecking the business, playing 
one end against the other. We just want a reorganisa- 
tion, and a blanket charter. Geers will attend to our 
new incorporation papers. We shall have a busy 
week." 

They did have a busy week, and Chan saw very little 
of Lesley. She was out several evenings, though Mrs. 
Cranston was not. The rest of the time he found 
himself occupied. He and Ross renewed old com- 
panionship. For a few years after Chan left college 
they had been no more than young men together; 
friendship held them as close as blood. Chan wanted 
to hear all the trifling news of home — so much of home 
as he had had since he was ten. He had not been gone 
a year, but distance aided time. His decision to remain 
made Montreal and Quebec seem definitely of the past. 
However that, they shattered the fable that men do 
not gossip, and Chan got an earful. Already some of 
the pretty girls he had admired were married, others 
engaged; one indeed was dead; some of his men 
friends had scattered, others planned a near hegira. 
It seemed strange, for he had shared Lesley's late de- 
lusion, that while he sbxtd still nothing else could be 



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114 THE SHABOW RIDERS 

going forward. But Whittemore saw that he had not 

stood still. 

"Do }rou really like it?" he asked, watching Chan 
closely. They had got a few hours to themselves, and 
had diosen to go motoring, circling the town as they 
returned. Indian Summer enwrapped them, though 
snow had fallen a week before, a little flirtatious stonn. 
The endless prairie wind had forgotten to blow for an 
hour of mid-aftemoon. 

"Yes, I think I do," said Chan. "It's ugly enot^:h" 
— he looked at the city sprawling in all its dusty naked- 
ness before them ; the square boxes of houses, flimsy, 
hasty, unapologetic ; the treeless streets; the crassly 
utilitarian business section, still showing shops with 
false wooden fronts masquerading as two stories when 
they were but one, unabashed beside one or two square 
grey stone oflice buildings ; the plucked looking square 
that courtesy dubbed a park — and the new residential 
section, nearest them, all jigsaw horrors and imitation 
bungalows climbing the hill they were about to descend. 
"Oh, it's a camp," said Chan again thoughtfully. "All 
this will go some day, every stick of it" He included 
the bungalows and layer-cake dwellings of the newly 
rich and great. "I suppose the first generation never 
really builds, does it? It only takes possession and 
runs up its flag. But the mere growth is rather stimu- 
lating. It's alive. And, begging Schopenhauer's par- 
don, that's the ultimate good." 

"I thought it would get you," said Whittemore. 
"Don't let it go to your head." Chan looked at him, 
and mounted a warmer tan. Whittemore smiled. 
"Nothing personal. But you know most people don't 
know the difference between being busy and acoint- 
plishing something." 

"Touch£," said Chan. "I have been feeling like a 
man of a£hirs. Oh, very important! Hope youll 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 115 

come around every once in a while and restore my 
sense of proportion." They were well within the town 
by now. Whittemore waved his hand at a house thqr 
passed, a big blind ugly grey-stone pile with large 
grounds and glistening greenhouses that looked in- 
curably commerdaL Nothing of it fitted the surround- 
ings ; it might have been created by an earthquake, a 
tidy earthquake. 

"Just k>6k at that," said Ross gravely, "and remem- 
ber your own phrase about the ultimate good, when 
you feel yourself slii^ng. But I shan't be far away. 
As a matter of fact, I think 111 buy the Chatfield 
ranch." 

Chan was surprised and delighted. They talked 
about nothing else for a time — not even what Ross 
might do with the ranch when he got it. It would be 
a good, if stow, investment, however; and Ross knew 
that. The earth's surface is large, but not inexhaus- 
tible ; not even that part of it which was once a king- 
dom with an absentee king — Prince Rupert's Land. 

Chan did feel important, and reasonably content 
But he could laugh at himself, so all was not lost. 

The new company's papers were drawn in record 
time — the Belle Qaire Power and Lighting Co. The 
old one had been the Belle Claire Lighting and Power 
Co. I Geers announced that it might be his last private 
task. His partner would take over his business 
shortly, and he would plunge into the fray for a seat 
in the Assembly. His friends understood that would 
be merely to keep his hand in until the next Dominion 
election, when he meant to be sent to Ottawa. 

Then both Geers and Whittemore went with their 
charter to Edmonton to sec it safely throi^h — a mere 
precaution — and Chan, with a breathing space, deter- 
mined to find Lesley if he had to camp on her doorstep 
all night 



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ii6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

It was simpler than that, though she was lat« again. 
Watching from his window, since he felt decidedly dis- 
inclined to wait for her in Mrs. Cranston's sitting- 
room, he saw her coming in about eight, walking rather 
wearily hut with her head high. He caught her in the 
hall, and she answered the bell with her hat in her 
hand. 

"I*m so glad to see you," she said, and stopped there, 
unaq>ectedly, stepping back from him. She had an air 
of having forgotten something painful 

"May I come in?" he asked humbly. 

"Don't be stupid," she said severely, her self-posses- 
sion recovered. "Come right in — come into tiie kit- 
chen, if you like. I want some bread and cheese or 
something. I've only had a ham sandwich this eve- 
ning." 

"Why this asceticism?" he enquired, following her 
through the house to the pantry. 

"It isn't asceticism," she said, with an air of pa- 
tience, investigating the breadbox. "Thank heaven, 
here's a currant bun I It's ambition." - 

"The bun?" 

"No — it — me, everything, Mahomet couldn't go to 
the mountain, she's making a molehill of her own. 
You might have displayed some curiosi^, and tele- 
phoned." 

"I will, if youll tell me where to." 

She glared at hun, with a moudiful of bun im- 
peding utterance. 

"Don't you want to hear?" 

"I do, I do. Lesley, I've called three times." 

"Have you?" she asked, looking unnecessarily sur- 
prised, Chan thought. "Amy didn't tell me Well, 

I'm beginning to be a journalist. We seem to be short- 
handed just now, and Mr. Cresswell is trying me out. 
I stay after business hours, and learn about clipping 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 117 

time coi^, and take telephone items about Mrs. Var- 
ney's next tea and the postponement of the council 
meeting, and — and " 

"And?" 

"Swear you'll never telL" 

"I swear." 

'To-day I started a weekly department, or whatever 
you call it Cresswell said if I could make him lau^, 
maybe I could do the same for the public; and to- 
morrow, if you look, you'll find me. 'Mary Jane's 
Musings,' that's me. People will think it's syndicate 
stuff, and you must never tell them any different, for 
I want to say what I feel like. Only I'm afraid I may 
have to run a woman's page if I'm any good, and if 
I'm not m be fired 1" 

"Horrible alternative I But, you know, I'm glad. 
Only, wouldn't you rather go " 

"I can't," she said briefly, and like another well con- 
ducted lady, went on cutting bread and butter. 

Chan let his opportunity go by. He would not get 
that money for at least another week, • 

"What have you been doing?" she asked. 

"I'll tell you all about it if you have a week to spare," 
he said. "Bring your food out where we can sit 
down — I want to read a leaflet to you." 

"Very well," she said, inserting a slice of ham in 
a sandwich and leading him back to the living-room, 
"But I haven't a week to spare to-night I've got to 

"Hello, Chan." Amy Cranston interrupted, coming 
from the narrow halt "I didn't hear you people come 
in. I was so dull; I'm glad you've come." She sat 
down with a definite air of possession that nettled 
Lesley insensibly. But it was her own sittingroom, 
certainly. Evidently she had taken time to dress, in a 
innk taffeta that became her excellently by lamplight, 



ovCiooglc 



118 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

and with only Leslejr's shabby serge to ccHiipete. She 
had heavy, coarse black hair, lustrous and manageable, 
which seemed to go well with the quantities of rice 
powder she loved to use ; they, and her warm, shallow 
eyes were all Oriental, but her thinness saved her from 
sheer vulgarity. She was common, not vulgar; and 
she was pretty. Lesley needed art ; but Amy Cranston 
was exactly suited by artifice. 

Lesley consumed her sandwich in silence, with a 
feeling akin to that evoked by the presence of an 
elusive mosquito. It was not so much that she ob- 
jected to the presence of a third, as 

Well, she wasn't interested in Amy's new buckled 
shoes, nor in what Amy had had for lunch, nor in what 
Bill had said to Amy when he was courting her — nor 
in anything that was Amy's. Amy was a fool I Lesley 
knew herself to be growing perceptibly irritable of 
late. She felt the strain of guarding her thoughts and 
looks toward Chan ; she had not yet fitted her neck to 
the yoke of constraint. Their companionable summer 
had not prepared her for this. . . . How could he 
possibly preserve that absorbed air with Amy ? What 
had he been going to tell her? As for what she had - 
been about to say herself, what she had got to do, she 
had no intention of completing the sentence for Amy's 
enlightenment. She rose suddenly. 

"Excuse me a few minutes," she said. "I must 
wash my hands. Proofs are the dirtiest things in 
the world." 



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CHAPTER XI 

THE staircase was double halfway ; that is, there 
was a front and back stair, one from the hall, 
the other from the kitchen, meeting «i a tiny 
landing halfway up the first floor, with a door between, 
and the stair turned back then in the cramped hall to 
get to the upper floor. This gave direct passage from 
the hall to die kitchen, and yet saved room for the 
pantry. Lesley took her hat and coat from the hall 
rack, mounted to the landing, and went through to the 
kitchen, and so out of the kitchen door. She had an 
appointment to keep, at the little bridge over the 
powerhouse dam. It was that she had meant to tell 
Chan, perhaps out of a latent sense of mischief, to 
rouse the possessive and conventional male in him; 
but she would not tell Amy. It sounded very like a 
tryst, but it was rather payment of an obligation. 

The evening was cool, but not cold ; and it was not 
yet dark. There is a long twilight in such Northern 
latitudes, a lovely crystal twilight when the air seems 
to hold in solution the last rays of the departed sun, 
Lesley, walking rapidly, should have enjoyed it, but 
she was tired, and she had a distinct reminiscent sensa- 
tion of having been rubbed the wrong way, like a 
cat ; or, perhaps, still feline, the sense of having been 
crowded from her own place on the hearthrug. She 
had almost forgotten why she was going to the bridge 
when she reached it, and Jack Addison's figure re- 
solved out of the shadow of the powerhouse. 

"You came?" he said, holding out his hand. 



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lao THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Do you think so 7" she enquired. "WeD, I never 
will again, so make the most of it, Patrick Henry." 
Her irritation translated itself into flippancy. 

"But why won't you?" he demanded a^rieved^. 
"Why can't you speak to me sometimes, or come out 
for a ride in my car, or " 

"Or jump into the river, or do anything equally 
silly," she retorted decisively. "Your car breaks down, 
for one thing. No, I won't — I won't — I won't. Now 
what was it you wanted to sec me for so specially?" 

"I'll tell you when you answer me," he said, his 
voice both pleading and angry. "Don't you trust me?" 

"Do you mean, am I afraid of you?" she asked with 
brutal lucidity, smiling candidly into his eyes. "No, 
I am not. In fact, I think you are quite agreeable, 
and perfectly honourable, and all that sort of thing — 
but the least bit selfish and stupid. You forget this 
town is very, very small, and that you're not in a posi- 
tion to be a squire of dames without people talking, and 
that I haven't got any one to take my part if they do. 
Perhaps I wouldn't mind if I really wanted to do this ; 
but I don't; I dislike being — underhanded, and gossip 
makes me furious. Now when I feel like that, do you 
think it's quite fair to take advantage of my one silly 
little indiscretion to worry me and put me in a comer 
and — and make me say things like this? I didn't wcmt 
to hurt your feelings," she ended apologetically, be- 
cause his shamed face smote her. 

"1 know I'm a brute," he said awkwardly, with a 
flush under his olive skin. 

"Oh, please, don't let's be tragic," she begged gaily. 
"You aren't; you just didn't realise. I'm afraid you 
take things awfully seriously; and you know life's just 
one big joke." 

"I do take things seriously, Lesley," he said, turning 
toward her impulsively. "I want to warn you ai that. 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS I3l 

rm a kind of a hotheaded fool, I suppose. . . . And 

you aren't going away at all, now I" 

"I suppose not," she sighed, dismissing a passing 
wonder why she should be warned of his seriousness. 
"Was that what you wanted to ask me?" 

"No; I wanted to ask if you care to make some 
money.*' 

"Mon^? Why, of course; who doesn't? But I 
never did, except by working for it How do you 
mean?" 

"Give me your word 3TOu'11 not repeat this." 

"I never tell anything," she said with mild impa- 
tience. 

"Well, here's the chance of your lifetime. Look up 
there," he waved his hand across the river, to the 
he^hts just above them. "D'you know who owns that 
land? I do — at least, I control it It's worth fifty 
dollars an acre now, but eighteen months from now 
it'll be worth that much for a twenty-five foot lot I'm 
running a syndicate that's just bought it, and a lot 
more on the other side of town. And — this is what 
you're to keep to yourself — by spring a street railway 
will have commenced to build across the river. Do 
you want to put in a little money and get it back ten 
times over in a couple of years ? If you do, I'll be 
responsible for it" 

"So — there is going to be a street car line?" she 
mused. Why had no word of it been printed ? 

"You've heard of it?" he challenged. 

"No, I hadn't How should I?" 

"I thought maybe Herrick had told jrou." 

"Chan Herrick? Does he know it^' 

"He should. His uncle's the one who will build it 
And he didn't tell you?" 

"Why shouU he? He doesn't tell tne everything," 

"Do you like him?" asked Addison, suddenly com- 



ovCiooglc 



123 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

tng doser U her side, peering into her face in the diio- 
ming light She, leaning on the rail, looking tran- 
quilly down at the foaming race. "You see a lot of 
him." 

"He lives next door," Lesley reminded him coolly. 
"Of course I see him. I left him at the house to-night, 
to come and meet you." 

"tHd you?" Addison laid his hand on hers. 

"Don't do that," she said placidly. He moved away 
again, and still she did not even look at him. Yet she 
might have learned something from his face then had 
she taken that small trouble. 

"Well, will you?" he asked, biting his lip nervbusly. 

"Will I ? oh, invest I was thinkit^. I shan't know 
for a few days if I can or not It depends on how well 
we sell our beef. You know I have to think of my 
mother, and I have hardly any money. But if my 
brother makes enough to take care of her for the win- 
ter, I will give you what I have. I would like to make 
some money." Hope flared up. It would be too late 
for college, but not for the subsequent venture of her 
fortune in the great market places of the East. "It 
would mean a lot to me," she said wistfully. 

"Would it? You know I'd like to do something for 
you," As always, she had moulded him to her mood, 
tamed his blood and curbed his reckless spirit. It 
was as if she had put her cool strong hands on his hot 
face. They were silent; she had not troubled to 
answer. Night was coming down, a faint breeze whis- 
pered among the dry willows on thejittle island across 
the bridge. Not a soul had come near them, for no one 
lived on the island nor was there a continuation of 
the bridge to the further shore. In summer, some used 
it for a pleasance to walk in, but no one walked so 
far this night. Lesley had expected that when she 
named it for a meeting place. The rush of the water 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 133 

over the dam sounded like the wings of daricness 
swot^ii^ on the waiting earth. 

"I must go in," she said at last "And I should like 
to go home alone from the gate of the powerhouse 
yard ; do you mind ?' 

"If you like," he said, discontented but subdued. 
There were many other things he had meant to say to 
her, but she had defeated them unspoken. His rebel- 
lion would come afterward, when he was alone, and 
could not reach her. They picked their way amoi^ 
piles of Imnber, their steps falling deadened on the 
sawdust and bark of the enclosure, which was all pun- 
gent and fresh with the odour of cut pine. She kept a 
little ahead of him, but turned at the gate, as she had 
the night of the motor ride. 

"How is your mother?" he asked imexpectedly, 
merely to detain her for another moment. 

"Doing well — and she sent regards to you. I'll tell 
her you asked." 

"Do. Did she go to Pasadena?" 

"Yes — well, it's very close to Pasadena." She gave 
him the address. "It's quieter and cheaper out there. 
She says she feels well enough to come back already, 
but she mustn't till spring. It was good of you to 
send those flowers to the train. My mother is awfully 
nice, you know," she laughed, "and I'm sorry you 
didn't meet her. Now, good-night." 

"Lesley " he began desperately, but she drew 

her hand from his with a jerk and repeated loudly: 
"Good-night" 

So that was over. She drew a deep breath of re- 
lief as she hastened away without looking back. She 
had done just exactly what she had planned to do; 
put a wet blanket on him and weighted it down, care- 
fully extracte<} all the intriguante flavour from the 
drcomstances of their meeting and made it seem 



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124 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

cheap and sordid and sneaking. She had made him 
feel like a cad, and hoped righteously that it might 
do him good. She had labelled the affair definitely as 
silly instead of romantic, and pinned him solidly to 
the matter of (act. 

Why had she wanted to do that? Such a short 
time back, one half of her had really ached to go on, 
to be silly if necessary, and careless of consequences, 
to seize whatever glamour and excitement he prom- 
ised. Aside from liking Jack Addison in a casual 
way, she had, in fine, wanted to do something she 
shouldn't, because she was so deadly tired of doing 
everything she should. Eve's daughter was looking 
at the apple. It was, anyway, such a little apple, and 
only one bite . . . 

But it was all changed now; she was changed. 
Why? 

Under cover of the dark, she began to run, her 
heart racing, the bkiod.singing in her veins, a nymph 
pursued. But the piping of Pan was only to her 
inner ear, an echo of memory. She fled from her own 
thoughts, from the recollection of what had caused 
this reaction. Chan had kissed her. . . . Other men 
—there were no other men now. By and bye she 
slowed again to a sedate pace, grappled with herself, 
looking at the calm stars, brilliant and white as dia- 
monds. The northern stars are not the lights of ro- 
mance, they are too far and cool; they are the 
mariner's stars, the astronomer's galaxies. She felt 
immensely insignificant, gazing at them, too small to 
be hurt, or to cry out. 

The gate was open, as she must have left it She 
went across the short grass of the front yard, around 
by the side of the house to the rear door, as she 
had come. Passing the living-room window, she won- 
dered if Chan had gone away, if he or Amy had 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS i>5 

looked for her or missed her, and sbe stooped, m- 
Tohmtarily, and peeped under the blind As far as she 
had a home for the nonce, this was her home ; ooe may 
Dot look into a stranger's window, bat sorely into one's 
own . . . 

SometinMS it is better not to kxik into one's own, ^ 
either. 

Quite evidently neither Chan nor Amy had missed 
her ; they were sitting on the green plush sofa by the 
dying fire. . . . 

L^ley did not deliberately watch them ; she had not 
the slightest wish to. She felt sick, to tell the truth, 
horribly, vulgarly sick, and stood straight, with her 
hands on her contracted throat If she had desired 
to look again, there was still no need, for the pic- 
ture burnt under her eyelids ; Amy's lax figure and 
cUngii^ arms, and the look in Chan's eyes ; his satis- 
fied mouth. And that indescribable air of use, of past 
intimacy. . . . 

There are three sides to desire, and a Idnd of 
geometrical rule of progression governs the novice 
in exploring the terra incognita. The first vista yields 
wonder, a delicious fear, and has no knowledge of 
things earthy. A first kiss is an end in itself. It 
is a r^on of pure ether. Love itself cannot breathe 
there long, wanting some heavier constituent, some 
alloy. But the base of the triangle rests very firmly 
on earth itself, and the searcher comes to that wiUi 
a soul-toppling shock. Earth is clean or base accord- 
ing to its use. Simple animal passion has a clean- 
ness of its own in elemental natures, without the 
shame of sophistication. But it is a terrible thing for 
that romantic vagrant we call our youth to confront, 
and some do not survive whole the knowledge of 
it They spurn it, or wallow in it, but do not have 
sense eaou^ to use it to plant the flowers of life 



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126 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

in. And on the third side there is an impartial appre- 
hension of the whole matter, which makes the ever- 
lasting courtship of the perpetually renewed race a 
vast and Rabelaisian comedy. It is purely humor- 
ous; it is the gross and wholesome jest from which 
nine-tenths of our laughter springs. In the end 
all three impressions are fused ; and passion and won- 
der and mirth are one. Every lover finds in the 
beloved the most marvellous, the most exquisitely 
amusing, and the most hotly desired object in creation. 

All this Lesley might have heard without being 
helped at all. She had to see, and she was seeing. 
The earth rocked beneath her feet and the stars 
went out, and nothing remained but that one hideous 
fact. She was left alone in a wide universe with it; 
she was dragged into complicity by virtue of what she 
had felt for Chan ; Amy Cranston occupied the sanc- 
tuary of her soul with her very self, and pawed with 
her little, greedy, curious hands over the idol of her 
secret shrine. 

Just how long she stood by the window she never 
knew afterward ; it was probably no more than two 
or three minutes. She did not want to go into the 
house at all while it held Amy and Chan, but she did 
go in because there was no place else to go. The 
human soul quite as much as the human body has 
kept man from housing like the ants ; it demands a 
place of its very own for its moments of highest 
happiness and greatest desolation. Lesley suffered 
now the pang of the homeless J but her room served 
for a makeshift. Once in it, she found to her as- 
tonishment that she had taken off her shoes in order 
to get upstairs quietly, and this struck her as so 
ridicutous she was obliged to smother an incipient 
hysteria with a pillow. Then she grew very quiet, 
fts one is in a house of the dead. With the instinct 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 127 

of misery for adding to its burden, she sat rigidly on 
a very uncomfortable straight-backed kitchen chair 
and stared at a beef-extract calendar girl on the wall, 
who simpered. Later, she hated the light, and turned 
it out and lay face downward on the bed, catching 
cold f rotn the open window. And then she was aware 
that Amy Cranston was calling to her. It seemed a 
purposeful insuh. She would not answer. Then 
the most powerful of civilised emotions, the desire 
to keep up an appearance, not to betray herself, re- 
turned to her. She went to the door. Mrs. Craostfm 
was in the hall below. 

"I have a frightful headache," said Lesley. If 
her voice was hoarse, the other two did not notice 
it Chan was still in the living-room, but he evidently 
heard her, and came out. "I am going to bed," added 
Lesley. "Good-night — oh, it's nothing, really 1" She 
closed her door on their questions. 

Chan looked at Amy quickly. He found nothing in 
her face but an almost innocent relief at having the 
rest of the evening clear before her. She went back 
to the fire, and he followed, but did not sit down. 
He thought he was uncomfortable because Lesley was 
ill, never having felt it necessary to deny to himself 
that he liked Lesley. The guilty suspicion that was 
trying to make its way to the light in his mind seemed 
preposterous. How much could one upstairs hear of 
what went on below? He could not hear his land- 
lady at all, unless she shrieked, or upset the furni- 
ture. It couldn't be . ; . 

It is natural to have a reaction against anything 
that causes us discomfort. Just for the moment Amy 
Cranston's open lure failed to draw. After all, he 
had come to see Lesley, and if she couldn't be si 
It was certainly odd of her 

"I think I must go," he said. 



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128 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Oh, no I" said Amy, and put up her face askii^ly. 
He was so much taller than she that when she put 
her arms about his neck she seemed to be dra^ng 
him down. The flavour of a clandestine kiss when its 
very circumstances enforce it is curious, and not alto- 
gether sweet. Chan was not bitten by remorse, not 
yet, but the reaction was indubitable. It carried him 
home, despite Amy's clinging arms. And he won- 
dered how he should see Lesley without nmning into 
those arms i^in. 

He managed it easily enough, of course, by watching 
from a window. She stopped at his hail, her hand on 
the gate, the very next evening, and her manner to 
him was a triumph of histrionics. He felt like a 
sensitised plate, approaching her, but the plate re- 
mained blank. 

"Are you better?" he asked. 

"My headache is gone, and I have a violent cold," 
she croaked. "Is that to be better?" There was no 
acting about the cold. Tears make an excellent prepa- 
ration for influenza. 

"Are you going to be in later?" 

"I don't know. And I suppose I ought to retire 
with mustard plasters and hot water bottles." 

"I have something — rather important, to tell you," 
be said. "Can't I come to-morrow night?" 

"If I'm alive, I suppose so," she said, and even 
smiled. It was abnost equally pleasant and painful 
to have him entreat her. She had a sense of justice, 
at all times, but it was quick work to have brought 
herself in twenty-four hours to acknowledge that, 
after all, he owed her nothing. She had no right 
to require of him more than of any other man, and 
she did not consider herself a censor of morals for 
all the men she knew. She had no standing even in 
her own eyes. 



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CHAPTER Xn 

AS it happeaed, he did not see her ^ain for a 
week. The next mornii^ brought a tel^ram 
from Wfaittemore, askii^ him to go to Edmon- 
ton for a day or so. He thought it must be impor- 
tant business, and went without question. It was not; 
the charter had already been put through all essen- 
tial preliminaries, favourably reported out of commit- 
tee, and was assured. Whittemore had merely been 
discovered by the wife of the Premier, who was a 
one-time schoolmate of his dead sister. She instantly 
took on herself the status of an old friend, asked 
him a million polite questions, discovered he pos- 
sessed a nephew, and demanded the instant produc- 
tion of the nephew to grace a ball she was giving. 
It made her feel important to have young men sum- 
moned specially from remote comers of the earth 
to decorate her ballroom. And, as she remembered it, 
Laura Herrick — Laura Whittemore — had been her 
very dearest friend. She must have been, since 
Whittemore was so rich and so presentable. Society 
is run on the Berkeleian theory, that everything exists 
only in the imagination. What could be more com- 
fortable? Everything in this sense includes every- 
thing but money. There is something so grossly ma- 
terial about money as to resist the strongest doses 
of i^ilosophy. 

She was, in any event, a quite agreeable woman, 

and Chan did not mind, except that he had not brought 

evening wear and had to wire for it He spent a 

U9 



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130 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

very pleasant week mvestigating the social miciDcosm 
of the capital city, with Ross as commentator. 

Lesley's week was not so pleasant, but it passed. 
One got used, she found, to a dull ache in one's heart, 
to sickness of life while life did not care if one sick- 
ened of it or not She learned the meaning of the 
tedium vUa. Even the sight of Amy Cranston did not 
exactly hurt It astonished her, rather ; roused a curi- 
osity she could not answer. What had Chan found 
in that? It was not surprising Amy had married; 
she suited her husband's ideals exactly — so far as he 
would ever know. But Chan 

Later, she thought, she would probably leave Mrs. 
Cranston's. The situation was painfu^ and might 
grow impossible. 

The lack of freedom, which was a simple lack of 
means, to go from a place that irked her, roused her 
to action with regard to Addison's offer. Fortu- 
nately, Dick wrote that their beef had sold well, Les- 
ley took all the money she had, only about two hun- 
dred dollars, and sent it by messenger to Addison. 
The fervour of the hope that accompanied it was 
almost a prayer. She had to have something to live 
for. Addison wrote back with a matching fervour, 
and su^fested talking the matter over with her. She 
replied that he was to use full discretion, and that was 
all there was to say. She had to write that same in- 
junction six times before it appeared to penetrate to 
his understanding. It became humorous at last; she 
almost shouted over his final letter. But the idea of 
seeing Addison nauseated her, in the same manner as 
she had sickened over another sight. The events of 
that evening had somehow linked themselves together. 
Herself and Jack — Chan and Amy — they had been on 
the same business. Her understanding leered at her 
innocence. It was all ugly, detestable. If she had 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RTOERS 131 

not known before, she had been a fool. If she had 

She was jealous, of course, and the taste of it got 
into everything; poor romance dared not show its 
smirched and self-conscious head. A fierce virginity 
— a kind of Iron Virgin — possessed her. 

So she worked as hard as possible, to keep her 
mind o£F it Cresswell encouraged her with enthusi- 
asm. He had a very inadequate staff, and LesI^ 
was useful. And she found in him the only toler- 
able companionship within reach. There is a kind 
of disillusionment, the disillusion of the spectator who 
always watches the play from behind the scenes, com- 
mon to newspaper writers, and to hardly any other 
class of men. They develop a genial and immensely 
tolerant and rather relishing cynicism. It is also true 
that the freshly disillusioned always demand more of 
the same bitter medicine, so Lesley came to Cresswell. 
Cresswell had known a larger sphere of action than 
he now adorned — if one could speak of adornment in 
connection with Cresswell — he was on the down- 
grade, but he had once been at the top. He had 
a Mark Twain shock of brindle hair, a loose-jointed 
frame to match, mild blue eyes, and a sulphurous vo- 
cabulary, for which he used to beg Lesley's pardon 
before unloosing it. 

She stayed in the office sometimes in the even- 
ings, struggling with Mary Jane's contributions to 
the world's thought, and being educated journalisti- 
cally by Cresswell, who would have fallen in love 
with her if he had not been fifty and possessed a 
real sense of humour. He told her Mary Jane was 
a success already, after one issue — an inconsiderable 
lie when added to Cresswell's past account. But he 
knew a newspaper's needs, and he knew timely and 
popular stuff when he saw it There was salt in 
Lesley's writing, just enough. It would be a suc- 



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132 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

cess, as far as success goes in such limitarions. He 
was already thinking of demanding Lesley's full tim» 
from the business office, though he did not tell her 
so. He would have to wait until some one dropped 
off the staff. He did not want to discharge one of 
his men ; he liked them all, and it was a long way to 
the next camp. 

Late in the week they were in the newsroom alone, 
when a boy brought in a batch of telegraph flimsy. 
Cresswell was his own telegraph editor, as he was 
everything else when need arose. Lesley, resting 
her head, which felt entirely empty, on her typewriter, 
listened to the rustle of the sheets of thin paper and 
waited for him to ask her to re-type or paste up some 
of it for him. He would. But he only grunted 
softly to himself and muttered something she could 
not catch, 

"I guess that's the joker," he said finally, spealdng 
to the world at large. 

"What?" 

"Nothing, my chee-ild. Only the Belle Claire is 
getting a new charter that covers everything from 
pitch-and-toss to manslaughter — yeh, they can start a 
soda fountain or dig for oil or run a matrimonial bu- 
reau if they want to — and I guess I know why the " 
Great Mogul told me to let him see all the Edmonton 
stuff before it went in." 

"Don't talk Choctaw. You annoy me," said Les- 
ley, who had no respect whatever for his grey hairs. 
She was intensely feminine, and a man was a man. It 
should be added that he liked the treatment. 

"Well, then," he remarked, "if you must know, and 
always remembering that I'll fire you if you repeat my 
girlish confidences, we're going to have a street rail- 
way, whether we like it or not. I was just wondering 
if our esteemed morning contemporary will get on to 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 133 

the joker in this private bill, grantti^ a blanket diar- 
ter to the Belle Qaire Company?" 

"Why is it a joker?" asked Lesley. "Is there uiy 
thin^ queer about it? Why not a street railway?" 

"As the March hare said, why not? No, there's 
nothit^ queer about it yet. I didn't know they were 
ready to go ahead, that's all. Best thing they can do, 
though, is to rush it. Costs less all around . . ." 

"But what is the mystery about it ?" 

"Business is very mysterious. So is a City CoundL 
Can you think of anything more mysterious than Al- 
derman Curtin ? Why is he ?" He liked to tease her, 
but she was so insistent that he finally told her as 
much as he knew, which, including surmise, was suffi- 
ciently extensive. In fact, he knew pretty well all, 
only not being one of the inner ring and having no 
personal stake in the matter, he only heard things 
after their accomplishment. He had not known the 
reorganisation charter was on the stocks ; he only knew 
there was to be one. He had not known of Addison's 
syndicate until it was formed, but he knew who was 
in it, and why, Lesley listened with flattering atten- 
tion, and ungratefully forgot to give him any confi- 
dence in return. 

She wondered what was her own responsibility, her 
two hundred dollars' worth, in a matter that was evi- 
dently going to include bribery. But business ia 
mostly like that ; she had seen something of business. 
The question was academic with her; conscience was 
gnawing elsewhere. She had never read Proudhon, 
and when Cresswell unconsciously resolved her diffi- 
culty in reconciling current business with any system 
of ethics by quoting: 

" 'All property is theft,' " she yielded the point of 
obscurity, and merely remarked : 

"I suppose so." Then she put on her hat and went 



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134 THE SHAI)OW RTOERS 

home drearily. Chan had sent her a note explaining 
his absence, and there was not even the doubtful pleas- 
ure of his company to look forward to. 

But he returned in due course. And Providence or- 
dained that Mrs. Cranston should again go out for 
the evening. 

Lesley's constraint had worn off ; she had adjusted 
herself to atl the unspoken things between them. But 
in so doing she had lost something of her sparkling 
and natural manner toward him. He thought she 
still looked ill ; she was merely tired. There was an 
edge on her speech; he put it down to the wearing 
effect of disappointment 

He was quite rig^t and entirely wrong. He thought 
he could remove the disappointment by a few words — 
if he could for once choose them carefully enough. He 
was woefully mistaken. But he had that money in 
hand at last 

"You aren't looking well," he began unpropitiously. 
Nothing is more maddening to a woman. 

"I am perfectly well," she said. "I am always per- 
fectly weli." 

"Please don't be cross I" He was remarkably meek. 

"Oh, heavens! can't I even be cross? Can't I do 

one single thing I b^ your pardon. I don't 

know what's the matter with me. It must be the 
wind, or something. Doesn't it get on your nerves? 
Doesn't this whole town get on your nerves? How 
can you possibly live here? Let me be cross, Chan." 
She drocq>ed into pathos, and was enraged at herself 
for doing so. She feared she would whimper 
presently. 

"I know it's tough on you," he said soothingly. 
"And that's what I wanted to speak to you about 
About your going away " 

"But I'm not going away," she said violently. 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 135 

"Yes, you can if you want to," be insisted. "If 
youll do me a favour, and let me help you " 

"How?" Of course she knew perfectly there was 
only one way. But she had never thought of get- 
ting anything from Chan; she was surprised. It 
could never have been entirely agreeable. Now it 
was more, it was impossible. If she could only make 
it impossible for him to speak. ... He omld not 
misread her hostile glance, but he had to go on. 

"I have some money I don't need " he began 

awkwardly. 

"Then you're luckier than I am," said Lesley, and 
her voice broke despite herself. "But that has noth- 
ii^ to do with me." 

"Lesley I Please let me -" 

"Nothing at all," she said stonily. And then, to 
her furious dismay, she felt a large tear roll down 
her cheek. "Don't talk about it, I tell you," she said 
imperiously, and dived for her handkerchief. The 
movement sent her into his arms ; he was not inexpert, 
and she could not see. Well, she had wept once be- 
fore, and habit is easily formed. He thought he knew 
what to do. And, as one of the innumerable injustices 
of finite affairs, he was as innocent toward her as 
the first time. Her courage, her wit, her abominably 
hard luck appealed to him on their own merits, not 
as bait for anything else. Certainly he was fair to 
her; there was that to be said for him. But she 
gave him no chance to say it. They were equally 
taken by surprise, for he got his kiss, and paid for it. 
She slapped him with a promptitude and ferocity 
that very literally sta^ered him. The strength he 
had noted when she carried Eileen Conway up the 
walk had by no means departed from her. 

Then they found themselves on their feet, facii^f 
eadi other, in a whirl of emotions that left them 



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136 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

wordless. Chan had been a bit of an amateur ath- 
lete, and he wondered in a dazed manner whether 
he had heard a bell ring for time or if it was od\y 
a natural singing in his head. Mixed with that he 
could find a grain of admiration for Lesley; her 
rage was truly royal. Her long eyes had a green- 
ish flame in them, like the phosphorescence in the 
eye of a roused animal; the iris had almost disap- 
peared. She was poised like Victory, as if she would 
swoop and strike again. Then she rushed past him, 
and he heard her flying up the stairs, and still he 
stood there, one hand pressed gingerly to his ear. 

He was relieved to find he still possessed that ear. 
He pivoted slowly on his heel, looking speculatively 
at the door where she had disappeared, sorting out his 
feelings. It was necessary to know whether he felt 
apologetic or furious. He felt both, but the outcome 
was that he followed her quietly upstairs. Standing 
outside her door, the anger disappeared. She was 
crying, with little choky, hiccupping sounds, like a 
child that has been lodced in a dark closet. And, 
indeed, it was so she felt. She had never harmed 
any one, and she had been humiliated to the last 
degree her girlish ima^nation could compass. To 
get the crumbs from Amy Cranston's table . . . 

Without knocking, he opened the door firmly and 
marched over to where she lay crumpled upon the 
bed. She sat up, her eyes almost dry, her face very 
white, her lips parted as if she could not get enou^ 
air. 

"Please go away," she said. "This is my room. 
And I am not in the least sorry I " 

"Well, I am," he remarked slowly, his sense of 
humour penetratit^ to the surface. "But you did 
a good job, so you needn't be. I'll go in a minute, 
but I want to apologise first I meant well, Leslqr. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 137 

I'm ft^tfuUy sorry." Even with the mark of her 
hand flaming; on his cheek, he was sincere and dig- 
nified. He had saved himself somehow, in this de- 
plorable affair; and he was insisting she should do 
the same for herself. A wave of liking, the old 
liking that had been scorched by a later flame, surged 
up in her. The cold light of reason beat into her 
disordered brain, ranging her alongside him, a worse 
culprit than he. She had struck him because ... be- 
cause she loved him I And he had never asked 
her to. 

There was no possibility of sentiment left in the 
situation, at least She reinforced her pride to break 
it the more thorou^Iy; she humbled herself for the 
sake of her pride, and held on to nothing but the 
truth. 

"I — apologise, too," she said, "even if I'm not 
sorry I" 

In a world of unreason there is nothing so hu* 
morous as the truth. They laughed, they had to 
laugh. It was perhaps fortunate for Lesley that no 
man ever asks- a woman: "Why did you do that?" 
That is her question. His is: "Why won't you do 
this?" And it was not a time for that particular 
query. Moreover, they were both exceedingly thank- 
ful to avoid explanations, and like sensible people 
they did so. Also, Chan never again referred to his 
offer of help. He had had auricular evideoce that 
it was not wanted. 



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CHAPTER XIII 

THE election was called for December. It might 
have been earlier, for public confidence was 
badly shaken and the Crown Lands scandal 
increased daily, but the Assembly prolonged its sit- 
tings to get through a gerrymander bill giving the 
thinly settled northern part of the province a highly 
disproportionate representation. The North was a 
sure strong-hold of Liberalism, by reason of prom- 
ises of development through public works, badly 
needed, some already under way, others definitely 
pledged. With the Opposition clamouring of ex- 
travagance and promising economy, the North would 
take no chances. Whittemore was glad of the extra 
time and the general interest in purely political af- 
fairs to get his new charter ratified, which was done. 
He incidentally became very much persona grata at 
Edmonton. With business out of the way, he wished 
the election over, so he might proceed to obtain 
a much more vital requisite than the charter, the 
city franchise for a car line. As it would not do to 
have the negotiations become embroiled in the po- 
litical turmoil, that was delayed. 

The light was hot; several scandals developed far 
beyond what Geers, in his talk with Herrick, had 
anticipated. To the surprise of both parties, the 
Government seemed, judging by rumour and straw 
votes, to be in some actual danger. Some of the 
Liberals had possibly foreseen it when urging Geers 
to stand; his personal popularity had guaranteed 
his election. They did not wish to risk a weaker 
138 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS I3!> 

man, since Folsom had succeeded to Geers' old seat 
on a Conservative ticket. They wanted his strength 
if only for a y«ar or two ; it was thoroughly under- 
stood that he would resign once more and stand for 
the Dominion House when a national dissolution oc- 
curred. Who would be his understudy in that' 
emergency it was not yet worth while to decide, al- 
though both parties were decidedly short of good 
material for public men. It is a notable fact that 
men whom their associates recognise as able are loth 
to hold any offices but the highest; they will vote 
for a man they would hardly employ in their private 
business, and secretly consider their own abilities 
too large to be wasted in a merely useful and in- 
a>nspicuous l^slative or administrative place. It 
is sheer vanity; and they pay the price for it in a 
stupid maladministration of local affairs. 

"In a few more years," said Geers to Whittemore, 
"we could put your nephew in. He's getting into 
training faster than any one I ever saw. But this 
is the country for young men." Geers had the poli- 
tician's penchant for cliches; it made him a trifle 
tedious in private conversation. "By the way," he 
went on, "you've not mentioned your street-car sys- 
tem lately. I am still interested, you know." His part 
had been finished when the charter went throt^h, 
which was purely legitimate business. Whittemore, 
for excellent reasons, did not want him employed in 
the civic negotiations. 

"I've sidetracked it till the election is over," said 
Whittemore truthfully. 

"I thought you anticipated opposition," said Geers. 
"In fact, I was surprised myself when none o£ the 
newspapers slashed it. I thought the Call would, 
merely as a matter of general policy. They're all 
for public ownership; and still crying for Govem- 



ovGooglc 



140 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

ment grain elevators. I don't believe in it myself; 
I think private enterprise is the life of a nation," he 
concluded sententiously. 

"I don't know how our charter did get by," said 
Whittetnore. He had thought of that point before. 
If it was luck, he hoped his luck might hold. Work- 
ii^ underground, Barrage and Addison had secured 
secret promises of support from a group of very 
influential aldermen. The owner of the Recorder 
guaranteed them the mayor, who owed his election 
largely to that newspaper. It seemed too easy. How- 
ever, to worry because there was nothing to worry 
about seemed the height of the ridiculous. He dis- 
missed the idea, and went up to Ban£F to meet an 
old friend who was passing through. And he in- 
structed Burrage to confer with Chan about anything 
that might develop. 

Once in Banff, he proceeded to develop an active 
case of grippe that had been germinating for sev- 
eral days previously. He wired Chan that it was 
only a sli^t cold, but that he would stay over 
for a week of the sulphur baths. Whereupon, of 
course, things happened. 

Chan was in the Belle Qaire office that particular 
afternoon. He had chosen to take his drudgery seri- 
ously, and did not use his uncle's influence to cover 
laziness. Besides, he wanted a thorough knowledge 
of costs and charges to take over to the street rail- 
way office when the time came. He had put some 
money — the money Lesley scorned, with some addi- 
tion — into Addison's suburban development company, 
and hoped that might lift him out of routine work 
some day; but chiefly he looked forward to filling 
adequately the place he knew Whittemore would in- 
sist on his having in the new concern. It was 
nqiotistQ, but he meant to deserve ft. There would 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 141 

be room for an enterprising' young man, much more 
than in the present cut-and-dried routine work. 

Answering an urgent summons, Chan hastened up- 
town to Addison's rooms. There he found Burrage, 
still clinging to the telephone, listening, and for the 
most part holding his hand over the receiver so that 
he might swear reflectively and without disturbing 
whoever was at the other end of the line. Addison 
let Chan in, and shot the bolt behind him. They 
gave each other one appraising glance, and Chan per- 
ceived with surprise a latent hostility in Addison's 
eyes. But they shook hands. Burrage looked up and 
nodded. 

"Just a minute," he said, and then to the telephone : 
"AH Tight; yes, I'll be here till it's over." And 
again to Herrick : "Can you get hold of Whittemore 
quick, damn quick?" 

"He's in Banff, I can 'phone or wire. Why?" 

"Because some one's stolen a march on us. The 
city council is in session now — and it's considering 
a bid for a street-car franchise from a Winnipeg man. 
I don't know who he is, nor whom he represents, 
but 111 find out There isn't another 'phone here, 
and I need this one. Go up to the Alberta Hotel 
and put in a call for Whittemore. We'll wait here 
for yon." Chan could take orders. He went to the 
hotd and stood for fifteen stuffy minutes in a tele- 
phone booth and then went back in great haste. 

"Ross is sick," he announced. "Can't answer a 
'phone call. But unless he's dead, he'll want to hear 
about this. No, it's only the grippe, I understand. 
I think I can just get the afternoon train. Good- 
bye 1" 

Burrage resumed his lurid soliloquy alone, for 
Chan was on his way to the station, and Addiaon 
had gone out to scout for news. 



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143 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Oddly enough, Chan had not been to Banff before. 
It is a lonely place, unless one has personal friends 
stopping there ; for there are no amusements, except 
riding, eating, and splashing in the tepid and unex- 
citing tanks of stilphur spring water. But the moun- 
tain scenery is majestic, the eating excellent, and— 
there is no place else to go. Alberta flocks there in 
its leisure time. 

Chan was nervous with apprehension over Ross by 
the time he stepped off the train into the station "hxis, 
to be driven along the curving road between the pines 
to the sanatorium. The town had the soulless look 
of a stmimer resort when winter clutches it; all the 
hotels but the sanatorium were closed ; and the dark- 
green river flowed between banks of solid white. 
Here was real winter. It was the thin, electric air 
and the tension of the unaccustomed altitude that 
wrought on Chan's nerves most ; but he did not realise 
that, and felt as if he should presently burst through 
the roof of the lius if it did not reach its destination. 
But it did presently, and he rushed up to Ross's room 
on the heels of the nurse who promised to see if he 
might be admitted. 

"Hello, Chan I" said his uncle huskily, looking very 
distinguished and calm in a black camd's-hatr 
burnous and a reclining chair. The air also keyed him 
up too much to stay in bed all day, even when he 
was ill. They let him have his way because he al- 
ways did get his way, in a manner so courteous that 
he always seemed to be yielding. "Why didn't you 
give the nurse your mess^e? Not but what I'm glad 
to see you." 

"It was too long and complicated; it would have 
bored her," said Chan, smiling at the nurse in ques- 
tion. She smiled back, and rustled out discreetly. 

"Ah, I seel Well?" 



ovGooglc 



THE SHAIXJW RTOERS 143 

"Somebody," said Chan, "has turned the tables wi 
us — spiked our guns." And he told all he knew. 

"So that was it! I'm ashamed to confess that I 
never thought of that. Will you hand me that glass, 
please? Thanks; it's some kind of lubricant for my 
throat Pity it won't work on my head. I'm glad 
you came," he repeated. "I can't talk over the 'phone 
at all ; can't make myself heard," and his voice bore 
him out. It was strange how a certain charm, like 
the ghost of the tones of his younger days, was 
still conveyed in Whittemore's voice. "But you can 
do all I might Now I think you'd better get Butrage 
on the wire and see if anything new has happened. 
Of course the council couldn't grant a charter in one 
hearing; but I'd like to know who's back of the appli- 
cation. I fancy you may have to stay here some days." 

Chan wired for his suitcase, and glued himself pa- 
tiently to a telephone receiver. He talked and lis- 
tened at intervals most of the afternoon, and half 
of the night, and began again in the morning. News 
came in driblets ; the backers of the man from Win- 
nipeg were given out — Winnipeg capitalists — and Ad- 
dison unearthed circumstantial evidence to show that 
still other backers, local men and Edmonton cafu- 
talists, were lurking in the background. The pre- 
vious silence of the Morning Call was rumoured to 
have a solid reason. And by noon Whittemore, who 
had utilised a feverish night for some hard think- 
ing, had decided on immediate action. The council 
was meeting again that afternoon, having only ad- 
journed sine die the day before after tabling the 
application for a charter presented by the Winnipeg 

Burrage carried them another application to table. 
The surprise of some of the aldermen was genuine. 
They were largely the ones who had not been sur- 



ovCiooglc 



144 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

prised by th« first one. Since it had come to a con- 
test, Burrage had to oflfer better tenns to the city 
— a good deal better than he or any one else had had 
in mind. Whittemore, knowing that no immediate or 
overt action might be expected, lay back and devoted 
himself seriously to recuperating his strength, while 
Burrage made soundings among his pledged and half- 
pledged friends, Chan remained within hearing dis- 
tance of the telephone. 

There was matter for headlines in that week's pa- 
pers. The news columns screamed, but the editorial 
pages were singularly subdued, approaching their con- 
clusions by roundabout. It wot^d never do to seem 
to have a mind made up in advance. There was 
enough comedy in it all to make Lesley laugh when 
Cresswell gave her his own opinions on the very 
editorials he was writing. Naturally the Recorder 
professed by disinterested examination to find most 
merit in Whittemore's proposal. The Call had a per- 
ceptible leaning to the other side. No word of dvic 
ownership yet appeared. Real-estate values in subui^ 
ban districts were as active and erratic as popcorn 
in a pan; the city in general rubbed its palms and 
anticipated a boom. In the past a boom had ]nelded 
rich pickings, and the reaction had been slight be- 
cause population was actually and I^ttimately in- 
creasing at an almost incredible ratio. With farm 
immigration steadily growing in the vast area of rich 
lands which had no other urban centre, the city could 
afford to grow. 

The Recorder's editorials increased in warmth from 
day to day; the Call did no more than would in any 
case have been expected of an active opponent, in 
more vigorously espousit^ the opposite side. The 
Ma3ror preserved an air of portentous and judicial 
detachment Chan grew to hate the sight of ft tele- 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 145 

phone, and Whittemore declared himself cwivalescent 
Only Burrage looked more and more anxious, and 
ibe gloom deepened on his round, swarthy counte- 
nance. Some of his secret strii^ had got tangled ; 
be had relied too much on a select few, and Addi- 
son's favours had been kept within too close a circle. 
He met with obstructions and imcertainty, suspected 
his quondam friends of having been suborned, and 
altogether was as disgruntled a fat man as the prov- 
ince contained. He had never had much faith in 
human nature, and that small portion was rapidly 
dwindling. It is a mere platitude that those who work 
through human weakness are most di^fusted when 
human weakness upsets their calculations. Burrage 
wronged his townsmen and the worthy councillors 
in the main; they were "all honourable men"; no 
real bribes had been passed, and a business man 
feels himself within his rights when he protects his 
own. How it came to be his own does not enter into 
the matter. The materially disinterested aldermen 
were honestly perplexed; and felt rather bedevilled 
into the state of mind which produces "bolters" in 
conventions. The interested ones were honestly con- 
vinced. But there were a very small minority — how 
many was never quite definitely settled — who smelt 
spoils, had got none, and felt as honestly defrauded. 
In short, these would have to be let in, and the ones 
who were in were not over-anxious to share. That 
was the gist of Burrage's later communications with 
Banff. It became rather too delicate a matter to 
shout into a telephone. 

Whittemore himself had an interest in Addison's 
syndicate. Since it was necessary to heave ballast 
to keep his balloon aSoat, he decided that would serve. 
He would never miss the money lost; what he was 
after was the creative power, the building of that 



ovGooglc 



146 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

car line. So he gave Chan to understand in a deci- 
sive conference over a letter from Barrage. 

"Give 'em my share," he said. "Write and tell 
Burrage to do whatever has to be done; I'll stand 
the gaflf." 

And in Chan's answering letter went a blank trans- 
fer of certain holdings, to be filled in by Burrage as 
required. 

Generally speaking, it is a mistake to write letters 
of any kind whatever. Some Eastern peoples believe 
the written word is a fetish of great power, which 
must not be destroyed. They are quite ri^t in 
their premise; but the conclusion should be exactly 
reversed. However, Chan wrote the letter. He was 
quite a young man to write a diplomatic communica- 
tion. He thought, if a thing was to be made under- 
standable, it should be said plainly. But Burrage was 
perfectly safe. To keep the matter closer, he was 
directed not to consult Geers on this occasion; if any 
legal aspect of the transfer were insisted on at once, 
get another lawyer. The rest at his discretion. 

Burrage's gloom lightened. When, a week or so 
later, Whittemore returned to town, with Chan, he 
reported perceptible progress. Of course the council 
had not yet acted, and might not for many months. 

Chan was glad to come from the heights, the pines, 
and the mighty snows. Once or twice he had found 
himself missing Lesley, even though his ear tingled 
when he thought of her. His feelings with T'^;ard 
to Amy, and the stage their affair had reached, were 
exactly defined by the fact that he did not think of 
her at all if he could avoid it. 

But, in spite of her, he meant to have a part of 
his first evening with Lesley. Perhaps at last be 
night be able to talk things over with her — the street 
railway business, his prospects, everything. 



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THE SHAl>OW RIDERS 147 

Re did not redcm on Geers, who enured btm by 
untoward accident the very while Ross was register- 
ing in the hotel. Geers was anxious and hurried; 
he was in short an expected speaker for a meeting of 
his own that evening; and he commandeered Chan 
as a curtain-raiser. 

It was flattering, but it was rather terrifying, too. 
Chan had given one or two five-minute talks at small 
meetings in the East end of town, curtain-raising ; he 
had canvassed with a very good humour, and been 
through the sacred rites of tiie conunittee room ; but 
this was to be really a speech. Every idea he pos- 
sessed on every subject he was acquainted with de- 
serted him as he mounted the platform at eight 
o'clock! And every man who filed into the theatre 
auditorium where the meeting was held seemed to 
subtract by his entrance yet a little more from that 
void. Chan had tried, in the brief time beforehand, 
to inform Lesley of the coming event. She had not 
been in the office at the time. Now he was cravenly 
glad he had failed. The face of an acquaintance was 
an acute misery to his vision. His throat dried. Ross, 
who was on the platform beside him, looked at him 
with amusement and sympathy. 

"Remember," he said sotto voce, "everything de- 
pends on you I" 

"What ?" said Chan stupidly. The remark seemed 
to mean something. He apprehended it after a while. 
"Oh, go on and gloat !" he said bitterly, and loosened 
his collar with a surreptitious finger. "I suppose 
you've got a cabbage in your pocket." The murmur- 
ous discord of a crowd settling itself swelled in his 
ears, grew to a sound like nearing thunder. Those 
intent, serious faces, row on row, fadii^ into the 
gloom of the galleries as into remote space, concen- 
trated suddenly into mere rows of eyes, millions of 



ovCiooglc 



148 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

eyes boring him throu^, that at moments resolved 
into one large, fixed, accusing eye which in all the 
universe saw only his sole self. He shrivelled under 
it as it were a burning glass. He could not men- 
tally dismt^ate the mass into mere men, farmers, 
clerks, artisans, kindly folk, easily pleased, easily 
deluded, who secretly envied and admired him for 
his imposing place beside their moment's idoL . . . 

There were a few women also ; and some late ones 
were still filing into the boxes, which had been re- 
served. He did not know them; he knew none of 
the local ladies. He would have liked to watch them 
to keep his mind off the larger audience, but they 
were all watching him, or Ross, who sat beside him ; 
the more personal regard was almost equally discon- 
certii^. One of them had a lorgnette ; another a 
pair of opera glasses, though she sat within ten feet 
of the speakers. Chan was looking at that opera 
glass, wondering if she meant to reverse it to get 
a perspective, when Ross nudged him sharply aad 
he got to his feet, still without a word ready. 

"Ladies and — and gentlemen," he b^an unpro[N- 
tiously. Ross suppressed a smile at that terrible 
hiatus, and Chan felt it; all his nerves had mysteri- 
ously got outside his skin. They warned him further 
of an almost inaudible stir along the far side aisl^ 
where a woman came late to a reserved front seat. 
He recognised the hat before he could see her face, 
for she bent down and spoke as she passed the press 
table, and kept her head down as she seated herself, 
disposing of her skirts. Then she locked up, her 
eyes running questioningly along the solemn row of 
occupants of the platform, and pausii^ on him. 

He smiled at her; bat the effect was as if he had 
smiled at all his audience. Then he b^an to talk — 
still to X.esley. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 149 

He cotild not help addressii^ his speech to her; he 
had a speech as soon as her eager eyes caught his. 
There was something about her personality that was 
half a challenge and half a query; she reacted to 
mental stimulus, gave back as much as she got 



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CHAPTER XIV 

AT the end of the twenty minutes allotted to 
Gian, Rosa nudged him again. Chan had im* 
plored him to do this ; he said time would mean 
nothing to him once he got on his feet It wouM 
seem as if centuries were passing over him, and lliat 
he would never be permitted to stop; and if he tried 
to glance at his watch, he would forget what he had 
been talking about and his own name. 

He stop^d abruptly in the middle of a sentence. 
He really had forgotten time, but for the opposite 
reason; he was intensely interested, both in his sub- 
ject and, like most beginning speakers, in the workings 
of his own mind and the sound of hts own voice. 
With mouth still open and an eyebrow raised in 
enquiry, he turned to Ross. The audience grasped 
the bye-play and gasped in delighted surprise at 
its own perspicacity. Then Chan turned back and 
smiled at them again. A hoarse murmur of lai^hter 
ran over the room, like wind over a wheat-held. He 
finished the sentence, but no one ever heard it. The 
audience was laughing, dapping, stampii^. Chan 
smiled once more and sat dowiL 

Geers rose. They had come to hear him, and lis- 
tened. Chan, who had heard very much the same 
speech six times, let it go over his head, and began 
to look about again. He felt like a criminal par- 
doned. Lesley had clapped loudly. Now she grew 
abstracted, and would not look at him again. By 
and bye she began to show signs of fatigue. She did 
look at last, nodded a good-night, rose, and be^an 
edging out. Passii^ the press table again, where 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 151 

Cresswell sat— he had reserved her seat for her — she 
leaned and listened and laughed softly at something 
he said, and vanished again down the side aisle. Chan, 
on impulse, rose to his feet, went through the wings, 
and so in pursuit. He would not be needed again. 
He wanted to hear what Lesley thought of his ef- 
fort, being entirely human. Ross, left with his dig- 
nity, put his hand over his mouth a moment, though 
he was not yawning. 

Lesley had nearly reached the comer when Chan 
overtook her. She had Dian's gait. 

"Wait a minute," he said breathlessly, and caught 
her elbow. "There; that's better. Jove! I'm glad 
it's over. Was I rotten?" 

"No," she said, "you were good — though I shouldn't 
say it while you fish so shamelessly. Some day you 
ought to be extraordinarily good; it's your man- 
ner You make them feel as if you were address- 

tt^ each man individually; yes, you coaxed them, 
and then you bullied them. I believe an audience likes 
it." 

"I was talking to you," he said. "Didn't you like 
it?" 

"Bdng coaxed and bullied? No, I shouldn't, if I 
were an audience; but other people do. Reason Is 
nowhere . . ." 

"Wasn't I reasonable?" 

She laughed. "This isn't the first meeting I've 
been to. I'm summing up. Can't I refer to any- 
thing but you ?" 

"Not to-night," he insisted with his peculiar grave 
humour. "It's my night to howl Wasn't I reason- 
able?" 

"Well — as far as politics will permit — I mean a 
par^ man. You said only the things you could hon- 
estly believe, I'm sure." 



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152 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Of course." 

"Is it of course? Don't you su[q>ose all the others 
b^an the same way ? I guess I'm turnii^ cynic, but 
I can't help thinking over what I see. And you know 
how it is — they get so they don't know what sin- 
cerity means. They think they can cut themselves in 
two, that a man's life and his politics aren't of the 
same piece. . . ." 

"No man is perfect," said Chan, feeling banal. 
"Can't a man believe better than he is able to per- 
fonn?" 

"I suppose so; we have to. But it doesn't follow 
that he can therefore get up and lay down the law 
to others on things he can't or won't perform. 
Hasn't the success of all teachers of ethics depended 



"On themselves squaring practice and theory ?" 

"Yes, that's it. I'm thinking of private morals 
mostly ; but I don't see why public morals should be 
different. Of course we can all be hypocrites, if 
that is what they arc driving home." 

He gave a deep<hested laugh. "I wish I could 
hand Geers over to you. He thinks the trick can be 
turned." 

"Yes, I know he does. That's why I came away ; 
he'd have bored me. I should have been able to think 
of only one thing while he talked ; How does he 
manage to do it? I've listened to him twice now, 
watched him work himself up into a positive rage 
denouncing some election crookedness as far away as 
Nova Scotia, or a piece of Conservative chicanery 
dating back twenty years; while all the time you 
m^ht say he had his own little piece of street-car 

graft money right in his pocket " She stopped 

in dismay. That was the diabolical disadvantage of 
having established a hatrit of intellectual candour 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 153 

with one who might later become involved in some- 
thing to necessitate vast reserves. She and Chan had 
actually thought aloud to each other, and she had 
diMie it once too often. But still she did not know 
hov much that reserve had been needed, for she was 
thinking only of Ross Whittemore — "his uncle's the 
one who will build it." Since Addison had said that 
to her, he had not had an opportunity to say much 
more ; and at that time he did not yet know of Chan's 
active participation. 

"Geers I" said Chan sharply. "Who told you he was 
grafting?" 

"I'm sorry I can't tell yoti," said Lesley firmly. It 
was Cresswell had told her. "I shouldn't have said 
it, even if it is true " 

"It isn't true," he said slowly. 

"Not at all?" 

"Not in the least." 

"But " 

"He acted as counsel for the Belle Claire Company 
in a perfectly legitimate and open transaction. He 
has been their counsel for years." 

"If I was mistaken, I'm sorry." 

"Oh, you didn't hurt me. But Geers is honest, even 
if he does keep bad company." Chan was beginning 
to be aware of the rent in his camlet cloak, and he 
was not sure but she had purposely drawn hts eyes 
to it. Of course she had not, else she would not have 
gone so far. It did not occur to her that by bad com- 
pany he meant himself and Ross. 

She thought Cresswell must have been misinformed. 
He had not; he had merely drawn a fair inference 
from his actual knowledge. 

"Well," she said doubtfully, "I do withdraw, and 
maybe there are only six men in buckram instead of 
twelve. But buckram is worn, isn't it?" 



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154 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Oh, yes," he admitted uncomfortably. "Men are 
hypocrites. It makes life easier." 

"If you oaiy want to live easily," she assented. "I 
suppose it's crude and pinfeathery of me, but I feel 
contemptuous of that. It's stupid ; men trying to baild 
with one hand while they destroy with the other. I 
suppose they all be^n almost imperceptibly, too, and 
think they can be great men after they get throi^h 
being little ones. But— I wanted to talk about your 
speech, too, and instead I've made one. And I've 
walked home when I started to go to the office; I 
must go back I" 

"So will I," he said, dismissing regretfully the [m>8- 
pert of the fire. 

"Well, what was I saying? Oh, I wanted to ask 
jrau, were you nervous ? You didn't look it" 

"I even forgot to address the chairman," said Chan, 
banning to see the humour of his cold chifls in retro- 
spect "It was you saved me. It was, really. Nerv- 
ous ? By George, I was nearly gibbering. I couldn't 
even decide how I ought to dress; that shows you 
what my mind was reduced to — worrying about my 
clothes I" 

"Men," said Lesley, "from all I've noticed, aren't 
so very different from women. They're only — more 
sol" 

But he did not catch that, and she declined to ex- 
plain. 

"Did you like it — enjoy yourself ?" she pursued. 

"Yes. I believe I understand already why poli- 
ticians develop such ^^s. I suppose that helps diem 
to humbug themselves ; other people believe 'em, why 
shouldn't they believe themselves? Talk about pit- 
falls — every time a man opens his mouth he digs one 
for himself." 

"Youll arrive, I think," she said, slowing a little. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 15S 

in 8pite of the cold, as they neared the office. Tliere 
was some snow on the ground, and the wind was 
keen, not a chinook. She had no furs, and kept her 
hands in her pockets, with the poise of a vigorous 
lad. The whiteness of her face under her large dark 
hat had a warmth from her glowing eyes. There was 
no bitterness in her voice tor her own defeated puf^ 
pose. 

"Arrive where the others do," he said. "You think 
they're a poor k>t. All the big men are dead, eh ?" 

'^ don't know. I do know what you're thinking" 
— that was sometimes literally true — "that the dead 
ones had the same fauHs. No, they were single- 
minded. Walpole firmly believed in spoils, for in- 
stance." She wished herself better informed, better 
read. "They were candid about having 'no damned 
nonsense about merit.' Isn't that a difference?" 

"Lesley," he asked soberly, "did any one — an agent, 
say— ever sell you anything you didn't want?" 

"No," she said, astonished, "not that I can remem- 
ber. I've always been too poor, 3rou know." 

"I don't believe that was the reason," said Chan 
darkly. 

"Wasn't it? Just as jrou say." 

"As far as I can recall," said Chan, with a touch 
of gloom, "I haven't said anything this evenii^. 
You've made me feel like a budding Gladstone. I've 
always thought of him as representative of all that 
business ; word ju^Iing, large talk, and both eyes 
peeled for the main chance." 

"I'm sorry," said Lesley, because she could not resist 
it. "For I assure you I don't think you are — another 
Gladstone I" Whereupon she cruelly left him in the 
cold, which seemed to reach to his vital marrow 
through those innumerable joints in his previously 
shining armour of conceit. 



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156 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Had he been really conceited, he would never have 
felt her thrusts. He went and found Ross, and was 
so silent the rest of the evening his uncle became al- 
most alarmed over the youth's unnatural modesty. 

Lesley, sitting in the office drearily reading ex- 
changes in search of timely jokes, was vexed at her- 
self. She knew she had been subtly unkind, that 
Chan had wanted to crow, to enlist her friendly help 
in congratulating himself. She knew more, why he 
had not commanded her quick enthusiastic approval 
as he would have a little earlier. It had nothing to 
do with politics or parties. When one flaw has been 
found in an idol, it is easy to discover a dozen others. 
She could look at him coolly now, see how young he 
was, how masculinely human. During the summer 
he had come close to her, confided in her unwittingly. 
She had from the very first kept back some things 
from him, when she minimised her anxieties and her 
ambition, to the last, when she was ready to bite her 
tongue out to prevent its telling that she loved him. 
Only he had laid aside both sword and shield in the 
house of a friend — and the friend was now busily 
pricking him with her spindle. It was hateful, femi- 
nine, but very necessary. 

Because, when she pricked him sharpest, she loved 
him most She dwelt on his weaknesses to save her 
from a yawning depth of folly, of idealisation, which 
appalled her commonsense. She could become maud- 
lin over his very eyelashes if she would permit herself I 

Perhaps that truth would have comforted Chan, if 
he had known it Again, it mi^^t only have alarmed 
and astounded him. He did not know it, and had 
enough matter for thot^t of Lesley without the 
knowledge. 

"Contemptuous" was the word she had used. He 
should have scorned her as a mere female, in return 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 157 

for her contempt; but in the game of scorning, an 
almost unbeatable advantage is gained by the one who 
scoms first. That is not logical, but it is so. He 
squirmed, and constantly came back to the point, that 
she had spoken the truth, unless one were a cjmic in 
grain and believed in nothing. Chan's mind was both 
vigorous and healthy, and he had to believe. He had 
that physical gusto which made Browning the optimist 
he was. He was guilty before his own gods. Per- 
haps Lesley was only a snip of a girl, not very well 
educated, knowing nothing of the world. It did not 
matter; she had the faculty of being able to think 
clearly at first sight, to correlate instantly all the facts 
presented to her. It marked her for a journalist in 
the lai^r sense ; she must succeed if ever she had her 
chance. But that was not what was concerning him ; 
he was still pinned to her conclusions. He envied 
Ross, who had somehow gone past these things, got 
beyond good and evil to necessary and unnecessary, 
inexpedient and expedient, pleasant and disagreeable. 
Had he known through what bitter waters Ross had 
reached his Fortunate Isle, he might not have envied. 
Ross constituted part of his difficulty. He had 
agreed to work with Ross, and he meant to do it. He 
would even be convicted before his other gods for 
Ross. He went on consulting with Burragc, working 
on the street railway scheme, which progressed under 
the surface. And he went on speaking briefly when 
required by Geers. It was a strange effect of his 
mental disquiet that his speeches had an unmistakable 
ring of conviction which won over some waverers. 
He was reasoning with himself, and the answer al- 
ways came out the same. 



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CHAPTER XV 

LESLEY'S problem, finding some new place of 
shelter, was settled for her by chance and 
Hilda Brewer, whom Jack Addison had un- 
deservedly designated as "an old cat." She was 
not ; she was a gentle and amiable girl on the verge of 
being an old maid, possessing that fairness which time 
and spinsterhood fade quickly. She had a great deal 
of fine blonde hair, no figure, and a habit of minding 
her own business; so that Lesley had sincerely liked 
her for a long time without even knowing it. She was 
a bookkeeper in the business office of the Recorder. 

Near closing time, Hilda was hurrying to finish 
and be gone; and Lesley wishing she might put off 
the evil mmnent of doing likewise. Like Dante, she 
was finding the bread bitter and the stairs steep in 
another's house; to sit in the same room with Chan 
and Amy together was painful, and to hear them speak 
to each other was like having a nerve touched on the 
quick. It humiliated her to own to such a thraldom 
to a jealousy that had no ri^ts. And all her casually 
intimate hours were of the past, for Amy was begin- 
ning to covertly press her own rights (such as they 
were). If Chan came, she was never absent. Well, 
she had in her favour the nine points of possession, of 
Chan and the house alike. All Lesley asked was to 
withdraw. So she mused, making hay among the ex- 
changes and filling her wastebasket if not her head. 

"I want to get off early to-day," said Hilda, rous- 
ing Lesley by banging down the lid of a desk. "I've 
i5« 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 159 

two trunks to pack, and forty-eight thu^ that won't 
go into a trunk. Moving." 

"I wisii I were," said Lesley idly. "Where does 
one move to?" 

"Why don't you?" asked Misa Brewer eagerly. 
"Come with me. I have a huge new room, and I'd 
like to share the expenses. I've been starved out of 
my old place. . . ." 

"I will," Lesley interrupted her. And she went 
home to give Mrs. Cranston due notice. Since there 
was some place to go, she could not wait another mo- 
ment. What lies might be needed to soothe Mrs. 
Cranston she left to her own ingenuity and the spur 
of the moment. She did not care if they were not 
very good lies. 

They passed muster, evidently. Amy opened her 
^es wide for a moment only, said: "Why, Lesley, 
I'm awfully sorry," and was called to the kitchen by 
the coffee boiling over. She was really sorry ; Lesley 
had never got in her way, and was useful to hook her 
gowns for her. Amy was not exactly a vicious wom- 
an ; but she was rather rudimentary. The sea urchin 
is nothing but a slightly animated stomach, but it 
cannot help that. 

"Maybe it's the best thmg," pursued Amy at the 
dinner table, "because Bill's thinking of taking us 
away to Femey before spring. I was going to tell 
you that Is your new place nice ? I hope you won't 
be lonesome. Have you seen Chan this week?" 

"No," said Lesley, and did not return the enquiry. 
If she had been Amy she could not have asked that 
question, but she was not Amy. She did wonder if 
she had wounded Chan by her cool and critical atti- 
tude after the meeting, or if he were merely very 
busy, as he might well be. 

He came and answered for himself shortly. Amy 



ovCiooglc 



i6o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

was upstairs, dressing for some church social or other 
small festivity; I-esley heard her set her door ajar, 
saw the sudden light stream out on the upper landing, 
at Sound of the doorbell, and answered it with her 
teeth on edge. 

"I'm glad you're in," said Chan. He seemed seri- 
ous and tired. "I haven't very long to stay." 

"Isn't your uncle so well ?" asked Lesley, with real 
concern. "Come in; I'll let you have the best chair, 
since you won't stay long I" 

"Yes, Ross is all right," He gazed into the fire 
abstractedly. "Things are piling up on us a bit, that's 
all, now the end's so near." 

"I wonder," said Lesley dreamily, "does anything 
ever really end?" She was thinking of herself, won- 
dering if some day she might look on him indiffer- 
ently, pass htm in the street without even a quickened 
heartbeat "It would be nice if they would; but it 
seems to me that everjrthing goes on and on. We 
spend our lives starting things we can't finish, because 
we can't finish anything — well, where am I getting to ?" 

"To the theory of recurring cycles, I fancy," said 
Chan. "Where is Mrs. Cranston?" Now he had not 
meant to ask that; his mind was simply jumping about 
at random, from fatigue, and distaste of certain mat- 
ters which kept crowding to the front. He had come 
over with some vague intent of squaring himself in 
Lesley's estimation, and did not know how to begin, 
nor exactly how to do it if he could begin, nor even 
precisely how far she needed to have her opinion 
changed. 

"In her room," said Lesley, "dressing. I'll go and 
call her." Spc^en very graciously, but a greenish 
spark lighted in her eyes. 

"Good heavens, no," cried Chan. "I just wondered 
if I could sit here and be stupid a while. I don't want 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS i6i 

to be polite and entertaining to-night, and you know 
one can only be comfortably rade and neglectful of 
one person at a time." 

"Very well, pick on me," Lesley agreed. Silence 
fell. Something of late was missing in their friend- 
ship; the ease had gone out of it. There were gaps, 
covered thii^. Even silence was no longer natural 
between them in quite the same way. Lesley felt as 
if she would be dumb so long as that roof sheltered 
her. But it seemed necessary to talk. 

"Any fresh news from uptown?" she asked finally. 
"I came away early, and the council meeting wasn't 
over. And I'm interested, you know." She quite 
forgot he did not know ; she had never mentioned her 
investment with Addison. 

"In the council meeting?" He hesitated, frowning 
thoi^htfully, turning the matter over gingerly in his 
mind. "Yes, it's over. They didn't do anything— 
if — if you mean about the street-car line?" 

"Yes. Why don't they do something?" It was all 
words with her; something to talk about. 

"Are you in a hurry to ride?" asked Chan. "Well, 
I suppose they think it may pay them better to do 
nothing awhile." She did not see why his tone should 
be so savage. He thought she was goading him. And 
he was so deadly tired of the whole thing. 

"I never saw a street car," mused Lesley. 

"Never ? You amazing creature t" 

"A Stone Age female," she agreed. "I suppose 
that's why so many things in ordinary life are inexpli- 
cable to me. Why do people do the things they do?" 

"I don't know," said Chan, "That's the only ex- 
cuse I have. You do think I'm a rotter, don't you, 
Lesley?" 

She stared at him, with honestly not the least idea 
what he was driving at And before she could say 



ovCiooglc 



I63 THE SHAtOW RIDERS 

80, while he interpreted her silence as assent. Any 
rustled in, perfiuijed, powdered, pompadoured, pout- 
ing 2 little, drawing on her gloves. 

"I didn't know you were coming, Chan," she said, 
with soft reproach. "And I have to go out" 

"Must you?" said Chan perfunctorily, and helped 
her on with her coat 

"I might come back early," she whispered, as he 
bent over her, while she pretended to arrange the vio- 
lets on her corsage. Lesley looked on, out of the 
comer of her eyes, missing nothing at all. A great 
apathy enfolded her. Futility. . . . Not to have 
been able to do what Amy had done. Amy had got 
Chan, and she, Lesley, had failed. She did not know 
she could have done it; a girl cannot know a great 
deal by instinct about some very important matters. 
What Amy had got of him she did not know either. 
So she could not despise Amy, after all. She was 
only relieved to think she could soon run away now, 
turn her back on her defeat. 

"Your flowers are going to tall, Amy," she said 
indilTerently. 

"Are they? Oh, you fasten them, Chan," said Amy. 
He did, and tore his finger on the pin that held them 
— his flowers. Also, his pint Lesley saw it for the 
first time since Chan had last worn it. 

"Where," she said, before she could put a guard 
on her tongue, "did you get that odd pin. Amy?" 

"Oh, it's an old thing. Haven't you seen it often?" 

"Perhaps I have," said Lesley. She watched Chan 
open the door for Amy, say good-night, and return. 
She felt vicious. And what she said perplexed him 
for half a second, and then stunned him worse than 
the box on the ear she had once given him. 

"Was that your staff and bracelets, Chan?" That 
was what she said. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 163 

"My " He looked at htr questioningly, while 

his subconscious mind automatically flashed up from 
the for^tten years a mental picture of the school 
chapel at Vevey, and himself, a bored and unrepentant 
sinner, surreptitiously perusing the more exciting por- 
tions of the Old Testament when his bowed head 
mutely lied that he was ei^j^ed in prayer. The 
sheer drama of the story of Judah and Tamar his dead 
son's wife is enough to make it stick in the most irre- 
ligious memory. 

"My God I" he finished. 

There was a violet fallen to the floor, where Amy 
had stood. Lesley picked it up. She was b^inning 
to loathe violets acutely, and without knowing what 
she did she threw it into the Are, and then tried to 
rescue it, too late. 

"Poor little thing," she said, and began unexpectedly 
to lat^h. "No, I'm not Insane. I just remembered 
a favourite phrase of my literary lights of a few years 
back. Did you ever read The Duchess, or Mrs. 
Southworth ?" Chan could not play up quite yet, but 
she went on. "Their heroines used to be perpetually 
crushing a spray of sandalwood or jasmine or almost 
any old thing in their little cold hands, and then all 
their lives the scent of whatever it was used to brii^ 
tears to their eyes. I don't know why I remembered 
that just now; it was always cabbages had that asso- 
ciation for me. I had to transplant cabbages until my 
poor little knees were sore and my back ached, and 
ever since then the sight of a cabbage has brought 
tears to my eyes. . . . It's cold ^;ain, isn't it? I be- 
lieve we'll have more snow. . . . Oh, Chan, don't be 
so horrid and make me do all the talking. Cat got 
your tongue? Be nice and amuse me." She grew 
desperate, felt as if she would never be able to stop 
talking nonsense, as if she were pouring her words 



ovGooglc 



I64 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

into a bottomless pit of silence that yawned between 
them. Panic possessed her. 

"I think I do amuse you," said Chan, and rose and 
walked across the room. Now, if only he had hated 
her, he might have loved her. Or if she had wept 
again — oh, she should have wept again — only the FatC3 
knew where the flood might have carried their un- 
launched craft. But she was laughing, and laughter 
to one tired and perplexed is like rain to a man without 
a cloak. 

"Why, what have I done ?" she asked brightly. 

"You haven't done anythii^. Don't pay any atten- 
tion to me. It's a beastly night, isn't it?" He had 
come over wanting to tell her about everything, to talk 
himself out ; and she had driven him back <mi himself. 
The springs of sympathy were dried. 

Anyway, he reflected cynically, talking would not 
help. He had to go on now. Go on further than he 
had ever contemplated, apparently. He had an im- 
portant conference with Burrage scheduled for ten 
o'clock. His uncle was equally deep in consultation 
with Gecrs and the Premier, being on the committee 
of ways and means, the purely financial end of the 
campaign. 

Lesley watched him, struggled with herself for the 
right word; her fine perceptions were blunted with 
too much and too long stress of emotion. She was in- 
fected with his own desire to give up, to get clear. 
There was nothing to be said. They had never gone 
far enough, touched each other intimately enough, to 
explain everything with an embrace. In fact, they 
were further off that than ever ; Lesley had controlled 
herself and the situation too neatly, kept Chan too 
thoroughly in the dark. She had only got dose 
enough to strike with the shrewdest effect. 

"Rotten night," he repeated aimlessly. "I've got 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 165 

to go, L«I«y. Sorry I inflicted myself on you, feeling 
like this. Good-night." He was going. 

"Chan," she said involuntarily as he reached the 
door. 

"Yes ?" But there was something too polite in his 
attitude of waiting. 

"Good-night," she repeated, smiling again. He 
went out 

"He won't come back !" Her heart seemed to swell 
and suffocate he^ ; she did not cry the words aloud, 
but they were ringing in her ears. She went upstairs, 
her knees trembling, holding to the banisters. The 
house seemed to echo with emptiness. It would have 
been comforting if Eve had wakened, but the child 
was peacefully asleep, and Lesley had no heart to 
disturb her. She went to bed, and lay wakeful half 
the night, tense, aching for action. If it had been 
summer she would have wandered through the dark. 
She felt so terribly alive, and caged ; life turned back 
Ml itself in her racing veins ; the tragedy of beii^ 
young possessed and shook her. Everything seemed 
to be receding from her eager grasp, and she strained 
at invisible bonds. . . . 

And it was true that he did not want to come back. 
A girl, he thot^ht, could be more brutal than any 
other living creature. If a man had done what she 
had done he would have thrashed him, let out the 
bad blood in material earnest. What, exactly, had she 
done? He could not have defined it, but those words 
of hers took the breath out of him, like a blow in the 
pit of the stomach. . . . Women are so extraordi- 
narily conscious ; they do know what they are doing, 
and at the very time ; they can put a name to it ; a 
man only does it, and then forgets it. It was said of 
one type of woman that "she eateth and wipeth her 
mouth, and saith I have done no evil;" but it may be 



ovCiooglc 



ifiS THE SHADOW RIDERS 

said of any man that his ri^t hand knows not what 
his left hand doeth; and he says nothing at all. It 
is the woman who looks at the fact and produces an 
opinion on it. 
Anjrway, Chan had to see Burrage. 



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CHAPTER XVI 

MATTERS had finally reached a formiilable 
crisis with the street railway project. It 
was a very bad time for such a crisis, for the 
election came in a week ; but the rival company was 
crowding the pace. 

"It's narrowed down to us getting one more man — 
that Alderman Curtin," explained Burrage, chewing 
a fat cigar with a look of distaste. 

"Well, how much does he want?" asked Chan dis- 
gustedly. No doubt Ross would stand for it, what- 
ever it was. 

"If we can meet his terms," Burrage went on, "and 
raise our bid about ten per cent, to the city, unexpect- 
edly, to-morrow night, we can probably stampede 'em. 
He agrees to do some of the stampeding. We've said 
we couldn't make the raise, on purpose to get a better 
effect. They will only give us a fifteen-year charter 
anyway, but we can fix that in the valuation clause; 
at the end of fifteen years it won't be hard to see 
that the valuation is so high the city can't manage to 
take it over. There are more ways of killing a cat 
than choking him on butter." 

"How much ?" repeated Chan. 

"Curttti is all tied up for ready money — wait a 
minute. He owns stock in the gas company ; he wants 
to sell. There's no market for that kind of gas just 
now. You see?" 

"Ill tell Ross," igneA Chan. "See him in an hour 
or two, when he gets back to the hotel. How many 
shares?" 



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i68 THE SHADOW lUDERS 

"Five thousand — par — dollar shares." 

"I need some gas shares," said Chan savagely, and 
went over to the hotel to wait for Ross. 

He was asleep in a stiff wooden armchair in Ross's 
room when his uncle came in, very late. There was 
a decanter of Scotch and a siphon and empty glass 
beside him on the table ; the light was in his eyes, and 
he scowled at it in his sleep. The whole effect was 
rakish, and oddly pathetic. Ross lifted his eyebrows, 
looked at the decanter and found it nearly full, and 
smiled at the younger man, rather tenderly, as he had 
been wont to do when Chan as a little chap had been 
forgotten and gone to sleep on a rug or some other 
unconventional spot. That funny motherless look — 
surprising how a grown man could keep it. 

"Still a sentimental ass 1" said Ross to himself, and 
shook Chan gently. 

"Get out — don't bother me," remarked Chan, dissi- 
pating sentiment, and then apologising hastily. 

"I don't blame you," said Ross. "It's three o'clock. 
We had quite a session. How did you come off ?" 

"Five thousand to the bad," said Chan succinctly. 
"Can you do it? It's a hell of a lot to pay for any 
man, I think. Five cents for the lot of us would be a 
high bid." 

"Price and value," said Ross thoughtfully, "have 
practically no connection. Yes, I can do it. ... I 
thought it might be more. Another Scotch?" Chan 
shook his head. 

"Got a headache now. Oh, I only had one. Curi- 
ous; I don't believe I ever had a drink alone before 
in my life. It doesn't taste the same, do you know?" 

"Well, I'll telephone you to-morrow as soon as I 
can get a draft cashed — if you advise it," said Ross, 
cutting the end of a cigarette absently in the cigar 
cutter. "What do you think?" 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 169 

•TVhy, I wasn't thinking I It's the only way, isn't 
itr 

"There are always at least two ways of doii^ a 
thing — and one is not to do hi I'd like you to be 
perfectly frank." 

"In what way? I've done the best I could — of 
course I haven't really done anything; Bunage has." 

"Do you want to do anything? Would it be your 
choice to go through with this, seeing what it neces- 
sitates ?" 

"Bribery?" 

"Exactly. I've fancied you losing your taste for 
the job." 

"I'm here to do whatever you say," repeated Chan 
doggedly. 

"If I say — do as you feel like doing? Wouldn'b 
you chuck it, as far as your own personal interests are 
concerned ? 

Chan was silent, runnii^ his fingers throi^h his 
unruly hair. 

"I think you'd better diuck it," said Ross quietly. 
"I didn't anticipate quite this, either." 

"You wouldn't give it up on my account?" asked 
Chan, feelii^ overwhelmed by responsibility. "Hai^ 
.it all, I don't care." To put his own squeamishness in 
his tmcle's way seemed another kind of cheapness; 
he was in a cleft stick. 

"It is hardly that If I'd thought sooner I'd have 
kept you out, and done my own dirty work. But I 
don't want you to feel burdened with gratitude for 
nothit^, so I'll tell you that other things have decided 
me. We got word to-night that this whole business 
is going to be used as campaign material, turned 
against us and put in its worst light The Conserva- 
tives have put two and two together and got five. 
They think they can involve Geers, you understand. 



ovCioo^lc 



170 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

I'm not sure but that Curtin is meant as a trap for us. 
Anyway, we retiig at to-morrow's council meeting; 
I've simply decided to withdraw. . . . How Bur- 
rage will swear I" He chuckled quietly. 

"How did you hear of their intentions?" 

"Folsom always had a weakness for talkti^; I find 
he hasn't changed a bit He thought it was too late 
to checkmate them now. ... I met him yesterday 
at dinner, you know, and he let me understand he 
had something up his sleeve. We laid a few wires, 
and got word of what it was. Hell find that, as our 
esteemed friend the Onlooker says, he's got noth- 
ing up his sleeve but his cuffl They can't show a 
thing on Geers, and if we simply announce that we 
can't bid up any higher, the council by its own past 
decision will be automatically forced to turn us down, 
there won't be any sudden conversions of aldermen 
to investigate — and there you are. And Geers is pre- 
paring an interview on the subject that will put him 
past suspicion. As for Folsom, I'm sending him a 
check for campaign expenses. The country must be 
saved; I feel that strongly — you can imagine how 
strongly when I've contributed to both sidesi" 

"You make nw feel like a kid," was all Chan could 
say. 

"Don't make that mistake. The childish part is to 
have nothing but games, and that's me. I hope, on 
the contrary, that you may attain a man's stature, the 
power to be serious about serious things. By the 
way, you put some money in with Addison, didn't 
you?" 

"A little — that doesn't matter." 

"Of course you'll get it back some time ; youll only 
have to wait longer. But I'll make it up to you 
now " 

"Oh, that be hanged. I've been spoon-fed aO my 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 171 

life. If I can't even make money here, what sort of 
a dub am I? Look at what does make money I You 
know I'd £0t tired of the things money could buy. 
Ill make enou^ ; don't worry." He straightened his 
shoulders, his eyes thoughtful but his brow clearing. 
His brain felt rested and his body healthily tired. 
Ross's words had been more of a relief than he could 
have imagined; certainly more than he could have 
hoped for, since the one thii^ he could not have im- 
^ined was Ross withdrawing now. 

"And now what are you going to do?" he asked 
Ross. 

"It's a lai^ bit of country," said Ross. "You'd 
better go to bed. No, don't go home; I'll get a room 
for you here." He went to the telephone, and talked 
to a sleepy clerk. 

"Good-night," said Chan. "Much obliged," 

"I think," said Ross, "that you'll do." They did 
not shake hands, but each caught the other's impulse 
to it. 

To say that Burrage swore when the decision was 
conununicated to him next day is inadequate. He was 
lyrical. Chan, in his fresh relief, laughed until he 
had a stitch in his side ; Ross remained imperturbable, 
and bought 6urr^;e several drinks. They met Cress- 
well, coming from a conference with Geers and the 
owner of the Recorder, himself somewhat amazed, and 
bought many more drinks. Chan, who still had a 
meeting to attend, took cigars until his pockets would 
hold no more, and hoped he might meet enough voters 
to dispose of them during the afternoon. Cresswell 
tore himself away after several false starts, explainit^ 
that he had an interview to recast. That was at three 
in the afternoon. 

Cresswell was even more shorthanded than usual 
with his staff that week; half his men had to be on 



ovCiooglc 



173 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

political reporting; and his editorial writer had jast 
left He commandeered Lesley and implored her to 
return to the office in the evening and take telephone 
items, and she did. It was ten o'clock before he came 
in himself. By that time what had been begun at 
three was well finished. 

There was only one reporter in the office beside 
Lesley, far off, in a dim comer. The telephone had 
stopped ringing for a moment The night editor had 
been mipressed for a meeting, and Cresswell had been 
very ui^rently needed, though not so urgently as if the 
Recorder had been a morning paper. Lesley looked 
up with relief, and rose. 

"Sit down, my child, till I count you," said Cress- 
well solemnly, hanging his hat on a copybook. 

"I'd like to go and get some supper ; I'm hungry," 
said Lesley. 

"Better than being thirsty," returned Cresswell. 
"Stick around a minute; I think I need a prop for my 
old age." 

Lesley looked at him, wrinkled her dainty nose, and 
sniffed. 

"Quite r-right," said Cresswell. "I am. That, 
Miss Johnny, is why I want you. Typewriters are 
treacherous things. Can you read this ?" He handed 
her a sheaf of copy paper, covered with his own 
"heavy irregulars," as he called his handwriting. 

"Want me to copy it ?" It was l^ble enough ; he 
had written it earlier in the day. She set to work, 
while Cresswell began devastating another fair field 
of paper, with a large pencil and some difficulty. In 
a few minutes she pulled a finished sheet out of the 
machine, and turned to him in enquiry. 

"Do my eyes deceive me?" she asked. 

"Quite likely; I'm sure mine do," returned Cress- 
well equably. Not to put too 6ne a point on it, he 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 173 

was as dnink as he onild be ; but nature or habit had 
^ven him a definite deadline, a limit of solubility. 
He could always talk clearly, even if he couldn't get 
his thoug^hts to cohere and assemble themselves ; and 
he had no rotten spot to uncover, so Lesley was not 
in the least embarrassed and knew she need not be. 
What had undone Cresswell was not drink, but the 
impulse in him that made him yield to drink occa- 
sionally, which was also the secret of his excellence 
in his calling. It was a craving of change, ah impa- 
tience of the thir^ done, and always for him done 
with. He wanted every day new; and when it was 
not new enough, he moved on. 

"But do you mean to tell me," said Lesley, "that 
Geers favors public ownership of the street railw3]rs7" 

"Not exactly, but he means to tell the public that. 
Ruse de guerre. Johnny, how many n's are there in 
muninidpal ?" 

"Three," said Lesley absently. "No— good heavens 
— one. Listen a minute; just what does this mean?" 

"It means — ^hello?" He grabbed a telephone. "Yes 
. . . yes . . . twelve to six against . . . which ?" He 
scribbled a moment "It means, my child . . . Rob- 
inson," he yelled at the preoccupied reporter under his 
solitary droplight at the far end of the room, "take 
this story. You needn't write it, but get the facts; 
Winn will bring it himself in a few minutes. AH 
right ... It means, little one, that the dty council 
has just turned down both offers for a franchise. 
Thatzall. Geers is merely prophesying after the event 
— neck and neck, rather." 

"And there won't be any street cars?" 

"Some time, some time. Got that finished?" She 
desisted, seeing that he was trying to collect his facul- 
ties for another matter, and went on transcribing 
Geers' interview, polishing it up a bit wherever Cress- 



ovCiooglc 



174 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

well bad been in too great haste. She handed it to 
him silently when it was done. 
"Is it awright ?" he asked her. 

"I think so." 

"Take your word for it Send it down." She 
stuck it on the copyhoc^ placing his hat carefoOy in 
the wastebasket Then she kioked about stealthily for 
ber own, and thought she might escape. A vain hope. 

"Now this." He gathered up the scattered sheeto 
be had been scribbling. "That will be — To, Martin." 
The lull of the preceding half hour was shattered. 
Martin, the night editor, was back at his post. The 
foreman had been doing his own editing for the even- 
ing. More reporters came. Crcsswdl and Martin 
departed to the composing room to have a heated dis- 
agreement with the foreman. Typewriters clicked; 
phonea jingled incessantly; callers drifted in and 
Cresswell came back and disposed of them, all but 
one. With him he retreated into a close conference 
in his own more or less retired comer. It was 
Burrage, and he stayed and stayed. Lesley signalled 
in vain to catch Cresswell's eye; tact forbade her to 
tell him before another man Uiat she could not make 
head nor tail of what he had written, except that it 
appeared to concern public ownership and street cars. 
She held her aching head and waited for Burrage to 
depart, and when he did Cresswell went with him. 

"Mr. Cresswell," she shrieked desperately after him. 

"Back in a minute," he called back. 

He was gone an hour. When he did come back, 
it was midnight and Lesley had vanished. So had 
the copy she had just placed on his hook, taken by the 
foreman on a chance visit. She had done her best 
with it. Cresswell could rewrite it in the morning 
if he liked. There was not a word of his in it, but 
it was neatly marked "Edit, lead," and that was enough 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 175 

for the compositor. As for Cresswell, he had a hazy 
idea that he had written an editorial, and was satisfied 
for the moment 

The destructioa of her financial prospects sent Les- 
ley to sleep very heavy-hearted. Nothing pro^>ered 
under her hand, she thought ; she was bom for frus- 
trated hopes. And she needed money very ui^ntly; 
her mother's stay in California was costing more than 
she had expect«L But it was fulfilling its purpose; 
Mrs. Johns was recovering, though she dared not re- 
turn before spring. 

Lesley felt that she did not care much what dis- 
honesty was involved in the franchise business if only 
they had gone ahead. Evidently nothing could be 
done straight anyway ; there was an ineradicable kink 
in human nature to prevent that. She wondered if 
she should ever get her money back at all, or even a 
part of it She had not a line of writing to show for 
it except a vague note from Addison. In retrospect 
this seemed a great stupidity. It loomed as an enor- 
mous sum to her now, and measured by the time and 
effort it had cost it was. Also by her need of it. 
She had got almost used to doing without things her- 
self. Preparing to pack, she had surveyed her scanty 
wardrobe— three dark plain gowns, one hat, half a 
dozen blouses---with a certain humour. But she had 
never had any more than that; even the swiss and 
blue ribbons of childhood seemed opulent by compari- 
son. Once she had had red shoes with tassels. . . . 
All this she knew to be quite childish ; but there were 
times when the word failed to quell her real longing 
for satins and laces, and all the minor daintinesses 
which cost so much. 

"If I could," was her last solemn thought before 
she .slept, "I would buy a whole dozen long white 
gloves — I wonder if any are made long enou^i — my 



ovGooglc 



176 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

arms are so vety, very long and I want them to come 

ri{^t tip to the shoulder, and be wrinkled And 

sable furs. . . ." She thought sable was black, and 
would suit with her hair and skin. ... So it would 
have; a fine ironic fact. 

And these wandering thoughts were in a sense the 
result of Chan's conscientious scruples being too plain 
to his uncle's alert eye. By any mundane justice he 
ought to have been mulcted in one set of sables as a 
tax for the luxury of keeping a conscience. 



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CHAPTER XVII 

THE sables were for^tten with morning, but the 
two hundred dollars were not ; and she decided 
on the way to the office to ask Addison what 
would ultimately happen to her money. She had been 
dodgtt^ Addison ever since her mother's departure, 
and he had grown sulkily discouraged for a time. It 
might be best to let him stay that way, but she must 
know something, however indefinite, about her for- 
tune. She was sleepy and blue, and a letter from ber 
mother on her desk failed to bring the usual joy ; she 
hesitated over opening it, feeling so poor when the 
thought of her mother always brought a mad desire 
for abundance to bestow. She was turning it over 
hesitantly, when Cresswell, passing the door of the 
business office, looked in and saw her. 

"Come over here, Johnny," he said. "We have an 
account to settle." 

"You can't get blood from a stone," she returned. 
"And I am absolutely stony." So she went and sat 
by his desk, which overlooked the newsroom but was 
a little removed from the others. Cresswell looked 
very hale and fresh, as he always did on a morning 
after ; his hair was particularly leonine and his tie ends 
wild. He laid a smudgy proof before her. 

"Do you recc^ise that ?" he asked. 

She did ; it was her editorial. 

"Certainly I do. Why?" 

"I wrote it, didn't I?" 

"Of course." 

177 



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178 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Johnny, you're a sad liar for one so young," he said 
severely. "I did not. So you must have." 

"Well, there's the wastebasket," she told him, per- 
ceivii^ he was in a good humour, if nothing else. 

"And I'll put it over you, you young snip, if you 
don't be respectful to us both," he retorted. "Johnny, 
you're a find, a treasure, and I've already told the cir- 
culation manager that you belong to me exclusively 
henceforth. I'm damned if I didn't think I had writ- 
ten that until I found my own notes on my desk — and 
couldn't read 'em. You're my assistant now, and can 
do all the work, and I'll take the credit Will you 
do it?" 

She felt a natural pride. 

"Certainly — I should say so. Do you want me to 
do that kind of work ?" 

"Some. We'll see." 

"Well," she said with genuine diffidence, "if any one 
knows I write them, you know they won't pay the 
least attention to them. And I don't know very much; 
I'm not half educated. I had heard you say most of 
what's in that. But I'll do what I can." 

He looked at her shrewdly, impressed by her com- 
mon sense and modesty. 

"Don't you worry," he said kindly. "We'll make a 
newspaper woman of you yet ; and since you say so, 
no one need know exactly what you do. I'll keep you 
busy. Now go and fetch your doll rags over to that 
next desk. It's a rotten shame to have you down here 
so early this morning ; I'd meant to tell you last night. 
You didn't get out of here till midnight, did you? It's 
a great life, Johnny, and you're in it now. You're go- 
ing to have the privilege of impressing every one but 
yourself, of being the only one that knows how little 
you know, of working twenty hours a day for a ditch- 
digger's w!^s, and of running the country while your 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 179 

own affairs go to the devil. Go on and think about 
your new importance now, and I'll Bnd you some work 
pretty soon." 

So she read her mother's letter in a state of bewilder- 
ment, through a faintly rosy glow. Praise is pleasant, 
however one may steel oneself to stoicism. Yet it 
struck her only as a moment's praise, and she did not 
realise that her career might be already begun; she had 
too long visualised it in a remote setting. 

"Dear daughter. ..." And a page or two of 
flowers, blue sea and sunshine, which the rosy glow 
helped in realising. It was nice to think of her mother 
in the midst of roses and beside a simny sea. The 
letter went on with affectionate anxiety for Dick, for 
herself, even for the animals on the ranch; referred 
sl^htingly to vanishing ill-health ; and, on the last page, 
striking Lesley's eye above the context, what seemed 
a strange coincidence, Addison's name. "It must be 
that Mr. Addison, your friend, who sent the fruit to 
the train ; I'm sure I don't know any one else of that 
name. Such nice people they were, and took me for 
an auto ride, and to lunch, and sent me more fruit and 
flowers. . . . They have a big ranch near here ; and 
said they had been meaning to come and see me for 
weeks, but had been so busy." What was it all about? 
Addison in California — oh, no, he had written to some 
friends of his there, given them Mrs. Johns' name and 
address, and made them call on her and cover her with 
these kindnesses! That was why he had asked for 
her mother's address I She made it out clearly cnoi^h 
at last Well, that — that was decent of him, she ex- 
claimed vehemently to herself. The thought fulness 
and trouble he had been to made her repent in sack- 
cloth and ashes of the rudenesses she had heaped on 
him. If he wanted to prove his frequent assertions 
of a desire to serve her, he could in no other manner 



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l8o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

have done it so dearly and absolutely. She began a 
note to him in great haste, could not phrase it to suit 
her, and seized the telephone to call him. 

He was not down yet. She called him again later 
and he had just gone out. She left her name, and was 
told after lunch some one had telephoned her. But it 
was near five when he finally answered ; she was just 
about ready to go home. Only habit had kept her in 
so late ; Cresswell had told her to go much earlier, but 
she was communing with Mary Jane. 

"Hello — that you, Lesley?" It was no time to re- 
buke him for the name. "Did you — did you really 
want to talk to me? No, I didn't quite believe iC he 
said. 

"Yes. I just had a letter from my mother." 

"Who — your mother?" Perhaps his tone flattened 
slightly. In fact, he had foi^ten his own good ac- 
tion; but it had been a kind impulse none the less. 
"How is she?" 

"Oh, quite well ; and she thanks you, and so do I." 

"Oh, nonsense. Lesley. . . ." 

"Yes?" 

"Was that all? Can't I see you?" 

"I don't see how," she began doubtfully. "No, that 
isn't all; there is something else I want to ask you 
about." 

"But I can't talk to you over the 'phone," he said. 
"Can't you come over here ? Or mayn't I call at your 
house to-night?" 

"Over where?" 

"To my office. I just got in; I've been busy all 
afternoon, but I tried to 'phone you at noon. Can't 
you? You know where it is; just around the comer. 
Let me call this evening, won't you?" 

"No, I just can't; but wait there, I'll come over." 
There seemed no reaa<m why not. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS i8l 

The stairway, one flight, leading to his office, was 
already dark, and from the bottom she saw him in 
his doorway, silhouetted in the l^ht, looking for her. 
"How d^e do?" she said breathlessly, and gave him 
her hand. He took the other also, and drew her in- 
side. 

Every one had gone from the office but himself; 
the had not counted on that, but neither did she notice 
it at first. There were two rooms, furnished with less 
austerity than an office usually shows. Addison liked 
comfort, and was a bit of a dandy in his dress. But 
not this night; he wore a khaki uniform, and a service 
cap lay on the table, alongside a rifie and detached 
bayonet Still he looked very well, the warm olive of 
his complexion, darker than his apparel, and his regu- 
lar profile, which inclined just enough toward the 
Roman type to give him a look of race and enter- 
prise, consorting well with the slim athletic figuje 
outlined in the tight coat and puttees. She looked at 
him with evident surprise. 

"Who've you been shooting?" she asked, withdraw- 
ing from his detaining clasp. 

"I'm a corporal in the Mounted Rifles ; didn't you 
know?" he asked. "We just had a business meeting, 
winding up the summer's accounts; and looking over 
equipment; and we were talking of starting a winter 
rifle club. It's just a form, always going in uniform 
to a meeting ; keeps up the spirit." 

"Oh, the Fourteenth Light Horse," she said, and 
giggled. There had been a cartoon in a local weekly 
the summer before, a most unkind cut, showing a 
sorry-looking nag in an attitude of dejection and 
loneliness, captioned: "The other thirteen are in 
McKeown's pasture." The Fourteenth, Canadian 
Mounted Rifles, had just been organised then. "No, 
I didn't know you were a sojer," Lesley went on. She 



ovCiooglc 



i82 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

picked up the gun and bcilanced it expertly ; she could 
shoot a bit Something to put off speaking about that 
money, which seemed to have grown into a tiresomely 
personal affair between them, when it should have 
been entirely businesslike. 

"You said there was something you wanted to see 
me about," he reminded her. He kept at her elbow; 
and when she moved he followed ; and his deep brown 
eyes were very bright and followed her also. 

"Yes, I did. But first — it was so good of you to 

send your friends to see my mother. I think she 

was lonesome, and — and it was lovely of you," she 

. finished awkwardly, edging around the table toward 

the inner room, which was bad strategy. 

"I told you I wanted to — to " She would not 

look at him, but her mind seemed pushing him away, 
and as if he could feel it, he stopped speaking attd 
stood undecided. 

"Yes, I know ; and you did help me. Now I wanted 
to ask you — well you know — there won't be any street 
cars now?" 

"No. Whittemore dished us," He scowled, his 
black eyebrows met, and his eyes looked almost dan- 
gerous. 

"Why?" she asked. A good many people asked 
that, first and last, and none of them ever got an 
answer. 

"Well, I don't know; that's the truth. I wish I 
did ; it was like a thunderclap. Burrage says Whitte- 
more was afraid of a frame-up; but I don't believe 
Ross Whittemore would care for that. Well, it's all 
gone," he finished moodily. 

"All?" Her heart sank. "All the — the money — 
your mon^ ?" He looked up, like a pointer scentit^ 
game. 

"No. I'm not quite such a fool. Some of it's tied 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 183 

up for awhile, of ontrse. Bat we can hold it" He 
did not say that Whittetnore himself had offered to 
tide the syndicate over, if necessary, "No, I'm not 
broke. Would you care?" 

"Well, if s not nice to be brc^e. I ou^ht to know,** 
she sighed, and wished she could bring herself to the 
point. 

"Do you like money?" He leaned over the table, 
not scowling any more, and yet not looking as she was 
used to see him. 

"Of course," she said, without much r^ard for her 
words. "I'd love it; but I never had any — only that 
little bit " 

"Lesley, do you know I'm pretty rich, as things go 
out here?" he said. "Even without what's tied up in 
that land, I could realise at least a hundred and ^fty 
thousand cash inside of ten days " 

"Could you ?" She was interested, just by the sound 
of it, and her mobile face showed it "That's pleasant 
for you." She was enough accustomed to hear men 
talk of money — for in the West men do, not yet hav- 
ing acquired a sense of its sacredness and laid a taboo 
on the topic — not to think him extraordinary, nor even 

vulgar, "But I wanted to ask " she b^an at 

last 

"You don't need to ask," he said. "You can have 

it all — you can have me — ^you've got me " But 

instead he had her, across the table, it is true, but both 
her hands in his. Her eyes opened wide, her lips 
parted ; she felt nothing but a profotmd astonishment 

"No, no — don't be so crazy — ^you don't undei^ 
stand- — " 

"YoH don't," he aaid. "I am craxy — mad — about 

you. You've run away from me so long Crane 

herel" 

"I won't — I won't!" she cried, "What do you think 



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i8+ THE SHADOW RHJERS 

]n3U are doing?" It was unlucky that when she was 
furiously angry she was beautiful. Their meeting 
eyes almost struck sparks. 

"I'm going to make you listen to me," he retorted 

hotly. "This once Oh, you sweet thing, I won't 

hurt you. I want you ; I'm goii^ to take you away 
from here, and teach you to love " 

"But I won't — I don't!" she repeated frantically. 
"Why, you've got a wife — a family " 

"I haven't had a wife for two years," he said. 
"What does that matter ? It's you I want We don't 
need to live here; we can forget all about this rotten 
little damp. . . . No, you can't get away from me," 
and he showed all his even teeth in a triumphant smile. 
"Why, I could lift you right over the table; but I 
won't. Now I" And he drew her clear, put her 
hands behind her, still holding her wrists, so they 
stood eye to eye. 

"H^s been drinking!" was her first real thought, 
more like a flash of light across her bewildered brain 
than a consciously formulated idea. 

She had the right clue; he had, and it had loosed 
in him something she had heretofore always beaten 
down, and he himself had leashed at her command. 

Strong as she was, for a woman, she realised she 
was helpless against his strength. His arms were like 
steel ; he had the pantherine build of men of the South. 
But, understanding so much, her head suddenly cleared 
and she understood him all through, and was not 
afraid. He was reckless, beyond calculation ; but not 
base. . . . 

"Now," he repeated, his voice gentle, the half-voice 
of a lover, at the breaking point of feeling, "Lesley 
. . . dear . . . couldn't you care — a little? Listen, — 
I won't touch you — and I'd shoot myself now, if you'd 
kiss me once, first I dream of your mouth ; it looks 



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THE SHADOW RTOERS 185 

so cool — and I'm burning for you— you can't tmder- 
stand " And indeed, he was trembling. 

"But," she said softly, "you're twisting my arms." 
And she looked at him piteously, quite as if she spoke 
the truth. 

"Jesu I" He thrust her from him, his face whiten- 
ing. Then she had the table between them again. He 
wiped his damp brow. "Come back," he said hoarsely. 
She shook her head. 

"No, I want to go home," It was she trembled now, 
for the double strain of acting and holding herself in 
check — oh, she was not ice nor marble, and she had 
felt his magnetism before; he had touched her — had 
tested an her strength. "I must go home," she re- 
peated. His face darkened again. 

"Some one's waiting for you— oh, I know. That 
Herrick; you see him every day, and you put me off 

for months. " It's him you care for Isn't it? 

Isn't it?" 

"What is that to you?" she said, forgetting every- 
thing in a blaze of resentment Then she could have 
bitten her tongue. "You are absurd ; and you haven't 
the least right to say such — such idiotic things." 

"But it's true," he hurled at her again, savagely. 

"It's not — and I refuse to argue with you — I'm go- 
ing " 

"No," he repeated, with a kind of frenzied patience, 
"you are going to answer me first. You've cheated 
me twice" — he was beginning to realise now — ^"you 
little devil, you clever little devil — ^but I can make 
you care, if you'll give me half a chance " 

She fled from him, holding her big eyes on his face, 
more intent on keeping her poor little surprised secret 
from him than from fear of personal safety. She feh 
as if he would shake it out of her if he caught her, 
wrest it from her somehow. D^nity vanished in 



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186 THE SHADOW RI0ERS 

that wild pursuit She upset a chair in bis path, and 
he stumbled on it and she wanted to shriek with 
laughter, but had not breath enough. He did want to 
sh^e her, to make her drop that cool reserve behind 
which she hid from him. ... In another age he would 
have carried her off on his saddlebow, and kq>t her in 
a gilded prison until she smiled on him — or until his 
heart softened. 

It was the bare truth that he did not know he had 
seized the bayonet from the table until she came to 
bay, <x>mered, panting, still defiant, the point at her 
bosom. And then she caught at the rags of her di- 
shevelled pride; she could endure no more of this 
tragic comedy turned to a burlesque. With a magnifi- 
cent gesture she flui^ her arms wide, a better histrion 
than he, and beat him with his own weapons. For 
all that, she knew very well he might, just possibly, 
kill her. . . . Nothing else. That was the actual dan- 
ger, neither more nor less ; it was within his capacity. 

"Oh, go on, go on," she cried, at the utmost pitch of 
indignant exasperation. "Stab— I don't care — only get 
it over with !" 

His hand faltered. "Oh, you — ^you " he groaned, 

and pitched the bayonet across the room. It crashed 
into the glass door of a bookcase. She clasped her 
hands on her heaving breast, leaning against the wall 
for support. Addison sat down by the table, and hid 
his face on his arm. If she would have suffered him 
to put his head on her knees, he would have wept He 
was racked, tormented, brt^en ; and she had no pity 
because she did not know. Very softly, she sli[^>ed 
toward the door. 

' He heard her. "Wait a minute," he said thickly, 
interposing. "I — I swear I never meant to hurt you, 
Lesley, But I love you — I want you. I meant it, only 
I didn't mean to frighten you. I can get a divorce; 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 187 

injr wife will Won't you come away with toe? I 

want yoa now. I could make you happy, I know I 
could." 

"But you couldn't I don't care for you. I — I'm 
sorry. Now please let me pass." 

"Very well." A slower, smouldering rage took pos- 
session of him. She could have melted him to tears 
with 8 word, but she would not speak the word. "Go. 

I won't 9t(q> you. But " he reached for his cap 

and rifle, pidced up the bayonet from amot^ the 
broken glass on the floor and fitted it tn place — ^"if you 
see Herrick to-night, I swear this, lit kill him." He 
stood aside. 

She never answered, and went out without any 
further parley or farewell She heard him followit^ 
her ; and for the first time panic took her. She was 
afraid for Chan, as she had not been for herself. 

On Stephen Avenue she did not dare to nm, though 
her heart was in her throat Once she looked back 
hastily. Addison still followed her^* He was carry- 
ii^ the rifle tmder his loose greatcoat There were 
numerous pedestrians abroad, indifferent folk who saw 
only a young woman in a hurry, and at a distance a 
young man. Snow was beginning to fall ; every one 
was hurrying. The street lamps seemed to be sur- 
rounded by whirling haloes of white flakes; a white 
daricness was descending on the city. At the comer 
of First Street a young man, just stepping out of the 
hotel entrance, paused to turn up his coat collar; 
Lesley almost ran into him. He stepped forward to 
halt her. 

"Good evening — Lesley " She went str^ght by, 

and sheer terror choked her when she tried to answer. 
The mere unexpected sight of Chan Herrick divided 
her between a desire to scream and to faint Where- 
fore she did neither, but fairly broke and ran, with 



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i88 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

his call in her ears. . He took an undecided step after 
her, shrugged his shoulders, and turned bade into 
the hotel. She had cut him dead, and it was beyond 
him to find a reason ; moreover he had forgotten to get 
any cigarettes. Which was, perhaps, fortunate; as 
also, that she had so far distanced Addison he did 
not recognise Chan. 

It was well she lived close to the centre of town, 
for her strength was almost gone when she got inside 
the house and leaned gainst the door to get breath. 
Mrs. Cranston was in the kitchen ; the sittingroom was 
dark. Lesley went on upstairs, into her own room, 
and without making a light drew up the blind. Kneel- 
ing, she peered out, invisible to one in the street 
When she got her eyes dear of the moisture of errant 
flakes that dung to her lashes, her worst fears were 
realised. Addison had followed her all the way ; and he 
stood solemnly at attention before the house, some- 
what in the shadow of the leafless tree. The light of 
the apposite street lamp glinted on the tip of the 
bayonet He had dropped all common sense, all fear 
of observation, apparently. In fact, his fanded 
wrongs had gone to his head. . . . 

Lesley prayed, since she dared neither cry nor laugh 
— that he would go, that Chan might not come, that 
Mrs. Cranston might not be minded to look out of 
her own front door. To the end of her life she 
thought she watched there two hours. She was 
cramped and stiff when she finally rose. , . . He did 
go at last. . . . Actually, it was hardly half an hour 
he kept his watch. The night air brought counsel, 
and with it clearheadedness. Lesley sat on the floor 
and gave way to her feelings, and then began to pack. 

Chan went to bed that night with a gievance. 

Addison could never exactly account for the rest 
of the evening, and did not too earnestly try. 



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CHAPTER XVIII 

ELECTION week rushed busily on to its crisis, 
found its verdict, and passed. For all the 
noise and clanwur of it, no important changes 
were wrought. The Government's majority was les- 
sened, but not dangerously so. None but lesser lights 
went down to defeat Geers got in — amid much ac- 
clamation, congratulation and a torchlight procession. 
Folsom also was returned for the second division of 
the city, and had a rival procession. There were a num- 
ber of barroom fights on the night itself ; and triumph- 
ant editorials in the newspapers of both sides the 
next day. Every one, in fact, seemed to be happy. 

Every one, perhaps, but Chan Herrick. He could 
not have named the cause of his discontent, but he 
felt a strange sense of disillusion and futility; the 
disillusion of seeing an empty theatre after the per- 
formance. He put it down to fatigue and the effect of 
a late supper and too many cigars. He missed the 
stimulus of the fight 

And Lesley was a disquieting image in the badc- 
ground of his thoughts. He had had no time to find 
her and ask the cause of her curious behaviour, or 
at least he thought he had no time. And yet he did 
not fot^et; and a slight unexplained and unforgotten 
is more likely to grow than to diminish in significance. 
This was the third time she had struck at him in the 
dark of his happy ignorance of any offence. Who 
could understand a woman ? He, or any man, m^ht, 
if aa enquiry were pressed; but he and most men 
prefer to let the cards lie as they fall It may be 
1*9 



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190 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

one secret of man's greater achievement; a tbinf done 
is done, and matters unproved are more worthy of 
attention. To-morrow is always a new day. Yet 
Chan felt a loss, was for the first time aware of the 
estrangement that had been growing between him and 
Lesley ; and would gladly have had back the thing that 
was gone. Wherefore he vindicated his sex and went 
in search of yesterday. 

And Lesley also was gone. 

Mrs. Cranston gave him the fact smilingly, and 
could not remember Lesley's new address, nor if there 
was a telephone. She promised to find it for him when 
he came 3ga.'m. He had a mauvais quart d'heure 
with Amy. She had never bored him tilt then; he 
thoi^ht her stupidity — in everything but her own arts 
— rather naif ; he had not got past the explorii^ stage 
of the affair. She had; she was taking possession, 
t^btening her green withes, not tentatively, but calmly. 
He began his retreat from Moscow that day. It was 
his first retreat of the kind, be it said. Admitting 
experiences with other women (he was near thirty, 
to say which is to say enough), they had not beai 
exactly like Amy, This, to repeat, if anything must 
be admitted at Eill. The power of convention can so 
nearly obliterate stubborn fact that a historian of 
human nature is at an immense disadvantage in mak- 
ing any "Portrait of a Young Man." For all polite 
purposes the Queen of Spain still has no l^s. 

"Why, Lesley moved uptown three days ago," said 
Amy cheerfully. "I should have thought she'd have 
let you know, but I told you she's queer. And then 
she's been kind of taken up with that Mr. Addison. He 
telephoned every day, sometimes twice." Amy had 
got Jack Addison's name at last, overhearing it, but 
by great good fortune she knew absolutely no more of 
hiin than that 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 191 

"It serves you r^ht," she continued playfully, 
■^ou've not been here for — a whde — week." She pre- 
tended to box his ears, and he choked down an un- 
reasonable anger. 

"Who did you say? Addison?" 

"Yes, the one that's had a crush on her for so long, 
you know. But tell me, you naughty boy, what've you 
been doing?" 

"Oh, a great many things," said Chan vaguely. 
"And I have got to go and do some more of them 
now. 'Bye — dear." 

"Are you coming to-morrow night? I'll be so lone- 
some 1" 

"To-morrow ? No, Ross wants me." 

"Then the next ?" inexorably. It was like a wardress 
letting out his chain link by link, but never loosing 
her hold on it. Some wave of feelii^, masciiline 
shame at sight of his puerile bonds, surged up in him ; 
there was a brackish flavour in his throat, and his 
face burned darkly. 

"I don't know," he said gently. "I will see ; but I 
am very, very busy. Amy." He took her hands from 
his shoulders and kissed them as a peace offering, 
medianically. Her fingernails, cut to a claw-like 
point, ofifended his eye. She wore a turquoise ring 
on her forefinger and the setting was brassy. He 
had never before closely observed the details of her 
appearance. — If he had cared for her at all he never 
would have noticed. — Her wrists were thick ; her ears 
were not dainty. Below the powder line on her neck 
the skin was 3alk)w. And her eyes were so empty of 
intelligence she might have stood as a symbol of — 
what she was to him. He wondered she could not 
read his mind, know him for a cad. And if even she 
had the right to think him a cad 

He simply had to get away, to breathe, and so he 



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192 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

went. The sitting-room, that had once been inviting 
in a homely fashion, looked hideous and cheap. Les- 
ley had made its atmosphere. But instead of finding 
Lesley, he had got further than ever from her. There 
was no possibility of doubt she had always appraised 
Amy at her true value. He recalled her sudden flight 
upstairs the first night he had called. In her quality 
of spectator he was not at all prepared to face her 
for a few days after that wrenching adjustment he 
had just made, of himself with himself. It is not 
human to seek out a witness to one's idiocy. And 
while an occasional humiliation may be good for the 
soul, to be convicted of a lack of taste therewith is 
salt in the wound. 

He dined with Ross the next night, staying uptown 
purposely that he might go home too late to be caught 
by telephone, or signalled from the neighbouring porch. 
It occurred to him that he was tired of his lodgings, 
and might move shortly. But it was not that they 
discussed. 

"I suppose things will seem a bit tame for a while," 
said Ross. "And since our street-car project has fal- 
len through, I can quite understand you feel disap- 
pointed." He had read Chan's moody looks readily 
enoi^h, 

"No, that's all right," said Chan hastily. 

"It has to be," smiled Ross. "But my plans haven't 
dianged so greatly as you naturally think. And I 
need you quite as much as ever, if you are willing." 

Chan brightened. "Don't be an ass," he said af- 
fectionately. "Have I got any one else in the world 
to do anythii^ for ?" 

"You might have soon," meditated Ross. "Thirty 
is a good age to marry. But that won't interfere—" 

"It certainly won't," agreed Chan crisply. 

"There are some very delightful girls here," pursued 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS I93 

Ross, with the utmost outward seriousness. "You 
ought to come out and meet them, not have them waste 
their sweetness on a dried misogynist Hke me. I can 
arrange , . ." 

"No girls — no women, thanks just the same. I'm 
through " He paused abruptly. 

"Again ?" 

"If you would just go to hell," suggested Chan 
kindly. 

"Give me time," said Ross, chuckling. "That was 
a bow at a venture, but I've evidently missed some- 
thii^ of late. And, not in the least apropos, I have 
often meant to ask you if you met that charming girl 
next door?" 

"Lesley Johns? Long ago." He looked strangely 
relieved, which his uncle by no means missed. "She 
is charming. If you hadn't been so everlastingly busy, 
I'd have had you meet her." 

"I should really like to. There was something about 
her reminded me — she looked like an individual. It's 
a mistake to be bom a woman, I've often thought. 
Those sensitive, independent ones; I'm afraid the 
world isn't made for them." He was thinking aloud, 
his eyes remote, his handsc»ne, ascetic features tak- 
ing on an expression Chan knew well. At such times 
Ross looked singularly yotmg, though worn and en- 
nuyi — like a. young man whom life has beaten in 
some secret manner. His grey hair seemed prema- 
ture ; there was no hint of middle-age in his well-knit, 
easy frame, nor, curious detail, in his nervous brown 
hands. 

"No," he said, rousing at length, "on the whole, I 
don't thing our boasted chivalry has done much for 
women. We've driven a hard bargain for it . , . and 
then seldom stuck to our bargain. But I'd like to meet 
Miss Johns. And that wasn't what I started to talk 



ovCiooglc 



194 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

about either. Yon know I had raised a lot of money 
for the street-car business. It's on my hands now. I 
wired to the men who subscribed it, releasing them, 
and of course apologising. Some of them have with- 
drawn. The others want theirs reinvested. They 
believe in this country, and they want me to act as 
their financial agent. I will if you'll help me. I 
can't be here all the time. You can leave the Belle 
Claire if you like; in fact, you will probably have to. 
It's no joke disposing of half a million prudently, and 
it's up to us to do it as quickly as possible, and then 
watch it afterward. I've bought the Chatfield ranch 
too, and you might keep an eye on that for me. . . . 
I think an ofiBce building here, to cost nearly two 
hundred thousand, ought to be a good investment. 
What do you think?" They spent the evening talk- 
ing money, and Chan was caught again, his threatening 
boredom extinct as the dodo. 

As ambassador from Ross, he forgot his constraint 
about speaking to Lesley, found out her new abods, 
and telephoned. And she greeted him with a sooth- 
ing warmth; her high sweet voice held a ghost of 
laughter in it even over the deadening wire. 

"Oh, it's you," she cried. "How are you? yes, I 
moved ; yes, I like it quite well here." 

"Why didn't you tell me you were going?" he asked. 
Why had she not? She remembered instantly how 
she had meant to, and Amy's entrance — the pin — all 
that had put it out of her mind. He caught the con- 
straint of her answer. 

"I — I forgot ; I was going to— but I didn't sec you 
— anyway, it isn't far," she said. 

"No, tiiat's true. Lesley, can you lunch with me 
on Sunday— with me and Ross? He wants to meet 
yon." 

"I'm going home over Sunday, to see Dick," she 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 195 

was obliged to answer truthfully. All her arrange- 
ments were made. 

"Well, then, some other day." He could not name 
a day without iirst asking Ross. "I should like to 
bring him to call." 

"I can't have callers," she said, distressed. If it had 
been only Chan — but she had seen Whittemore, and 
realised she could not, on first sight, treat him with 
any such informality as she might his nephew. It 
was not that he would be anything but agreeable, in 
any circumstances ; simply he was not a boy, a youi^ 
man; it would be incongruous, and she would feel 
ill at ease. Such straitened Bohemianism as Chan, 
with the facility of his age, might find amusing, would 
never suit Ross. She wanted to meet him, but not 
at such a disadvantage. 

"Some other time, then," repeated Chan politely; 
but the note of withdrawal was perceptible to her. 
After all, she must have meant to snub him. She 
had cut him dead on the street; she had moved with- 
out saying a word to him; and she did not want 
him to call. 

But she was unable to say what she felt— "Can't 
you understand it wouldn't amuse a man like your 
uncle to sit on the edge of a converted bed and 
talk polite nothings to a gauche girl?" That was 
her exasperated thought She said instead : 

"Yes, please, some other time — ^telephone me 
again." 

And she went upstairs with a desolate feeling and 
surveyed her room, her home. It was a lai^ and 
pleasant room, and Hilda Brewer's chaperonage 
would be enough to r^ularise a call from an old 
friend, but Whittemore — "He would sit on the bed," 
she reflected dismally, "and insist on me having the 
chair; and Chan would be obliged to perch on a 



ovCiooglc 



196 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

trunk, and Hilda would have no place to rest the 
sole of her foot unless she stayed with us also ; and 
everybody would want to scream with boredom." 
So she sat with her head in her hands, dishevelling 
her smooth hair and feeling desolate, until Hilda 
came upstairs and handed her a letter. 

There was no comfort in the letter; it was the lat- 
est of a dozen from Jack Addison. All the others 
were already destroyed. She read this with the same 
mingled emotions of shrinking fascination and com- 
punction and weariness that the others had evoked. 
He had written so much because she would not answer 
the telephone at the office unless a name were given, 
and that name not his ; Hilda had brought the letter 
from the office, whence Lesley had come early. 

It was painful to have a man put his whole heart 
on paper, to be handed in by a careless postman, 
as he did. If it bad a touch of sweetness also, she 
dared not acknowledge that ; yet she understood him 
too well. She might have written such words. . . . 
He wrote with unexpected grace and fire. Perhaps 
his Spanbh blood had brought him eloquence. She 
had not known his mother had been Spanish — Cali- 
fomian — until he pleaded it in extenuation. To make 
his mother plead for him — after all, he must care. 
That letter was the hardest to bum. His regrets, 
his repentance, moved her less. They were idle; 
all regrets were idle, a luxury she could not afford 
herself. And yet it was not his lovii^, but the use- 
lessness of it, plucked at some sympathetic chord 
in her. If what she had seen was love, it was hardly 
worth suffering for. She wanted no more of the 
clamorous, greedy, draggled thing. This by fits and 
starts; all her plans were scattered, her emotions a 
dusty chaos ; and she lived by the day, by the hour. 

Sometimes she wondered if Addison were kee|Mng 



ovGoogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 197 

ber money purposely, as a last resort to wring for- 
giveness from her, since he never mentioned it He 
did not deserve that The money was invested, with 
his own, and he knew it was quite safe and would ulti- 
mately bring a profit She did not speak of it her- 
self, and he thought no more of it 

Then, after he had lapsed into silence, they met by 
chance on the street. He gave her a glance of checked 
eagerness and patent submission, waiting to see if she 
would apeak; and she feh compelled to a greeting 
by his silence. 

"May I walk with you?" he asked. 

"I suppose so, if you won't bother me," she replied 
indifferently. 

"Do you hate me?" 

"No," she said calmly. "I just would rather not 
see you any more." He winced; but he was tamed 
to her moods once more ; he could, not dare again. 

"It's coming to me," he admitted. "I told yoti 
I took things seriously, but I was mad — I wasn't 
myself " 

"Don't let's talk about it." 

"I wanted you to know that I'm sorry." 

She shru^ed. "Very well. That's all, isn't it?" 

"No. If ever I can do anything to prove that 
I'm sorry, you may ask it of me; I'll do it I should 
feel better if you would, some day. I wanted to say 

that You're the only woman I Well, I'm not a 

beast" 

"No, of course not." But she did not look ai 
htm, nor seem to care. He had only tried to mur- 
der her. 

"Will you, then? If ever I can do anytbii^?" 

"Perhaps," she said. The only thing she could 
think of asking she could not, because of its asso* 
dation; and he did not offer it Besides, her need 



ovCiooglc 



198 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

of money was not so imperative. Cresswell had given 
her a sniall advance in salary, which was just enough. 

They were at her office; she nodded to him and 
left him. And then, with a fine inconsistency, she 
watched out of the window how he lingered and 
walked away reluctantly. She had lost somethii^. 
. . . Some possibility of adventure, some zest of 
life. Whatever it was, it was gone, definitely, with 
him. She sat a while, rolling her gloves into a ball, 
thinking; he had thick, beautiful black hair, and his 
eyes expressed vitality and pleasure more than any 
one's she had ever seen. And life was very waste- 
ful and meaningless. 

Chan did not call again. Whittemore had left 
town, but Lesley did not know that for some time. 
All her temporary agriments had been snatched from 
her at once. She had had one golden summer, and 
the winter of her discontent, more than the literal 
season in length, began. 

The picture of Addison as she saw him last, pro- 
testant and apologetic and unsatisfied, but departii^;, 
remained as a kind of allegoTy. 



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CHAPTER XIX 

A YEAR after the collapse of his street railway 
scheme, Whittemore was in Montreal. He 
had to come to Montreal sometimes, to still a 
vague Sehnsucht which only the homeless man knows. 
Yet he found if he stayed too long the sickness came 
back with doubled force; he missed too consciously 
what Montreal could no loi^r supply. That was 
one reason he had decided practically to live in the 
Northwest ; that, and to be near Chan. He had not 
altered the decision, thou^ he had not managed to 
keep it to the letter. What with one trip to London 
via New York, and a California interval for the sake 
of his health, he had not been in Alberta more than 
six months of the intervening time. 

He was in Montreal on business, as well as for the 
lingering love he bore the city where he was bom 
and which held the dust of his parents and others he 
had cared for. Chan was in charge of affairs in the 
West, giving excellent satisfaction to both parties. 
Chan had almost as much work as he could do, which 
is a good thing for a young man, and was learning 
judgment in financial matters very fast. There was 
now an office, as well as the Chatfield ranch, for him 
to look after; and he was considered a decidedly ris- 
ing — and eligible — young man. Whittemore had spent 
most of the autumn on the ranch with him, 
a few ducks and motoring to town every day. 

Whittemore had come East in November, 
to go back for Christmas, but had failed of that de- 
si^, and Christmas was long past As business be- 
W 



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aoo THE SHADOW RIDERS 

came dormant in midwinter, the need was not urgent. 
However, he thought to go before spring, if qnly to 
escape from his old friends, who were enmeshit^ him 
in kindness. 

The immediate net was baited with a dinner Lady 
Colvin was giving, an "informal" dinner with a score 
of guests who would go on to the Westmount Country 
Qub for a snowshoe dance. At least, the dance was 
arranged by an exclusive snowshoeing club, a circle 
within a circle; the Country Gub as a setting by no 
means indicated the summer solstice. Montreal loves 
the snow, or makes a virtue of necessity and crowns 
it with a winter carnival. 

Whittemore did not love the snow, nor pretend to. 
He would have been glad of an excuse from the din- 
ner at the last moment, but politeness was one of his 
ruling passions. His throat had been unusually trou- 
blesome ever since his attack of grippe in Banff over 
a year before, and this night he could hardly speak. 
He made an appointment with his doctor for an ex- 
amination the next day, before muffling himself to the 
cars and taking a closed carriage, all of which pre- 
cautions he detested. 

Sir George Colvin, who had got his knighthood for 
being president of a lai^ banking corporation, sub- 
scribing handsomely to party funds and University 
foundations, and acting on committees to entertain 
peripatetic minor royalties, had a big house on Pine 
Avenue. The awning and red carpet prepared one 
tactfully for the solid luxury of the English entrance 
hall, where a hardwood log burned behind a leather- 
cushioned club fender; and the almost more-than- 
Oriental splendour of the drawing-room — Victorian 
prism chandeliers and Persian rugs and a Holbein 
over an Italian marble mantel, but the whole cun- 
ningly composed by the best decorating talent money 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS aoi 

could employ. There was loot, indeed, trove of the 
marauding millionaire of the twentieth century, suc- 
cessor to robber barons and pirate vikings of a ruder 
age; but a modest magnificence is not necessarily in 
bad taste, however acquired. 

Lady Colvin, gorgeously dowdy in white lace and 
pearls-— a common weakness of large women — gave 
(Ross both hands and forgot her ultra-Knglish accent 
for something more homespun and Canadian. She 
thought Ross romantic in appearance, and sometimes 
wished in her heart that Sir Geot^e could show such 
a figure. 

"Now our party is complete," she s^d. "Look 
about and tell me whom you do not know. It is so 
awkward introducing people who have met before, 
don't you think ?" 

"Whom I do not know ?" He surveyed the group 
at the far end of the long drawingroom. - "Gertrude, 
you remind me that I am growing old. I am afraid 
I know none of these pretty young things. There is 
a new crop every time I come back — some day I will 
not dare come back at all." 

"But you do know Mr. Campbell — and Sir John 
MarstCHi? Well, you shall know the pretty young 
things, too." The bending of bright heads as he was 
passed about the group reminded him of a field of 
fiowers nodding to a breeze. He made no effort to 
remember their several names; it would not matter; 
he would never see them again. They had their yoimg 
cavaliers to match — whom any one of them would 
gladly have exchanged for himself — fresh, agreeable, 
immaculate young men with that peculiarly deceptive 
air of conventional goodness common to Canadian 
masculinity in "Society." They were there because 
Lady Colvin had a debutante daughter. Ross was there 
because the Honourable James Campbell was a Cabinet 



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J02 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Minister and a bouSe gvest of the G>Ivins; Sir John 
Marston, another knight of the counting house, for 
the same reason. Because Lady Colvin was taking 
her young flock on to the dance, and because she knew 
her husband and the other three men meant to have 
their own talk after dinner, there were no other dow- 
agers. With the young people sitting figuratively be- 
low the salt, it was almost like two dinner parties side 
by side. The older men talked politics to a soft ac- 
companiment of girlish laughter and adolescent per- 
siflage from the far end of the table. Ross felt "chilly 
and grown old." Such nice children, and well man- 
nered. ... To the poetic substratimi of his nature 
it seemed a hard fate that those fresh young creatures 
should grow into — well, into Lady Gilvins. Of course 
he liked Gertrude Colvin, but . . . Some things 
weren't enough ; that was all. He was wont to say 
of his own people in his rarely outspoken moments 
that they were "so damned satisfied,^' there was no 
doubt that covered Lady Colvin ; and he could see as 
the artist discerns the bones beneath the flesh, the 
embryo Lady Colvin in every one of those demure 
creatures. So he lent an absent ear to his host— 
who resembled his own Holbein modernised, and was 
a good fellow — until the nearest "bud" plucked up 
courage between the roast and the salad to ask after 
Chan. 

"He's in the West, turned into a complete savage," 
he informed her seriously. "Wears a blanket and 
feathers. You'd better fot^t him." She blushed 
furiously, and showed him her pretty shoulder for the 
rest of the evening. 

"The West's the country for a young man," cut in 
Sir George briskly. "I tell you, it's progressing. 
Business in oiur local branch in your town has just 
exactly doubled in eighteen months. And the clears 



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THE SHADOW RTOERS 203 

ings for all the banks there stand seventh in the 
Dominion." 

"There is but ore Progress, and Finance is its 
prophet," said Whittemore. "Yes, we must admit that 
they are growing." 

"Growing away from us," interposed Campbell. 
"You had a narrow squeak last election, I believe." 

"Not very, but a noticeable reaction," said Whitte- 
more. "It would serve you right if you did lose ; yoti 
never try to do anything for the West. You've alien- 
ated British Columbia completely by playing up to 
Downing Street on the Japanese question ; you Shy- 
locked Alberta on her public lands ; and you bleed them 
all white with your tariff for the sake of the Eastern 
manufacturer. The tariff doesn't help the West, and 
you don't try to help them to a market abroad. If 
they kick you all out some day and trade the devil 
they do know for the devil they don't know, you need 
^ not be surprised. It's over ten years since the Liberal 
Government got in on the strength of promises of tar- 
iff reduction, and except for British Preference on 
things we mostly don't want anyway, not an iota of 
that promise has been kept." 

"Our manufacturers can't afford to compete with 
the factories of the United States yet," said Marston. 
"Got to support home industries first." 

"Our manufacturers haven't the enterprise to make 
as good articles," retorted Whittemore, his gently 
deferential manner and almost inaudible voice rob- 
bing the remark of its brutality. "You can get the 
same raw material if you let down the bars; and as 
for labour cost, if it is any higher here, why should our 
young people of Ontario and Quebec go across to 
work in the New England factories at the shameful 
wages they get there ? And they do. We need com- 
petition ; competition in brains." 



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304 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

'But," said Campbell, "before the Liberal Govern- 
ment came in our young people were going twice as 
fast. We couldn't even hold our own in population," 

"Nothing to do with politics ; natural result of the 
enormous expansion, railways and the like, of the 
United States just after the Civil War. It began to 
slacken naturally and the tide turned slowly when the 
best of their Western land was taken and we were 
driven, by sheer threat of disruption, to build at least 
one railway of our own. Our party has been the 
gnat on the bull's horn. We'll have to make good 
pretty soon ; there's a kind of subconscious discontent 
breeding. The people don't know what ails them ex- 
actly, but I suspect they are rather stck of hearing 
Aristides call himself the Just." 

"You grant us nothing," smiled Campbell. 

"Yes, I do," said Whittemore thoughtfully. "I 
grant us one heaven-bom politician, a natural leader 
and diplomat — who never had quite run his race be- 
cause of a double handicap of blood and religion. I 
grant us almost another Disraeli. But we've need 
also of a Bright and a Cobden. Not much to ask," he 
smiled. 

"I should say he had run his race, and won it," s^d 
Campbell. Whittemore only smiled again; this 
touched one secret conviction of his he had never 
shared with any one. "And, by the way, have you 
seen him lately?"* 

"The Premier? No, I have not been in Ottawa 
lately." 

"Well, in substance he agrees with you. This is in 
confidence, of course. He thinks it time the tariff 
was altered. We are prosperous; we can afford it 
now. We need " 

"A new battle cry," said Whittemore suavely. 

"Well, I'll only say that Washington may be ap- 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 205 

proach«d shortly, and the question of Redproci^ 
revived." 

"I don't believe in it," said Sir Geor^ suddenly, 
with shrewd common sense seizing the trader's view- 
point. "Don't believe in involving business in any 
agreement that may be terminated by a second party 
and leave us flat, with capital tied up and the outlet 
closed. It's a sand foundation." 

"We've always wanted it, we Canadians," Campbell 
said. 

"We had it once," Colvin reminded him. "And 
our neighbour pulled the chair from under us while 
we were at table. Besides, the people don't always 
want anything. Change their minds worse than a 
woman." 

"My dear," Lady Colvin, as became a good wife, 
always heard what her husband said, "the whole of 
civilisation depends on the ability of women to stay of 
one mind all their lives. Nine-tenths of us undertake 
at the beginning of our lives to do just one thing — 
launch the next generation. We have to do it more 
or less in spite of you men, who are always chasing 
off to the ends of the earth for new scenery and a 
different kind of work — but the human race is still 
extant. And our work can't be dropped and taken 
up again whenever we feel like it." 

"To the steadfast sex," said Whittemore, raising his 
glass amid a chorus of laughter. "Do you believe in 
Reciprocity?" 

"Certainly not with the United States," she said. 
"I do not think we ought to enter into any alliance 
with a nation of vulgarians; nor do anything to im> 
peril our relations with England." Like many Cana- 
dian women, she had a kind of naive snobbery which 
passed for patriotism ; and then, she was truly grate- 
ful The United States could never have made her a 



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2o6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Lady," nor could it better a knighthood with a bai^ 
onetcy. "I usually take Geoi^'s view cm public ques< 
tions, anyway," she added, smiling. 

"Well, I've said, and I repeat," Sir George stated, 
with a look of honest pride at his spouse, "I don't 
believe in it," 

"Your point is well taken," admitted the Minister. 
"Don't give it away to the Opposition. And you?" 
turning to Whittemore. Campbell was called the most 
noncommittal man in Canada. 

"There's a string to it, yes. But anything is better 
than our hidebound Toryism. Aren't we building on 
a sand foimdation now, with an enormously high 
tariff artificially sustaining business, in a country 
where the people have the political machinery at hand 
to pull the whole thing around our ears in a fit of 
exasperation, involving us in a common debacle? 
Those gusts of passion shake every people occasion- 
ally. Our neighbors are now watching the pillars 
tremble with the struggles of their blind Samson. 
Can't we ever learn? Ah, my rhetoric is running 
away with me. Tell me, though, is the party secretly 
committed to this venture?" 

"Ask our Disraeli. He was wishing you were pres- 
ent, the other day. We were discussing the West. 
Is it true that Jonathan Ward is dying?" 

"It is some months since I left, and then I had not 
seen Ward for other months," said Whittemore. "He 
did not look well last summer." The man they spoke 
of was Lieutenant-Governor of Alberta — the Honour- 
able Jonathan Ward. The office is purely honorary, 
a party reward. 

"Whom will you put in his place ?" asked Sir Geoi^, 
with a meaning look at Campbell. "I knew Ward 
when we were both twenty-dollar-a-month bank clerks. 
He went West, cut loose from the grind, made money 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS ao7 

so fast he couldn't count it, I've heard. Good man ; 
I'm sorry if he's goii^." Colviti rather liked refer- 
ring to the twenty-dollar-a-month period, implyii^, 
with the conscious pride of virtue, that he owed his 
Holbein and his house on Pine Avenue to his own stu- 
pendous exertions. In reality, an incredibly aged 
grandparent had died at a convenient m(»nent and 
left him a more than comfortable nucleus of his for- 
tune. 

"A lai^ question," murmured Whittemore with 
veiled irony, "We have many rich men out there, 
and a new crop coming on fast." 

"They don't shell out," said Campbell blandly. 

"Ross does," said Sir George. But Campbell said 
no more until after Lady Colvin had gathered her 
brood and departed, sweeping out on a wave of 
chiffons, after polite scuffles by the young sprigs for 
dropped gloves and fans. By prearrangement, the 
sprigs departed also, bearing their spoil; the butler 
carried out the last of their atmosphere with the lace 
and damask cloth. Whittemore, who was not allowed 
to smoke, and had already strained his throat by talk- 
ing more than his wont, composed himself to listen, 
while the other three lit Havanas. He was not think- 
ing of Jonathan Ward, nor of anything that was his, 
when Campbell returned to the subject 

"Whom should you select as Ward's successor?" 
he asked, looking even more noncommittal than usual. 
Ross had always thought Campbell a bit of a bore, 
with his cat-after-the-canary air. He did not trou- 
ble to give the question any consideration. 

"I couldn't say; never thought of it," 

"You were very generous, as Sir George reminds 
us." 

"Oh, I was interested." 

"Would you care for it?" 



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flo8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Care for what — flie Lieutenant-Governorship? 
IP" A surprised amusement broke over Whitte- 
more's face. 

"Yes," repeated Campbell, with a detached air. 
"In point of fact, the Premier commissioned me to 
ask you informally. He felt it would give him pleas- 
ure to anticipate any such wish of yours." 

"It had not entered my head. I am honoured" — he 
could say no less — "but A ribbon for my button- 
bole, no. I have no one to be gratified by the bauble. 
A man takes those things because it pleases his fam- 
ily, I suppose." Sir George nodded modestly. 

"Then you won't?" 

"No, with many thanks. But — I will still shell 
out." 

"You were always a lucky devil," said Sir George, 
"and you were always just that damned cool about 
it. The rest of us have to hustle for what we get, 
and be thankful when we get tt. If you had done 
that, you might have been Premier." 

"You still over-estimate me," said Whittemore. "*! 
am not sure that I believe there are any might-have- 
beens; we are all just exactly what we might have 
been, and certainly nothing less, though a few of us 
seem more." The dinner was too far advanced for 
that remark to be quite digested. Whittemore meant 
it ; he knew he could never have been a true leader, 
lacking alike patience in dealing with fools and the 
force to drive them. Too fatally had it been proven 
to him once that he did lack force, that irresistible 
energy in a crisis which makes defeat negligible. 

He listened to the others again with half a mind, 
looking at the dark ruby of his glass of port, buried 
in his own thoughts, though politely attentive on the 
surface. He knew his reflections on the vanity of 
life were trite, but they swarmed over his mind. 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 309 

little prying thoughts that let in an unwelcome light. 
Obscurity and shadows in those secret chambers 
suited him better ; and he did not need to be reminded 
that he had no one to whom he might carry a 
"bauble." He tried to imagine how it would seem 
if there were such a one. Oh, yes, he would have 
taken the post — if she had cared for it. And she 
would have cared, almost childishly; she had been 
a warmly human woman; largely it had been that 
quick, naif responsiveness that had . . . 

Sir George could not let Whittemore's refusal stand 
without comment, and worried it on all sides. He 
had been privy to the idea before the Minister 
broached it to Whittemore, and was enormously sur- 
prised. All he got was a more determined negative, 
and Whittemore, slightly wearied, returned to his 
hotel earlier than he might have done. 



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CHAPTER XX 

DR. EDWARDS, Whittemore's physician, also 
a friend of long standing, had with friendly 
insistence besought Ross to come for his ver- 
dict to St. Jerome's Hospital. It was the doctor's 
pet institution, and indeed his monument, for smce 
its inception he had been the moving spirit in- it. 
Lately he had achieved a new wing for it, and other 
wonders, which he declared Ross must see. Prob- 
ably wanted a subscription, Ross thought kindly, and 
saw to it that his cheque-book was in his pocket. Dr. 
Edwards was known for his benevolent extortions 
on behalf of his work. He had had no time to make 
a fortune for himself, wherefore he felt licensed 
to levy on all malefactors of great wealth whom 
he could charm into range. 

The hospital, a stodgy, belated Victorian structure 
of red brick with too much buff trimming, was not 
beautiful, Ross thought, as he approached it That 
red against the blue winter sky, and the white back- 
ground of snowy lawn, was rather too much for the 
unprepared eye. But time might mellow that un- 
compromising front; and considered in its true light, 
as a monument, not as a work of art, it was cer^ 
tainly imposing. More than that, it was. 

"Edwards has got something to show," was Ross's 
reflection. There was the tangible fruit of a busy 
life. His own existence struck Ross as sterile and 
empty. An impulse to action ran through his veins, 
and was balked for lack of a purpose whereon to 
expend itself. He mounted the steps. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 3ii 

He felt an old twinge of distaste for the gaunt or- 
der of the entrance hall, and the odour of death 
which some morbid streak in his f«ychology detected, 
that scent of disinfectant and flowers which so 
strangely mingles in the quiet atmosphere of science's 
battleground. Ross hated death. He did not fear 
it ; he was indifferent to the thot^ht of dying himself ; 
but the irrevocableness of it, in the abstract, made 
his soul creep. 

Dr. Edwards pounced on him then, as he waited 
in the doctor's private office. 

"Ah, you're herel Sorry I was detained — most 
interesting case, though — oh, I'll spare you I How's 
the throat ? Ah, bad, bad ; I can hear, don't have to 
see it. Shouldn't be out; why didn't you tell me 
you shouldn't be out? Want an examination first, 
or will you look us over? Our new wing is splen- 
did, but we need some radium, and the new X-ray appa- 
ratus took all our " 

"Just my luck, to come when you need radium," 
said Ross huskily. "How much?" 

"Oh, now, now, I didn't mean — — " 

"How much, you j^sculapian pirate?" 

"Wait till you've thought it over," said Dr. Ed- 
wards soothingly, but with an irrepressible gleam 
of triumph in his eye. "Wait till we've fixed you 
up, shown you what medical science means to hu- 
manity. Come, well look over the place; and then 
I've got Bocock here for the examination. I can't 
keep up with the specialists in every line, but we've 
got the best. Bocock can do anything with throats; 
he's a marvel." Still expatiating on the wonders 
of modem surgery, which left Ross finally with the 
impression that, by going about it piecemeal, a really 
good surgeon should have no difficulty in substi- 
tuting a new human machine entire, leaving no shred 



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atz THE SHADOW RIDERS 

of the old organism to cause any disturbance, Ed- 
wards piloted him down the interminable wide, white 
corridors, past innumerable screened doors and noise- 
less nurses who looked neither right nor left Whitte- 
more even had a look at the gruesome neatness of 
the main operatii^ room, empty for the moment, and 
felt obliged to protest he could dispense with the 
basement and diet kitchens, before they returned to 
meet Dr. Bocock for a verdict in Dr. Edwards' con- 
sultii^ room. 

A white-capped nurse had come in. She sat at 
a roll-top desk, examining and docketing a pile of 
charts. She did not turn as they entered, and her 
slim, white hands fluttered methodically among the 
papers. Whittemore could not see her face, and for- 
got about her while Dr. Bocock peered reflectively, 
with the aid of a cunning maze of tiny mirrors and 
lights, into his suffering larynx. 

"Pretty bad; you've been neglecting it," he said 

at last. "You ought " He squinted frowningly 

at the afflicted region again. 

"Operation ?" a^cd Whittemore, when he was per- 
mitted to close his mouth. Dr. Bocock looked at 
Dr. Edwards, who nodded. 

"Yes. I see you've had one before." 

"Three," said Whittemore patiently. "Another 
won't matter. Go ahead." 

"I shall have to give it twenty-four hours' treat- 
ment first. Will you enter the hospital for it ?' 

"Is it so serious?" 

"Oh, nol Only for convenience." 

"Then I'd rather not," said Whittemore. The nurse 
rose and went out, with a crisp sound of starched 
skirts. Whittemore saw her face. . . . 

"No, I'd rather " He stopped, boking at the 

door where she had disappeared. Some impression 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 213 

of brightness had gone with her, a gleam. "Can't I 
have it at the hotel ?" he finished. 

"You must have a nurse," said Dr. Bocock decid- 
edly, "because it will need spraying every fifteen min- 
utes for a few hours; and then you won't be able 
to speak the first day." 

"Very well; bring a nurse. . . . That is, if it's 
all ri|^t I've a suite at the Place Viger " 

"My dear chap," said Edwards, "nmses go wherever 
they're told." 

"I see. When shall I expect you?" 

They fixed an hour for the next morning. After 
Dr. Bocock had swabbed his throat with some un- 
pleasant medicament that annoyed almost as much 
as it relieved him, Whitteawre lingered purposely. 
He waited for a private word with Dr. Edwards, 
and got it. 

"I'm going to make a strange request of you," he 
said, "and I shall have to trust you not to misun- 
derstand. I should like to have the nurse who just 
went out, to attend me." 

"Who? Which one?" Edwards looked blankly 
amazed. 

"She was at the desk when we came in. She just 
went out." 

"Nurse Conway? Oh, hai^ it, that's my own 
nurse; I can't give you her. She remembers every- 
thing I forget T^e another; we've got all kinds 
and sizes." 

So it was Eileen — and she had not changed her 
name. 

"Miss Conway — ^ycs." 

"Do you know her ?" asked Edwards, with marked 
curiosity. 

"Not exactly. I know her friends. That's the onty 
reason I can offer, but I give jrou my word. . . ." 



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314 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Never mind ; never miad." Dr. Edwards remeni- 
bered the radium. Also he knew Ross. "Take her. 
She's a Jewel, So you know something of her! . . . 
Perhaps you know she's a kind of mystery, a sphinx. 
And a machine; perfect nurse on ^t account; no 
more feeling than my lancet. How do you account 
for it, with that face, that hair?" 

"I'm afraid I can't account for it," said Whitte- 
more. "And if you wouldn't mind not mentioning 
to her . . ." 

"Of course not," said Dr. Edwards, with a frank 
stare, running his hand through his hair. "Any- 
thii^ you say; sure it's all right So you know her I 
By Jove I" 

"But I don't know her," Whittemore repeated. 
Dr. Edwards merely grinned and shook his head. 

Whittemore might have added that it was because 
he wanted to know her, for he had not forgotten a 
word nor a gesture of hers, and had thought of her 
oftener than ever he knew. He imagined her scorn- 
ful refusal to attend him should she guess. She 
would not understand ; would think him merely 
cheaply inquisitive. Well, he did not understand him- 
self, except that it was an echo of his own question and 
Burrage's answer — "What does become of 'em?" — 
which was not an answer. To know that she was a 
nurse at St. Jerome's was not enough ; what had be- 
come of her? Had she lived or died, the girl he had 
seen turn on life with such a mad resentment that 
she would have silenced that jeering force by sheer 
annihilation? Since chance had given him an op- 
portunity to observe, he meant to take it. He had 
sometimes hoped he might see her again, sooner or 
later. 

It was for her he waited at the appointed hour 
next morning. Dr. Edwards, being notorious for in- 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 215 

attention to small matters, almost forgot to bring 
her, and once there quite forgot to watch their meet- 
ing. But he brought her. She bowed to Whittemore, 
and effaced herself while the two doctors hailed their 
victim; but Whittemore, though he could not very 
well turn and schitinise her, was yet aware, more 
by feeling than hearing, of how she softly slipped 
out of her furred coat and little trim hat, behind 
him at the mantel mirror. And when they set briskly 
to work, she was at his elbow, holding the small 
bloody sponges, the basin, and shining, curious knives. 
While Bocock delicately explored his throat with 
the edged steel, Whittemore's mind was so intent 
on Eileen that he barely fett the brief, keen pain. A 
vestal presiding at a sacrifice, he thought, and with- 
drew the phrase immediately, for she moved so he 
could see her clearly, and there was no devotion in 
her attitude, nothing but a mechanical concentration. 
She was a nurse by chance, and a good one by virtue 
of some thoroughbred quality in her; that was all. 
The lack of expression on a face so mobile and richly 
coloured by nature could not but seem deliberate; 
he saw why Edwards had called her a sphinx. Some- 
thii^ in her had gone to sleep, he concluded, when 
the operation was over and she was taking Dr. 
Bocock's directions about the spraying, and how 
the patient's temperature must be watched. She 
kxiked bored, like a child stupefied by the fatigues of 
an over-long school-day. Then she spoke. 

"Yes, doctor, I understand." She had not schooled 
her voice to match her face 1 Whittemore had never 
heard it before save under a stress of anguish that 
must have altered it. It was a sweet voice, a little 
blurred, a mezzo-contralto, he guessed, if she should 
sing. Probably she did sing. Whittemore had a keen 
ear. "Yes," she repeated patiently, "I will" That 



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3i6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

youn^, warm, eager voice, with the imperious upward 
inflection — ^that was Eileen! 

"Very well," said Dr. Bocock briskly. "Now, Mr. 
Whittemore, since we've silenced you, well go. And 
don't answer back to the nurse, because you can't." 
Laughing heartily, he departed, and Dr. Edwards, 
after a final handshake with him. 

Eileen had carried the basin away, and he heard her 
washii^ up in the bathroom. Then she came back; 
Whittemore shifted in his big wing chair to watch 
her, though he seemed to be looking out of the win- 
dow at the snowy roofs across the street sparkling 
in the sun. She put a writing pad at his elbow, 
methodically arranged the books and papers on the 
table; her eyes rested a moment thoughtfully on a 
flat bowl of pansies. It was for her eyes to rest 
on that Whittemore had ordered them. They looked 
foreign in a hotel sitting-room, with no other sign 
of any but a masculine occupant There were books 
and papers, a big oak box for cigarettes, a stubby 
brier pipe which Ross used only when on huntii^ 
trips but always carried, a writing portfolio, and a 
few photographs. There was design in the photo- 
graphs. One of them, a large one, showed himself 
and Chan mounted, by the corral at the Chatfield 
ranch. It had been taken the summer before. She 
did not seem to see it at first, and then paused, poised, 
pressing her finger-tips on the table so the nails 
whitened, her fixed gaze seeming to absorb the pic- 
ture. In that second of silence he fancied he coukl 
hear her pulses check and leap. Then she turned 
away, opened her small handbag and took out a 
book and a handkerchief, and sat down with the de- 
liberate grace which is so rare in a woman o£ small 
stature. The handkerchief gave out a faint odottr 
of roses as she crushed it into her pocket 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 217 

"If you want anything," she said, "please write 
it. It's just as well you should keep as quiet as 
possible." He nodded, and she opened her book. 

He thought she had grown thinner, but it might 
have been only her close-belted uniform, with the 
stra^ht white collar and austere cap. She was very 
slight, anyway. She did not look worn nor faded; 
a strong morning light beat on her, and showed her 
skin flawless against the dark, ruddy hair and the 
starched collar. 

Of course, she was very young, but there was that 
in her brilliance that seemed to defy accidents and 
externals. Her uniform was equally incongruous and 
becoming ; her fine ankles looked the more dainty above 
her flat-heeled shoes. She wore silk stockings ; that, 
and the rose-scented handkerchief, struck him as a 
discovery of her character. 

While she read, the eloquent immobility of her 
face remained, and even when she lowered the book 
a trifle and, without raising her head, ceased to read, 
the word was not unfitting. Yet a change came; 
some secret purpose defined itself, a steady deter- 
mination. No, she was not asleep after all, only 
waiting. There was something she wanted, would 
have, if an obstinate and passionate will could bring it 
to pass. What was it? She was looking at the photo- 
graph again, through her lashes, just as he was watch- 
ing her. He turned to r^ard her directly. 

She started. "Can I do something for you?" 

He scribbled on the pad. "Yes. I want to talk 
to you." 

"I'm sorry, but you can't," she answered, smiling 
for the first time, not at him but at the written 
words. Had she known it, that smile was her best 
di^uise. In it the woman vanished, and Eileen re- 
captured girlhood; mischief welled up in her sea- 



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2i8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

blue eyes, and a littie half-moon depression showed 
in her cheek. 

"Then," he wrote again, "I want you to talk to 
me. I can not bear silence, and that will be next 
best to hearing myself talk." He did not want 
to alarm her with excessive gallantry. She nod- 
ded. 

"It is tiresome, I know. But what shall I talk 
about?" 

"Anything," he scriU>led. "Your book." 

"This?" she held it up. He had already seen the 
title ; it was Balzac's "Peu de Chagrin," in the original. 
"I've only b^ua it, and I go slowly because I'm still 
learning French. Do you want me to criticise it?" 
He nodded now. "I was wondering if Batzac meant 
it for an allegory of life itself. I suppose so ; we've 
only so much allotted us, only so many possibilities, 
a certain term of years, and if to wish were to ac- 
complish, we should use it all up just so, without 
thinking. And what we do is only our wishes put 
into action. And at the end it's all gone; we hold 
nothing in our hands. I think — oh, I don't believe 
I can go on talking to myself ; it's 'no' canny.' " 

"Then just speak to me sometimes," he wrote 
craftily. "Don't bother to keep it up steadily," 

"Youll only have to wait until to-morrow," she 
protested, yet yielded. "Now I must spray your 
throat." Very deftly she tipped back' his head. 
There was vitality in her very fir^r-tips. He felt 
in them the reason she had not succumbed, gone 
down. What she felt was that his hair was singu- 
larly thick and soft to touch, which one does not 
expect of grey hair. She wondered just how old 
he was, why it was grey, who he was. 

Again her eyes strayed to his books, when she re- 
turned from sterilising the atomiser. There was the 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RmERS 219 

English Review, th« Revue des Deux Mondes, even 
the Corriere dello Sera, and volumes of memoirs and 
essays, privately bound. It made her share his re- 
gret that he could not talk; it was true that she 
could sympathise with one enforced to silence. For 
more than a lot^ year her mind and soul, awakened 
by a shock that had first stunned, had clamoured 
within her for knowledge and expression. Superfici- 
alities irritated her, and she had not been able to 
afford any intimacies. She wanted to understand; 
she desired a searchlight on the dark places of the 
spirit wherethrou^ she had passed; she could have 
screamed questions at the whole world, if she had not 
known it would only think her mad. Whittemore 
looked clever; yes, even to her mistrustful eye, he 
looked kind. She thought she knew the limits o£ 
kindness — self-interest. But sometimes she withdrew 
that generalisation ; for one thing, she remembered 
Lesley; and there was an old French-Canadian 
woman, who probably had Indian blood in her, who 
tiad been kind even to tears, when Eileen most needed 
it. Much bitterness had been melted in those tears. 
Eileen's mother may have wept — but at a distance 1 
Eileen had nothing of her own mother's, but she 
had a little, tarnished silver crucifix on a worn rib* 
bon, given her by Madame LeSueur. She kept it, not 
because it had any religious significance for her, but 
because it had been pressed into her clasp in an 
hour of such anguish and terror that she had felt 
as if she held to life itself but by the grip of 
Philomene LeSueur's tiard hands. 

It was not of that she was thinking now, for by 
fixed purpose she never thought of it at all if she 
could help. She remembered Madame LeSueur and 
sometimes spent her afternoon off with her, but the 
rest she resolutely put behind her. She knew her 



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230 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

handicap heavy enoi^h without keepii^ that meni' 
ory fresh. 

Whittemore ^t little more from her that after- 
noon, though she remembered to speak at intervals, 
and he used up a good many sheets of the writing 
pad to keep her from feeling self-conscious. But 
the next day, when he was able to speak, he used 
all his skill and charm to draw her out, and felt rea- 
sonably rewarded at the end of it. He did not 
know if he was surprised to find her smile had not 
belied her; she was still no more than a girl by 
flashes. There was a hard and bitter rind about 
her, but within her spirit was still hot and generous 
— ^ut how she had bitted and curbed it ! 

"Is it impertinent," he enquired, "to ask why you 
are a nurse? Is nursing a vocation?" 

"It's bfead and butter," she said briefly, and with- 
drew into her shell, but added with an elusive flash 
of mischief: "Canadian girls always seem to go in 
for nursing; lack of originality, I dare say." 

"But you don't need French for it," he suf^ested 
tentatively, 

"A woman needs everything she can get," was 
her answer, and added quickly: "It is very useful 
in Quebec, of course." 

"Yes, I forgot." And he saw that her eyes had 
strayed again to the picture of the ranch. "Do you 
like that?" he asked. 

"Yes. I — have lived in Alberta," 

"Have you? Perhaps you will go back some day. 
It has possibilities." 

"Perhaps," He saw the brooding purpose gleam 
in her eyes again. A wildly fantastic idea leaped 
into his brain. It was so grotesquely suitable as a 
rounding out of his life, that it inevitably occurred, 
to him as an accomplishment on which to expend that 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 221 

tiiq)ulse for action which Edwards' achievements had 
w^ed in him. It was indeed quite diabolically apropos. 
Eileen smiled, the corners of her mouth curling deli- 
cately, with an irony so fine it became her beauty. "If 
I thought they'd kill a fatted steer for me," she said, 
"I might. A calf isn't enough of a temptation. There 
are other places to go." 

'T>o you want to travel?" 

"Oh, I suppose 80." And by way of silencing him, 
she sprayed his throat with great thoroughness, 
though it lacked five minutes of the allotted time. 
"There, that's the last time," she said, "To-morrow 
you can do all that is necessary yourself." 

He anathematised his own stupidity. This was 
something* he should have arranged with Dr. Ed- 
wards. He must redeem the mistake as best he could. 

"You are not coming to-morrow?" 

"No, you will not need me, and Dr. Edwards 
does." 

"Would it be unprofessional," he asked, with a 
deference she could not mistake, "for you to con- 
tinue an acquaintance with me? I should like to 
see you again. Perhaps all your patients bore you 
with that request; I do not mean to be tiresome. 
I shall be in Montreal about two weeks longer, and 
may be back later!" 

She reckoned the matter in her head, as coolly as 
if it were an account, possible profit and kiss. It 
was to that end she had drilled herself. 

"I have one afternoon and evening a week off," 
she said, after an almost imperceptible pause. "I 
am just past being a probationer, you know; it is 
only by chance that I am on your case, because Dr. Ed- 
wards took a fancy to me, and had me in his office, 
and he decided that I should attend you. I suppose 
you are an old friend of his?" Whittemore assented. 



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222 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"So if you cared — a. week from this evening I shall 
be free." She did not feel suspicious of him, on!y 
because she thought herself hardened against all 
contingencies. 

"I believe there is opera on this month," he said. 
"Do you care for music?" It was a happy thought, 
as he could see at once. 

"I should like it very much," she said formally. 

"I will get tickets, then," he said. When she was 
going, he only bowed, and did not offer to shake 
hands. 

But the next day he bewildered Dr. Edwards still 
more with an additional request, trepannti^ him to 
dinner for the especial purpose. 

"I want you," he said, "to tell Miss Q>nway casu- 
ally that I am a more or less respectable and re- 
sponsible person — tell her what you know of me, I 
have asked her to the opera, and in justice she ought 
to know whether I'm a common burglar or a regular 
M. P. Will you? I make a point of it, a favour 
to me." 

"Why, yes, yes, certainly, if you put it that way. 
Ross, you always had good taste; by gad, you still 
have! But isn't this a little out of your line?" 

"Yes, it is," said Whittemore deliberately. "Put 
it down that I'm in my dotage — but don't think any- 
tbii^ else." 



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CHAPTER XXI 

WAITING for Eileen on the appointed evening, 
in the small reception-room of the nurses' 
home, Whittemore examined his own mo- 
tives with almost disttnterested curiosity. It was 
long since he had paid any but the most formal cour- 
tesies to a woman, except two or three matrons he 
had known since childhood, whom he now seldom 
saw. People had ceased to speculate jestingly in 
his presence why he did not marry ; women had given 
him up as invulnerable. Even the young and inno- 
cent Dianas, sweet scalp hunters who loved conquest 
with the ardour of inexperience, fought shy of him 
after one or two encounters. He did not laugh at 
thent ; he took them seriously, whereupon they digged 
pits for themselves with essays of worldly and learned 
conversation, and fell into them in hopeless confu- 
sion. The "buds" who were daughters of his old 
friends, with whom he had played in the nursery, 
looked on him as a supernumerary uncle, and confi- 
dently expected flowers and birthday gifts from 
abroad. He had lost his place in a stratified world, 
as an tmmarried man with a sense of humour does 
after forty; he was tagged "unattached." 

He did not think of women in the present tense. 
In Rousseau's phrase, he did not see women, he re- 
membered them. If he played with romantic fancies, 
it evoked only a bevy of fair ghosts, with the melan- 
choly of old days veiling their gaiety like a cloud; 
"dear, dead women . . ." 

It was that singular surrender to time and change 



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224 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

that Chan sometimes wondered over, watching Ross 
unawares ; a surrender scarcely demanded as yet even 
by those implacable twin powers themselves. Ross 
had laid aside the sword of youth, hung it on some 
unknown altar. 

Nor had he taken it down for Eileen Conway. 
But he seemed to see her entering his own passion- 
less place, abdicating the sun for the grey fields of 
Dis. It is a lonely land, and cold. There was no 
one there who called for her. She had not forfeited 
the sun, but only a small comer of earth. Let her 
pay whatever forfeit she must, of struggle and sor- 
row and even penitence; but pay it and Hve, It 
was then that again that fantastic thought came to 
him. ... If she had nothing she could pay but youth, 
could he not lend her the price, and save those 
lovely years? 

Whereupon he came back to actualities with a 
pleasant shock, for Eileen was standing before him 
holding out her cloak. She wore a white net gown, 
out of date, but still simple and becoming. It was 
trainless, and very evidently belonged to the days 
before the deluge. Her copper-lighted hair was in 
a Greek knot twisted with a green and silver fillet, 
and her profile justified it. She was almost too pretty, 
he thought, and searched for a saving fault. With 
a certain satisfaction he noted while he slipped her 
cloak about her that her slim shoulder blades were 
not quite perfection. They drooped, giving her a 
pathetic air, like a tired little girl who forgets to 
stand correctly. And she had a mole on her left 
arm. The arm was thin, with delicately pointed el- 
bows. Standing immediately by her, and taller by 
a head, he perceived these things for the first time, 
and also that she was smaller than her light carriage 
led one to tiunk. 



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THE SHADOW RmERS 225 

When she drew the hood of her cloak over her 
hair she looked smaller still. The blackness of her 
brows was pencilled on ; he liked her for that Eemi* 
ninity. They were irregular; the brow above the 
half-moon dimpled cheek was the higher. He began 
to feel as if he knew her now. 

"If you will buckle my carriage boots, please," 
she said. Her touch of imperiousness was goo9. 
So were her ankles. But she looked surprised when 
they were ushered into a parterre box. The Fan- 
shawes had lent it to Ross. With "Butterfly" sched- 
uled for the next night, and "Thais" the night be- 
fore, they had felt uneqxial to "Tosca." There was 
a chance irony in "Tosca." Whittemore settled him- 
self in the shadow to watch Eileen, not the stage. 
She faced the glare with indifference. Of the curi- 
ous eyes that focussed on her she seemed serenely 
unconscious. In fact, she was unconscious; to that 
also it had been necessary to school herself. She 
must never be aware. 

Nietzsche did well to fear pity ; it is the most dan- 
gerous of sentiments. It is stronger than strength, 
and can prevail over wisdom herself. Yet without 
it strength is vain and wisdom fruitless. It is the 
dew of life. Lacking it, the human heart becomes 
an arid waste. 

Whittemore may have known that theoretically; 
he knew a great deal too much theoretically, and a 
little too much by demonstration. He fancied Eileen 
was not unlike himself. 

The music touched her less than she herself ex- 
pected. Once she had loved music childishly; now 
she listened critically. In the next box a h^h-nosed, 
hard-eyed dowager sniffled audibly for fifteen min- 
utes, and strangled an over-wrought sob into her 
handkerchief when the stabbing scene was reached. 



ovCiooglc 



236 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Eileen's e3res were dry. The story seemed artifidaL 
She did not care what the heroine suffered. Suf- 
fering seemed stupid to her, after all she had been 
through. Over-much pain is an opiate. Besides, the 
theatre always makes its greatest appeal to the in- 
experienced. 

"So silly," she murmured. "People, you know. 
They — they make such messes, and there isn't ever 
any real reason." Yes, she was hard. The curtain 
went down, so they could talk. 

"Real? Oh, as real as anything — 'you can't get 
behind Bishop Berkeley,' as Samuel Butler says," said 
Ross. 

She knit her brows. "No-o ; well, I tried to read 
Berkeley, last wmter. I suppose it was funny ; I went 
to the library and asked for a list of great phikiso- 
phers; then I took the six that headed the list, and 
read them all in a jumble. I remember Berkeley 
because he made me feel as if I were trying to bot- 
tle a moonbeam; and then I decided he wasn't real 
because he proved it himself, so I needn't pay any 
attention to him." It was delidously incongruous; 
herself in her little white net frock, and the 
philosophers. 

"Are you so interested in philosophy, then?" 

"No," in the same slow, doubtful, detached tone. 
"I was lookii^ for something." 

"But you didn't find it," he supplied. "I know. 
Philosophy is a game, it isn't a remedy. It has noth- 
ing to do with life; it is all a vain attempt to put 
the ocean into a thimble — the universe into the brain 
of man. To confront life armed with philosophy b 
like arguing with a ravenous tiger. One has to act ; 
phiIos(q>hy is your game of golf after the day's 
work." 

"Then it isn't any good?" 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 227 

"You want me to commit myself to a philosophy," 
he warned her. 

"Oh I" she said, makin|r a moue of unconscious and 
comic despair. "There's the orchestra again, just 
in time to save me. I wonder why opera houses are 
upholstered in red?" 

"You shall have one done in green," he said slyly. 
But she did not answer, and he withdrew into the 
shadow and watched her again. Nothing of the trem- 
ulous enquiry of man to woman and woman to man 
troubled the air about them. Not even the music 
stirred them; it remained on the stage, and they 
apart. In the last intermission, she turned to him 
^n. 

"It's all false, isn't it?" she said. "Music, and 
poetry, and drama? Childish — nice, thrilling, but 
not life. Artists probably never grow up. If they 
listened to the truth, if they didn't keep on believ- 
ing at fifty what they believe at ten — they couldn't 
do it, could they? I mean — they pick and choose, and 
what they don't like they refuse to admit, or if they 
admit it they dress it up. I think it's life thafs 

long and art that's brief. Art Perhaps it is true, 

too, but it doesn't go on — it doesn't work? Does it?" 

"The problem of art and realism? Actually I be- 
lieve they are incompatible, since you insist on be- 
ing exact. The French have tried seriously to write 
the truth — the Russians are still trying — and, strictly 
speaking, they've failed. A magnificent failure, but 
it can not quite be done. And these new artists 
who are trying to depict emotions instead of facts 
are further off still. They can't give us the same 
emotions tangible things and events do, not even as 
well as the realists. They can only start us on a 
guessing match. We've developed a kind of secondary 
set of emotions — ^well, if the real ones could be in- 



ovCiooglc 



228 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

duced by art, any one who cared deeply for literature 
or music or painting would die of emotional exhaus- 
tion in middle age." 

"I think that's what I meant," she said. "I read 
'Anna Karenina' the other day"— strong meat for a 
child, he thought — ^"and I could almost smell the 
freshnnit hay and feel the sun and breeze when I 
read the chapter about the mowing, but not quite. 
And neither did I get sunburned!" 

"How did you like Anna?" he asked. 

"She was as stupid as she was clever," said Eileen 
absently. "She gave in." 

"She was Russian, of course. Wouldn't you give 
in?" 

"I don't think I should. But of course she had 
lived quite a lot." 

"Do you think it's good to be alive?" The secret 
idea pricked at him. 

"Sometimes. It could be." 

"Yes, you should feel that," he said. 

"Why me?" 

"I imagine," he hazarded, "you have all the capac- 
ity for living," 

"An aj^tite, and no dinner?" 

"Would you take all your opportunities, if they 
came?" 

"I mean to," very quietly, not to him, but to 
herself. 

"What do you want ? Love ?" 

She drew away, almost as if from a blow. 

"No," she said. "By the way, can you tell me 
who is in the stage box opposite? Such a pretty 
woman." 

"I did not ask out of idle curiosity," he continued. 
"I can give you everything else. Will you take it ?" 

He was not precisely aware of forming a res<du- 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 229 

Hon before he spoke; rather that ui^ for action 
gripped him suddenly again and spoke for him. He 
had been damned for inaction once, years before; 
if he earned a second damnation, it should be for 
something performed. He could do for Hileen what 
none could have done for him — give her back her 
opportunities. (He could not think that it -was Harry 
Garth she mourned for.) 

He did not love her, but he pitied her so suddenly 
and sharply that there was hardly room for any other 
feeling, save one. He did feel ail ironic desire to 
strike back at fate itself. Because he had once bowed 
to the iron custom of his little world, he meant to mock 
it now ; to make a bitter jest of it in secret. He did not 
value it a featherweight; and Eileen had nothing more 
to lose. 

He saw that he had sent her self-control spinning. 
She doubted her own senses. What did he mean? 
Guessing was too dangerous; she asked. 

"I do not understand." 

"I am asking if you will marry me." 

Her spangled fan fell to the Soor with a tiny clat- 
ter; she half rose, and sank back again weakly. The 
glittering parterre smote at her eyes and blinded 
her. She decided she was mad. Dr. Edwards had 
discharged his commission ; she knew all about Whitte- 
more'a worldly repute and financial circumstances. 

"I don't believe it," she said at last, with a shake 
in her throaty voice. She had not lost her quality 
of being surprising. 

"I know I've done it badly," said Whittemore, pick- 
ing up her fan and looking with a detached air at 
the fragile, cheap little trinket before he handed it 
back to her. She took it mechanically ; she was peer- 
ing at him in the gloom of the box. "I meant it, 
but I should have given you more time to— to get 



ovCiooglc 



330 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

acquainted with me. I do ineaii it Do not answer 
now, if you prefer." 

"But— but— why?" 

"Apparently you don't appreciate yourself," he said 
quickly, before he had time to think of another im- 
plication to the words. 

"That isn't a reason," she said, putting a hand 
to her burning cheek. She was breathing unevenly, 
he saw a fluttering of her throat 

"You are the only reason I know," he said. 

"No, you must tell me." Her voice grew alnwst 
harsh; she was going to have something frcHn him 
she could understand and hold to. She feared most 
making a fool of herself by misinterpreting him, 
even though he had been so glaringly explicit; still 
she could not believe it "You haven't said you — 

you " Love me, she meant. There was a kind 

of terror in her attitude; and he understood her 
perfectly. 

"I will try to explain. I am not so very youi^' — 
she made an involuntary gesture of dismissal of the 
words. "Not so very young," he repeated deliber- 
ately. "I am lonely; I want an intelligent companion, 
with charm and beauty, some one who will give me 
an excuse for taking part in life, for buying a house, 
making plans. . . . An ^ed and self-conscious sen- 
timentalist, you see. It isn't much to offer a young 
girl." 

"Is — is that an you want?" she insisted. 

"My dear," he said, "I want exactly what you seem 
able to give me. But you are young, and I suppose 
I can't offer enough in return. I certainly can't fulfil 
a 3roimg girl's natural dreams and hopes; all I can 
promise is that I would be ridiculous and try. It 
wouldn't be Arcady — it would be— this I" He indi- 
cated the box, the entire opera house, makii^ them 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 231 

B^ificant of the things of which they are the crown 
and apex. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes — oh, yes I" she muttered feverishly. She 
could not make it seem real. 

"Then I can only ask you to think it over, Yoa 
shall have all the time you want." 

"You had better take time," she said. 

"On the whole," he said, "don't you think I have 
already taken more time than most?" Certainly, if 
she were trying to spare him, there was htmxjiir 
in it; she looked such a child, and he never more 
a man of the world. She swui^ back to her ac- 
quired poise slowly. 

"I will marry you," she said, and then was seized 
with a belated panic that she had not said it sooner. 
So much for her boasted hardening that it could 
allow her to hesitate at such a time. She had planned 
to spend years of effort to create such an oppor- 
tunity as this; and when it fell into her lap without 
her even shaking the tree, she must act the fool, and 
dally with scruples. 

"Thank you," he said, as if she had given him 
a dance. A sweet, sudden crash of the orchestra 
startled them. Neither had realised that the cur- 
tain was up ag^, the opera progressing. It gave 
them an excuse for silence. They sat through the 
remaining act, each wishing it over ; the music sawed 
at Eileen's nerves, her bewildered brain groped after 
the strange, quiet, grey-hatred man, sitting so near 
but coming no nearer, who had just transformed her 
air-castles into almost palpable bricks and mortar. 
Whittemore himself felt the strain. He was glad 
when they could escape into the cold, dim night, 
where the stars and the street-lamps struggled to- 
gether for the city's sleeping soul. 

In the carriage again, Eileen sat rigidly in her 



ovGooglc 



332 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

comer, so small in her voluminous cloak, waiting 
for him to claim his new rights. . . . His pity for 
her made him feel a monster; he knew what she 
waited for. It was perhaps a morbid sensitiveness 
on his part, for the expected would have relaxed 
her nerves, and he was not repugnant to her, neither 
was her blood frozen with her heart But he only 
made some trivial comment on the principal soprano. 

"She isn't Tetrazzini, nor Farrar, but she does very 
well," he said. "You haven't heard them, perhaps?" 
Eileen's monosyllable told him she had not "You 
must, if you care for — oh, the most expensive," he 
smiled. 

"I've always thought I would." 

"I'm giad. We — could go to New York for the 
end of the Season — perhaps you'd rather go abroad. 
You must tell me to-morrow which you prefer, and 
how long you want the engagement to be." 

"How long should you want?" 

"A week?" he hazarded, of purpose, to see if she 
shrank. She surprised him again. 

"Then, a week." 

"Shall I write to jrour parents? Perhaps I can go 
to see them?" 

"No — ^no. I'll write. They aren't here. I can't 
bear— discussion. I've always hated it." 

"Just as you say." He did not think her parents 
would object, for the best of reasons, nor did he sup- 
pose Eileen would be critical of his behaviour on that 
point. They were dispensing with a good many of 
les convenances. But he meant to force her to tell 
a little more of what he already knew, to save future 
embarrassment. "Did I ever ask you where your 
parents live?" 

She struggled for an answer; told him the truth 
finally, in spite of the immediate risk. Common sense 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 233 

warned her it was the only thing to do, to guard her 
own defences ; she must tell no more Itcs than neces- 
sary. She was tense with fright until he answered. 

"I wonder I didn't meet them," he said. "I was 
there all last summer ; I thought your name was fa- 
miliar. Of course I was out on the ranch mostly. 
Your father is Judge Conway, isn't he? Will you 
come with me next time I go back ?" 

"Oh, I want to I" She set her teeth vindictively 
on the words; she did want to, most of anything in 
the world. He had unveiled that secret purpose — to 
go back, and not wearing the white sheet and carrying 
the candle. It was a pitifully human ambition; he 
was glad he had read her aright from the first, so he 
could give her her chance. 

Eileen could not sleep that night for a blinding head- 
ache. Even her jaws ached, from the terrific nervous 
repression she had put on herself. She lay awake 
listening to the gentle breathing of her roommate, 
looking at the future, which was epitomised in that 
moment when the glare of the opera house had daz- 
zled and frightened her. The head nurse, not a 
sentimental person, took her off duty the next morn- 
ing at sight of her white face and purple shadowed 
eyes, and she went back to bed, and to sleep finally, 
and slept twenty-four hours. 

A delightful note from Whittemore awaited her, 
and a box of flowers. She tried to answer it, carry- 
ing it about all day in her bodice, not tenderly, but 
with some subconscious fear of losing it. She could 
have seen Whittemore in her afternoon hour off for 
exercise. He was waiting her commands. Instead 
she hurried downtown in a cab to call on Madame 
LeSueur. She wanted to tell the old woman her 
news, to see the effect of it — an3rthing to make it seem 
real. It was a rash act, but she was driven; and 



ovCiooglc 



334 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

never before had she so felt her isolarion. She had 
no one, no one in the world but this simple old 
French-Canadian habitant woman to tell. The 
thought of writing her news to her parents turned 
her cold with distaste. Probably they would not be- 
lieve it either ; undoubtedly it would remind them of 
the past; they would imagine her going to the altar 
grateful and penitent. Grateful — she, to any manl 
In that moment she loathed even her future husband. 
She felt a secret, perverse pleasure in deceiving him. 
Another reaction, then — why should she see herself in 
the light of deceiving him? What did his life con- 
tain, that he would never reveal to her? 

To all this fever and turmoil of her heart Madame 
LeSueur was like a grateful lavation of cold water. 
Madame LeSueur remained quite calm ; she was pour- 
ing Eileen a glass of cordial, and brimmed the glass 
precisely while the tale was told. Afterward she 
picked up a piece of knitting, answering, with a smile 
of content illuminating her dark, weatherbeaten face. 

"C'est ban," she said. "A woman needs a husban'. 
He is not young, no? Out, that is best; a yoimg man 
is not a good husban'. A husban' is for wear, a lover 
for ornament. Is it that he is ricke, also ? Mais, is 
it that he knows " 

"No," said Eileen, with a thin, mocking smile. 
"Why should I tell him?" 

"Ah, pourquoit For what has one a confessor, if 
one is to tell one's husban' ? Non, one gets absolution ; 
it is enough. A husban' never absolves, jatHoit." 
Madame LeSueur had always jinnly ignored the fact 
that Eileen was a heretic. 

"No, I suppose not," said Eileen. There were two 
tiny lines between her brows, which smoothed imper- 
ceptibly as she watched Madame's clicking needles 
darting in and out of the bright-coloured wools she 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 235 

was sha^g to a tasseHed tuque. She had been rap- 
idly nearing the screaming point on her way down; 
she left much refreshed. 

The visit helped her somehow to see Whittemore 
the next day. She met him for a hurried tea. It was 
then she got her final shock of the incredible. 

"You said you would be willing to go back to Al- 
berta — at least for a visit," he began, offering her a 
cigarette in his only lapse into confusion and absent- 
mindedness. 

"Yes," she said. "No, thanks. I'd like to, but 
they'd put us out." This to the cigarette. They were 
in a quiet little tea shop, chosen because Eileen had to 
come in her tmiform, 

"Pardon — how stupid. Eileen" — he managed her 
name very naturally, though she had not as yet got 
herself to call him anythii^ at all — "Eileen, would you 
care to go back to stay a few years? I have many 
interests there, and — ^this depends on you — I've been 
offered the Lieutenant-Governorship. You know what 
that means ; a lot of tedious social red tape and gold 
lace of the provincial kind — but rather amusit^, for a 
time. Do you want it? Perhaps you hate Edmon- 
ton? Of course we could be away at least half the 
time, anywhere else you liked." 

"Why," she asked, "what has become of the 
Wards?" 

"Ward is dead." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry for Mrs. Ward." She had known 
Mrs. Ward quite well, but the words were only an 
echo; she did not feel anything at all. How could 
she? All those people had been utterly dead to her 
for nearly two years. It occurred to her that Mrs. 
Ward would bitterly resent pving up her social lead- 
ership. Social leadership. . . . Hers, if she wanted 
it? And she did want it, not for its own sake, but 



ovGooglc 



336 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

so that she might grind her dainty heel on — the 
past. . . . 

"It would bore you ?" she asked tentatively, watdi- 
ing his expression. But he looked much less bored 
than he had a week before. 

"Not at all, if you liked it." 

"I think — I should like it" She would be like a 
swimmer plunging into an icy flood ; it would take all 
her courage, would put in pawn all Whittemore was 
giving her, himself included; but she had meant it 
when she said she would take her opportunities. 

"That is settled, then. Now, another point Of 
course I ought not to ask you this, but after all it is 
your taste to be considered. You will need — I am 
ordering — something to put around your neck — oh, no, 
not a collar," he smiled. "Pearls ? Sapi^ires P Aqua- 
marines ? Diamonds V 

"Diamonds!" she said, shutting her teeth with a 
click. "They will understand diamonds I" 

Whittemore went to Ottawa that night, and came 
back the next day, having settled all details of his 
acceptance of the post he had ten days before rejected. 

He tried to persuade Eileen to leave the hospital at 
once, but she would not That was because she did 
not yeX believe. No one but Dr. Edwards and the 
head nurse knew she was goii^; Dr. Edwards alone 
knew she was to be married. She wore the magnifi- 
cent sapphire ring Whittemore gave her with the collet 
inside, and none of the nurses were intimate enough 
with her to offer any chaff or teasing about the flowers 
that came daily. Dr. Edwards went about with his 
hair in a perpetual uprising of astonishment, scarcely 
subdued for an hour while he acted as best man. 

Eileen and Ross were married in a parsonage par- 
lour; and Eileen could not remember even the min- 
ister's name afterward, nor anything but that her hua* 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 237 

band — ^her husband for whom she had not yet found 
an intunate name in her own mind — ^had kissed her 
for the first time. It was a friendly Idss, not formal 
nor passionate. But she felt that strange expansion 
of the bosom, the overflow of generous blood which 
rises at the touch of one who possesses the mysterious 
potentialities of physical attraction for oneself. 

Then they drove straight to the station, and after 
that it was New York, the Hoboken piers, and at last 
the Atlantic, like the running of a cinematograph 
reel. Only in New York they stopped long enough 
to get the significant diamonds. They would have 
been Eileen's only wedding present but that Madame 
LeSueur sent her the red and white tuque she had 
been knitting, with a blessed medal wrapped up in iL 
Edwards sent a gift after them, which they got two 
months later. 

Eileen put on her two gifts, together, and made 
a burlesque parade of the double stateroom, and 
Whittemore laughed. She was a married woman, 
and had a right to wear diamonds; and she had a 
husband who seemed to find her extremely entertain- 
ing, though he had only Idssed her once. Moreover, 
they were on their way to Paris, and thence to the 
Riviera, for clothes and a sight of the world at play. 

One secret they had in common and yet unshared. 
Neither had informed any one in the West of their 
marriage. Ross had written to Chan, but with an 
injunction to secrecy, omitting as if by carelessness 
Eileen's name. He got a congratulatory wire before 
sailing, but risked no more. He did not want to give 
Eileen's friends a chance to rake old ashes before she 
came back and put scandal out of countenance with 
her brilliance. Eileen did not want — ^to think. 



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CHAPTER XXII 

TWENTY-THREE is a ripe and sorrowful age 
for a girl, but if she could only know it, there 
is this consolation ; she will never feel so old 
again. Lesley was twenty-three the month Eileen 
was in Paris. She had had a lonely year, and the 
spring got into her blood and tormented her with un- 
&nished memories. Sometimes, in the evenings when 
she tried to read weighty books to get something to 
write about for the next day, she looked at Hilda 
Brewer with a feeling of mad revolt, and decided that 
if she were doomed to live such a life as Hilda's, she 
would certainly kill herself by some violent and splen- 
didly dramatic means. This ended in laughter, for 
she knew the idea had been merely a semi-humorous 
conceit, as when she had worn her mother's gowns 
and fancied herself a princess. 

Her mother had come home from California won- 
derfully better, and had not suffered any relapse yet 
But still most of Lesley's modest salary went home, 
and Lesley continued to live with Hilda in the hig, 
shabby, cheerful room at Mrs. Holt's. Hilda was 
always fussing over the room, adding a new chintz 
cover to a shirtwaist box or a pink paper ballet skirt 
to an electric light. Lesley was not a domestic crea- 
ture in that sense. She spent her spare time walkii^, 
readii^ or writing ; she was maddeningly healthy, she 
bloomed in her white rose way. Mrs. Holt sometimes 
got drunk, and babbled about her unhappy married life 
and forgot to get any dinner; and the two girls ate 
cream puffs and talked of the uncertainties of life. 
338 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 239 

Lesley almost envied Mrs. Holt her moments of ob- 
livion, though they disgusted her; or she envied Hilda, 
who was steadfastly religious without bdng dog- 
matic She felt as if they had something, and she, 
she had nothing at all. ... 

She was invaluable to Cresswell, but it seemed a 
trifling matter to her, and sometimes, seeing people 
reading with a serious air what she had written, she 
was obliged to laugh. No one would have listened to 
her saying the same things. The power of print was 
very remarkable; black and white magic. Lesley had 
not forgotten her ambitions, but she dared not go far 
{,rom her mother without a reserve of money, enot^ 
to bring her back instantly if needed. She might have 
got some credit as a local prophet, but her ambitions 
dwarfed her achievements so greatly that the mention 
of her work filled her with an embarrassment mount- 
ing to shame, so that people did not really know any- 
thing about what she did, except that they heard 
vaguely of a very clever girl on the Recorder. She 
might have made more friends by trying, but — oh, she 
had no money, and no pretty gowns, and it wasn't 
worth while. Some day she would take her share all 
in one bite. 

The town had come to the end of its boom, the bub- 
ble collapsing gently after the demise of the street- 
railway project It pottered on its way peacefully. 
It was growing, but not excitingly. In fact, another 
boom was on its way, and the City Fathers announced 
that they were considering a street-railway project of 
their own. Lesley hardly believed it. People were 
always talking. The amount of talking that could be 
done without anything being said filled her with aston- 
ishment. Writing, any kind of writing, develops a 
habit of unconscious criticism, of looking for the pith 
and meaning of words. Any craftsman must leani 



ovCiooglc 



a40 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

his tools, and the uses of them. Lesley's capadty for 
boredom increased atanningly. 

The coming boom impressed itself on Cresswell ; he 
thought something might be said about it in a leader. 
Not to call it a boom, certainly not. He told Lesley 
to see what she could do. She told him gloomily that 
what she would write on the subject of her city 
wouldn't be fit to print ; and he laughed and told her 
to go out and look and ponder. It appeared to be 
the only thing to do. She put on her hat and went 
out of ttie office in midaftemoon and spent three hours 
on the hills. 

Suburbs impressed her as loathsome. The town 
was losing its pleasant, placid, unhurried air ; had lost 
it. Up on Crescent Hill she found hundreds of little 
stakes bearing lettered boards with Jack Addison's 
name on them, offering the lots for sale. Stingy little 
twenty-five-foot lots, that seemed absolutely idiotic 
out there in the middle of nowhere, with vacant, un- 
ploughed land stretching to the back of beyond on 
every side. She had got free of the suburbs, over the 
brow of the bill, and could not see the city. She spent 
a pleasant half hour kicking the little boards over one 
by one, giggling to herself. Of course they made her 
think of Jack Addison ; and with his name came the 
wildest, most rebellious ideas. Why hadn't she bolted 
with him when he wanted her? He did not want her 
any more ; at least, he had given up finally when she 
had told him she never wished to see him again. 
Sometimes they passed each other on the street, with 
a touch of shy amusement on her part; on his, she 
did not know what He would look at her, a curious, 
abrupt, unreadable look, without smiling, and go on. 
He had had at least two affairs since then — ^married 
women, the sort of thing every one knows but the 
husband. He was a cheerful pagan, who probably 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHAUOW RIDERS 241 

wanted to go to Hell, like Aucassin, with the gay, 
brave array of sinners. Could she have kept him i{ 
she had tried? She thought she could have; and any- 
way, he might have been a gate to the world at large. 
She would have had to pay something — respectability 
— virtue — whatever it is; but what use was it to her? 
No one else cared. 

In a kind of melancholy intoxication she sat down 
on the short grass beside one of the little signboards. 
It was April, and the air was delicious, with that ex- 
quisite flavour of evanescence only the prairies know. 
Probably it would snow the next day; this softness 
bred weather, and the mountains had banks of still 
grey cloud behind them; but now. . . . There was a 
delicate purple windflower, a prairie anemone, hiding 
coyly behind the signboard, still holding its collar, 
like a moleskin stole, about its neck. Lesley took it 
up and kissed it. She pulled tiny, hairlike shoots of 
green grass, that pushed up under the dead stalks, and 
made a bouquet. On some close^^^zed spots this new 
grass made a faint flush of green. A prairie lark 
sang and sang, repeating its bright bubbling note un- 
weariedly. She thought she would write a leader 
about these things instead of about the fools who 
came and stuck Httle boards about and puzzled the 
prairie lark. The earth was clean, clean. Lesley lay 
back and stretched, turned and pillowed her head on 
her arm, her side and bosom crushed against the sod. 
And then she found she was crying. She had not 
cried since . . . 

Hastily she sprang up, straightened her hat, 
smoothed her crumpled skirt and brushed the dry 
grass stalks from her coat And she came down the 
hill with a free, splendid stride. She wanted to get 
inside the ofiice ^ain, and shut out the spring. 

The streets were as dusty as if they had never 



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242 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

heard of spring. An automobile came down Stephen 
Avenue as she reached it from Center Street It was 
preceded by a pillar of dust like the children of Israel 
in the wilderness, for it was driving; slowly and the 
wind was ahead. Lesley's eyes were filled, and she 
sputtered and sneezed and reached for her handker- 
chief. Then some one called to her; no, not to her, 
some one said simply : 

"Oh-h-h I" in a drawn-out, breathless manner. It 
was the woman in the automobile, who wore a grey 
coat and a long grey veil around her head like the 
clouds behind the mountains. Lesley stopped at gaze, 
and then made half a step forward, and stood still 
agfain. 

"Stop here," the goddess in the car called quickly 
to her chauffeur. "How do you do?" she said directly 
to Lesley. 

Lesley sneezed again, and burst into laughter. "It's 
you I" she managed to remark. 

"Yes, it's me," said Eileen. "Come, get in ; I have 
often and often wished to see you again." 

"Did you? Did you really?" Lesley asked breath- 
lessly, getting into the car. 

"Yes," said Eileen. "Go on, out of town any- 
where," she added to the chauffeur, and turned for a 
long look at Lesley. "You look just, just the same," 
she said. "I'm glad ; I thought I might have remem- 
bered wrong." 

"It's my hat and suit," said Lesley in a matter-of- 
fact way. She still wore blue serge, and a broad 
black hat, "I get 'em as near alike as possible, year 
after year — for hundreds of years now. It seems so 
piffling to bother about variety when you can only 
have one variety. Why did you want me to be the 
same ?" 

"I wanted some one to talk to. And I'm going to 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 343 

use you; you won't be able to help yourself. I'm go- 
ing to use everybody, of course, but that's jrour use. 
Probably you won't get anything in return, I haven't 
any heart, you know ; not now ; it's just a little dried- 
up article like a pea tn a pod. You can hear it rattle 
around if you listen. When it rattles too much, or 
I'm bored, I'll take it out and show it to you. I 
hope you don't mind, for I'm going to do it anyway." 
She spoke with the trained lightness of a good comedy 
actress, but she looked at Lesley with an intent gaze 
her casual tone could not dissemble. 

"Yes," Lesley nodded. "Go ahead ; I don't mind." 

"Did you know I was here, in town ?" asked Eileen. 

"No. Have you been for long?" 

"Only two hours. You haven't heard a word, have 
jrou?" 

"No." 

"Then I suppose no one has — if you still hear things. 
Do you?" 

"Yes," said Lesley. "I'm still on the Recorder. 
Please — please go on." 

"I suj^se Ross purposely kept it quiet ; I suspect 
him of being dramatic. He loves to do things care- 
lessly, last-minute effects." 

"Who?" 

"Ross Whittemore — my husband." Lesley was 
aware she looked absolutely imbecile with surprise, 
her eyes circular and her jaw dropping, but she could 
not control herself for a moment. "Do you know 
him?" asked Eileen. "No, my dear, he doesn't know 
— what you're thinking of," Lesley started, and 
Eileen laughed, a little clear, cool laugh that rai^ 
like a new coin. "I warned you. Do you know 
Rosa?" 

"No. I know — I used to know his nephew." 

"Chan? I don't Ross has gone to get him for 



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244 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

dinner; we're surprising him, too. I think Chan is 
the only thing on earth Ross really cares for, deep 
down, you know. Oh, no, not me, I don't know 
what I'm doing in his gallery. Isn't that strange?" 

"Yes, it is strange," said Lesley, taking an open, de* 
tailed survey of Eileen. She was exquisite, even in 
her loose pongee coat and shrouding veil — Paris, both. 
In spite of her warm colouring, she had a carven fin- 
ish; her eyes were blue jewels; the poudre de ris on 
her straight little nose resembled marble dust on a 
newly-finished bust; even her eyelashes had a pre- 
cision, as if they had been measured and counted to 
the exact requirements of beauty, with the same art 
she had used in the pencilled curve of her brows. 

"That doesn't count," she said, answering the look. 
"Think of the women he might have married. They 
all fall in love with him; you will yourself. I can 
always tell as soon as one begins picking me to i»eces 
with her eyes, Lesley — do you mind if I call you 
Lesley ?" 

"Anything — whistle for me if you like." It was 
all so wildly improbable, why bother about what one 
said? 

"Well, then, Lesley, what are you doing to-night? 
Were you going to the Horse Show ? Fancy our luck, 
coming just in time for the first night, when we never 
even knew there was to be one. Perhaps Ross did, 
but he foi^t What gigantic social strides they've 
made \" 

"Oh, no, I'm going yachting," said Lesley flippantly. 
She was arguing with herself ; could Eileen be telling 
the truth; was she married to Ross Whittemore? 
"No, I never go anywhere. I'll be asking Hilda to 
pinch me to see if I'm awake; that wilt be my even- 
ing's amusement," 

"No, you won't; youTl corae with us. Won't you? 



ovGoogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 245 

111 show you my marriage certificate first," she added 
sweetly. 

"That was nasty of you," said Lesley, in a low 
voice. "I had better go back." 

"No, I am sorry; I beg your pardon. Youll come 
with us to-night?" 

"Me? I haven't got a gown." 

"Never mind, wear a nonchalant air. The Lieu- 
tenant-Governor's box will back it up. I suppose 
you know Ross is the new Lieutenant-Governor ?" 

"No, I didn't," said Lesley weakly. "I — my head 
feels queer," Eileen laughed again. 

"It's all true. A splendid climax; I wonder if 
Ross knows I have a weakness for melodrama my- 
self?" 

"Don't you know anything about each other ?" Les- 
ley enquired desperately. 

"Very little indeed. But think how much time we 
have to find out I It makes life almost interestii^;. 
Now listen, have you any more work you really must 
do to-day ?" 

"A lot. I ought to be doing it now." 

"Then I'll take you back to ^e ofiice, and when you 
get through, come over to the hotel. I'm sure I have 
a hat that will make you ready to go anjrwhere. If you 
weren't so much taller, I'd fit you out with a gown, but 
never mind. You cannot afford to miss this ; it will 
be social history. By evening the news will be spread ; 
all the dowagers wUl have fainted and been revived, 
and there won't be an empty seat. I understand 
they've made the old Fair Building into a hippodrome, 
haven't they? It will be a grande tableau." Her sap- 
phtrine eyes glittered with malice, then she turned 
grave. "It may not work," she said. "Will it make 
any diflference to you — ^your friends — if it doesn't?" 

"Haven't any friends," said Lesley. "At least, only 



ovCiooglc 



246 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

scrabworaen and such; not the Horse Show crowd. 
As if I should care I" 

"Then that's settled." She spoke to the chauffeur, 
and he turned back. "The town is a little chai^;ed, 
isn't it?" she went on. "I came out on purpose to 
see, since Ross was busy. Besides, if any one dis* 
covered our arrival, I wanted to be out." 

"Saving the climax," said Lesley. She did not want 
to talk about the town ; she wished Eileen would go 
on and tell her the real meaning of this romantic ex- 
travaganza. How? When? Where? Eileen read 
her again. 

"I was training as a nurse, in Montreal," she said, 
without prelude. "I attended Ross; and we were 
married in just two weeks. Then we went to Paris, 
and Nice, and Monte Carlo, and came back. Ross 
agreed to take the Lieutenant-Governorship before we 
went, but he asked them not to announce it And — 
oh, I have six trunks full of French gowns, and no 
memory. Not in the sunshine, anyway. Once I think 
I read a sad and stupid story about a girl who— died. 
I am her epitaph. That is to say, I lie. Btit never 
mind that now. What is Gian like? I never asked 
Ross ; you can't find out about any one from the peo- 
ple who love them," 

"Chan is " Lesley began to answer before she 

had grasped Eileen's last words, and could have said: 
"Then I can't tell you either." But her heart came 
up in her throat and stuck there, and when she had 
quelled its mutiny — for over a year now she had kept 
it battened under hatches — she went on courageously. 
"Chan is quite nice, really. A little big^r than his 
uncle, and not so handsome, but not — not ugly. He's 
amiable, and — rather clever; and looks ever so clean. 
His hair won't stay brushed. And I think he's run- 
ning aroimd with Cissie Martin, but I never see him 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 347 

any more. He must have been an awful pest as a 
small boy. That seems to be all," she summed up 
confusedly. 

"That's very clever; I can see him now," said 
Eileen. "Is this your office? Au revoir ; come over 
as soon as you can. I'm going to see my parents 
now; they will be surprised, too." Lesley stopped 
with her foot on the step, her face again petrified into 
an expression of incredulous horror such as she had 
felt before she slept on the night Eileen had fallen at 
her gate. Eileen could not mistake it, but her look did 
not chai^. 

"When you have no heart," she said, "those things 
don't hurt. It's very convenient. I must go, because 
it's also coHvenable. I'm booked all the way through. 
Please come over as early as you can." Lesley stood 
stupidly watching her, till the car disappeared around 
the comer. And again Eileen did not look back. One 
expected that of her, that she would never again look 
back at anything. 

Eileen Imew her parents would not have moved. 
They owned their house, on a comparatively old street 
falling into shabbiness. It was a plain, square, home- 
Hke structure. The brown lawn was neat and smooth, 
as always, and the porch swept ; the foot mat was geo- 
metrically precise before the door. Eileen had put her 
veil down again, but she saw no one at the window. 
The blinds were just so. A maid answered her ring. 
They had not always kept a maid ; Eileen did not know 
that her mother's health had failed greatly of late. 
On an inspiration, Eileen gave the maid her card, out 
of a morocco and gold case, and sat down in the or- 
derly sitting-room, where nothing had been altered 
save that the enlarged photograph of herself as a 
child, which had hung on the green cartridge wall 
paper between the two front windows until it had 



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348 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

made a dark square spot by its shade, had been re- 
moved. A steel engraving hung in its place. There 
was a chenille cover on the square library table — ^the 
same cover. The same table; the same mahogany 
rocker and green rep armchair of her father's; and 
the mahogany cabinet, and Empire sofa with tarnished 
gilt arms ; a medley of furniture gathered throughout 
the frugal, prosperous years. Even the same thread- 
bare Wilton carpet, whose roses Eileen had tried to 
uproot as a baby, covered the floor. She was making 
an unconscious, unemotional inventory of these things 
when her mother's soft, slow step roused her. 

"Mrs. Whittemore ?" her mother said questioningly. 

"Yes, mother," said Eileen, putting up her veil. 

"Oh— be careful " She had to spring forward 

and catch her, for Mrs. Conway, her plump, wrinkled 
face suddenly grey, groped awkwardly for some sup- 
port and tripped over the rocker. "Sit down — therfr— 
that's quite right," said Eileen, loosing her arm from 
about her mother's capacious waist. Mrs. Conway 
caught at her hand as she drew it away, by sheer 
blind instinct. A mist obscured her vision; and she 
felt very, very old. 

"Eileen !" she said, and put her other hand to her 
heart 

"Yes, mother," repeated Eileen soothin|^y. "Ifs 
Eileen — at least, I suppose so. Don't get excited; 
I'm sure it's bad for you." It was true that Eileen's 
heart felt dead ; she spoke in much the same tones she 
had been wont to use with suffering patients. "It's 
Eileen, but she's married. That was my card." 

*Married?" Her mother blushed painfully, and 
clutched her daughter's hand tighter. "Who — who is 
he?" 

"Ross Whittemore, mother ; I'm sure you must have 
heard of him. He was here all last summer." 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 049 

"Not He— he's very rich, isn't he?" Mrs. 

Conway was equally worldly and rel^ous. She had 
a firm grasp on die foundations of respectability. 
And she did love her dan^ter. 

"Yes, very rich." 

"You didn't write about it?" 

Eileen almost wished she might feel softer, but 
everything her mother said echoed from some cynical, 
empty chamber of her brain. It was not Mrs. Con- 
way's fault; she was a simple woman, and grasped 
obvious things first 

"It was very hurried, and we planned to come in 
person. Ross will come to see you to-morrow, and 
apologise. I think he meant to see father this after- 
noon." That was a mere sop to convention; she had 
told Whittemore she would see her parents herself 
first. "How is father? I'm sorry I can't wait to see 
him." 

"But you must stay to dinner." Poor Mrs. Con- 
way's arms ached to embrace her daughter, but that 
slim, unyielding figure did not offer itself to an em- 
brace. Even if she did see only the obvious, she 
could see that 

"No, I can't ; I promised Ross Fd meet him at the 
hotel for dinner, as I wasn't sure of finding you in. 

But to-morrow Are you going to the Horse 

Show to-night?" 

"No, we didn't aim to. Mrs. Martin asked us, but 
I — I hardly ever go out; I don't feel equal to it" 
Her eyes overflowed, but she did not dry them; she 
devoured Eileen with her gaze. "Are you— happy, 
Eily?" she asked. 

"Quite happy. My husband" — she used the [^rase 
purposely — "is — is very good. Now, mother, I must 
go. Bye bye." She stooped and kissed her mother, 
on the chmk, and was dutched timidly and kissed 



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350 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

again. While Mrs. Conway still clung, they heard the 
sound of the front door opening. 

"It's your father I" said Mrs. Conway, in an agi- 
tated whisper. "Wait — let me tell him ' " She 
hastened out of the room with surprising rapidity, 
despite her infirmities, closing the sitting-room door 
tightly. Eileen walked to the mirror, calmly arrang- 
ing her veil and putting on her gloves. She could 
hear the colloquy in the hall ; her mother's voice hur- 
ried, the words indistinguishable, and a deep ejacula- 
tion from her father: 

"WhatI What did you say?" 

Then her mother's voice again, broken by a move- 
ment which heralded her father's unintentionally noisy 
entrance to face his child. So they surveyed each 
other a moment, neither hearing the continued flow of 
Mrs. Conway's confused exposition of the prodigal 
daughter's return. 

"How do you do, father," said Eileen, fronting 
him with a look that held neither fear nor defiance, 
only an instant readiness to go her way, letting him do 
likewise. It was he who recalled all the bitter things 
there were between them, the corroding words and the 
shame that tears had never washed out. Eileen had 
got more than her regular features and physical vital- 
ity from her father ; she had got her will, her pride, 
even her waywardness, which he had wrought out in 
more than one wanderjahr before he had married and 
struck hands with tradition and law and the puritan 
conception of order. But now the years revenged 
themselves of one loss with another. His blood had 
cooled, his pride bowed under the load he had laid 
on it; and his will had questioned itself in the sleep- 
less hours his age knows. It was he who behind that 
piercing look felt his bowels yearn over his child; 
though he could only say, in his strong, resonant voice : 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 251 

"Well, my girl, you've come home." 

"No, I haven't," she reminded him. 

He might have winced inwardly, but his ph3rsica] 
presence helped him to carry it off; his upright car- 
riage and square shoulders and the dignity of his grey 
beard. 

"I came back with my husband," Eileen went on, 
"and I thought you might want to know. Our home 
will be in Edmonton for a while, of course. Ross 
would have come to call this afternoon, too, if he had 
not been obliged to attend to some other things. Be- 
sides, I thought I would ask you first if I should 
bring him ?" 

"Bring him?" her father repeated — ^his only sign of 
faltering. "Why, what else should you do?" If his 
heart could have uttered itself, it would have told him 
she should cast herself into his arms, strip herself of 
her air of maturity and elegance, and restore to him 
his dau|^ter. He could have wiped out the dark in- 
tervening time. It was she who stood back. It is a 
hard thing that parents must live their lives twice 
over, the second time following their children step by 
step, despite the handicap of having lost the plasticity 
and resilience of youth ; unless they will see their chil- 
dren grow away from them into strangers and jut^s. 
Her parents had drunk of Eileen's cup perforce, but 
they had not performed the act of grace with it, placed 
tiieir lips where hers had been held. So she was apart, 
spiritually and literally. 

"Then I will bring him to-morrow. Shall I ?" she 
said. 

"Of course — ^why not to-night ?" 

"They — they're going to the Horse Show," said her 
mother quickly. 

"Yes, I believe we must," said Eileen. "And I am 
sure he is waiting for me now. But to-morrow." 



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253 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

She kissed her mother again, the same light passing 
kiss, and went 

Mrs. Conway sank into a chair, the unheeded tears 
coursing down her cheeks, the tears of Rachel. 

"There, there," said her husband, stifling his own 
impulse to drop his dignity and yield to tears also. 
"There, there, mother, don't now ; our girl's all right 
Her husband's a fine fellow." Thus his unconscious 
masculine logic, which is true enough except that it 
seems oblivious of its reverse truth. He stroked his 
wife's hair awkwardly. "She looked well," he urged. 

"She looked lovely," said Eileen's mother, with a 
kind of wan enthusiasm, and dried her eyes resignedly. 
A little later. Judge Gmway, going to the telephone, 
found his wife already in vest^ possessitHi of it. 



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CHAPTER XXm 

XT THILE Eileen's automobile vanished in the 
\/\/ distance and its own dust, Lesley entered 

» " the gloomy, littered, cheerful newsroom 
slowly, with 3 look of deep preoccupation. Cresswell 
hailed her twice before she answered, though she had 
stopped at her desk, immediately beside his. By the 
s^ns, she might have known he had something to 
impart to her. 

"What's the matter, Johnny?" he enquired solicit- 
ously, "Seen a ghost?" 

"Almost," she admitted, taking off her hat and shak- 
ing her head, like a colt worried by flies. "Excuse 
me; I didn't hear what you said first." 

"Oh, nothing; only who do you think is in our 
midst?" 

She shook her head again. "Don't ask me; my 
brain is pied." 

"Our new Lieutenant-Governor — at last And his 
wife. And vrho—wko do you think the lady is?" 

"I don't need to think. I've just been autoing with 
her." 

"Pardon me, but I certainly will be damned. 
You've spoiled my exclusive story, you — ^you hussy. 
I didn't know you knew her. And what in hades do 
you make of it?" 

"She's the prettiest woman I ever saw," said Les- 
ley ambiguously. "Now don't bother me, for I've got 
to get through and go to the Show with her." 

Cresswell fell back, ostentatiously gasping for air. 
Lesley laughed, fixed her eyes firmly on her type- 



ovGooglc 



354 IHE SHADOW RIDERS 

writer, and wrote, without much idea of what she 
was putting down. She kept on shaking her head to 
Cresswell's interrogations. 

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you another thing," she 
said. "I used to know her, and I met her by accident 
on the street That's all. Good-bye." 

She went out, dodging a rubber eraser thrown at 
the last moment by her esteemed chief. Whereon her 
chief got down and hunted for the eraser, as it was 
the only one he had and he used it for a paper-weight ; 
and Lesley hurried to the hotel, forgetting all about 
her dinner. 

She was shown up immediately, evidently by Ei- 
leen's forethoughtful order. The Whittemores had 
an improvised suite on the second floor. Eileen was 
in her bedroom, in a green crepe negligee, a castaway 
in the midst of a sea of feminine apparel which over- 
flowed from various open travelling impedimenta, 
even unto the sitting-room, beyond which was Ross's 
room. Ross was invisible, his door closed. Eileen 
had a dinner tray before her and a middle-aged and 
quite evidently perplexed French maid under her eye, 
unpacking. She rose quickly.' 

"Throw that stuff on the floor, Lucie," she said, 
indicating a mass of delicate lace and chiffon on a 
chair. "There, sit down, Lesley, you dear thing. Put 
your hat and coat— oh, heavens, hang 'em on the elec- 
tric light Or the doorknob. Have you had dinner ?" 

"Why—" 

"Of course you haven't. Chicken or ham? And 
a little Chablis? I hate eating alone, and Ross and 
Chan dined at the club; I hadn't time to go down- 
stairs. Lucie, bring me that grey hat with the bronze 
quill ; the Virot model. And take down Miss Johns' 
hair and dress it while she eats. Dress it to go with 
the hat." 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 255 

"Mais, madanK " Lude broke into an electrical 

explosion of protest in French. 

"Never mind that, Lucie ; III do my own. Plentf 
of time. You attend to Miss Johns. Yes, and get 
that Malines jabot, too, and the long topaz chain, 
and — and some tortoise shell hairpins. I know now 
why I bought those pins, though they look hideous in 
red hair. Vite, Lucie." Lucie vited. Lesley ate her 
chicken and salad under a cloud, a cloud of hair over 
her eyes, under which she was obliged to insert her 
food at what seemed propitious moments. She got 
hair into her coffee cup; she laughed and got it into 
her mouth. By and bye the cloud lifted ; a few final 
deft pats and touches, and she was invited to behold 
herself, Lucie knew her business, knew better than 
to ptit any frivolous waves into the smooth soft nar- 
row roll drawn back from Lesley's clear brow. At 
the back another dexterous coil, from nape to crown, 
gave the fine outline of her head, emphasised by tor- 
toise and silver pins. With an artist's pride, Lucie 
adjusted the wide grey hat, with its glint of bronze, 
like a benediction. 

"Oh, how nice," said Lesley rapturously. And she 
submitted to the jabot, which fluffed below her round 
chin, and the long string of topaz that brought out the 
brown flecks in her eyes, with calm content. The two 
hours she spent in the midst of this purely feminine 
excitement and luxury was like a perfumed bath. 
She gave sage advice as to which gown Eileen should 
wear, and they settled on a blue-green chiffon, weight- 
ed at the hem with blue paillettes, held over the shoul- 
ders with strands of jet. When Eileen added a carved 
Spanish comb of silver to her own shining coppery 
crown, and at last bent her graceful neck while Lude 
clasped a single strand of large diamonds about it, 
which caught colour from her gown and shot bhifr^ 



ovGooglc 



356 THE SHAI>OW RIDERS 

green rays into the depths of the dresser mirror, 
whence ibey reflected again, Lesley was dumb and 
dazzled. 

"I think that will do," said Eileen. Her cheeks kin- 
dled to a wanner rose, but she seemed quite calm 
otherwise. Suddenly she swept across the sitting- 
room, her chiffons billowing about her silver shod 
feet, and rapped on Ross's door. She had heard him 
come in a little earlier, though Lesley and Lude had 
not. 

"G)me out quick," she called. He appeared in- 
stantly, minus his coat and waistcoat, having evidently 
just finished tying his white titvm tie. Lesl^ had 
never before seen him so closely, and she was struck 
by the fact that he still had a waistline, retaining the 
peculiar firm elasticity of youth in his f^re. His 
mouth was young, too, with no hint of that slack- 
lipped look which betrays the man of gross appetites 
and indulgences as the years pass. His fine, aquiline 
face had the indescribable stamp of the ascetic, but 
without exaltation; no one would have taken him for 
a "religious," and yet it was of that— hermit, priest, 
solitary — he inevitably reminded one. In fact it was 
the expression of the celibate. He looked at his wife 
for a long moment without moving, while yet his ex- 
pression gradually altered, as if forgotten emotions 
strove to reach the surface. The blood mounted slowly 
to his temples. 

"You are a wonderful woman, Eilidh," he said at 
last, in his low, husky voice. 

"Am I ?' She threw back her head, with a rising 
of her bosom that made her seem about to float toward 
him, her arms held out a little from her sides. He 
would have spoken again, but the maid Lucie made 
some involuntary noise, drawing his eyes for the first 
time. He saw Lesley also. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 357 

"Yes, and a bad girl," he added lightly. "I did not 
know you had a guest; I must apologise." 

"It's only Lesley," said Eileen, with that careless- 
ness which is somehow a tribute; as if the one spoken 
of were inevitable because necessary. "Come here, 
Lesley; this is my husband." 

"How do you do?" Lesley came forward and held 
out her hand, conscious that Whittemore had ap- 
praised her before she crossed the threshold. 

"At last," he said. "I asked to meet you a long 
time ago, but Chan was lazy, or you wouldn't come. 
Now I must cover my confusion with a coat" He 
disappeared. 

"Do you like him?" asked Eileen. "There is some- 
thing — something about him — " She might have been 
talking to herself. 

"You've both got it," said Lesley, and immediately 
was not sure what she had meant. Eileen stared, 
asked her, and got no satisfaction. Yet they did have 
some intangible quality in common, a detachment, an 
exotic note . . . there was no word for it, except 
that it savoured of finality, of having seen some part 
of life definitely ck)sed. 

Whittemore came back. 

"What was it you called me ?" Eileen asked, incon- 
sequently. She was not nervous, but she was restless. 
"Was it Ey-ley?" 

"Eilidh," said Ross. "There's an inflection in that 
it's hard to catch ; Gaelic is a singing language. Some 
of my 'forebears' came from the Isles, but I don't re- 
member just where; Skye, or the Orkneys. My 
grandmother's name was Eilidh ; but there was an- 
other, legendary Eilidh who was a kind of witch, a 
sea-witch, a Gaelic siren; and your green gown and 
silver comb and golden hair made me think of her." 

"'Golden hair' is good," said Eileen. "Where is 



ovCiooglc 



2s8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Chan ? and where are tiie pumpkin shell and the four 
mice?" 

"Downstairs, prancing with impatience." He took 
her cloak from her maid ; he never failed in such mat- 
ters. Eileen wrapped her head in yards of gauze, 
covering her face to the eyes ; she had no wish to be 
stared at in the lobby. She had met Chan briefly be- 
fore dinner, and made no attempt to cement the new 
relationship further at the time, but turned Lesley 
Over to him. She might be interested still, but she 
wanted her husband beside her that evening. Chan 
looked at her as she went out ahead of him with 
patent admiration. 

"Corkingly pretty, my new aunt," he said to Les- 
ley. "I don't blame Ross — 'old Sir Richard, caught 
at last.' You look nice, yourself, Lesley. Jolly 
you're coming with us." He wondered how she had 
met Eileen, but somehow did not ask, "Where have 
you been for hundreds of years ?" 

"Travellii^ in Thibet," she retorted. Where had 
ahe been, indeed I Not following Cissie Martin, any- 
way. 

"How like old times," he said gravely. Lesley burst 
into a laugh, like old times indeed, and got into the 
motor peaceably. They had a very little distance to 
go, but it seemed shorter. It was probably to Lesley's 
disadvantage that merely to be with Chan always made 
her so unreasoningly satisfied she never at the mo- 
ment wanted more, else she might have got more. 
Men and women alike respond insensibly to all strong 
undercurrents of feeling, and do not resist easily the 
unuttered demand of sex. Lesley made no demands 
at all. There was something diildlike in her shy 
pleasure in his society, which brought out the boy 
in him to match. 

Afterward Lesley remembered that neither Eileen 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 359 

nor Ross spoke at all ; and that she had herself for- 
gotten the evening held something in the balance for 
Eileen, that all the lightness of the past two hoars 
had covered a purpose. It might be only a game, but 
Eileen played for stakes. For her husband, even, it 
might be. . . . 

They were late, or every one else was early. The 
big, gaunt-raftered buildii^ was crowded to the top 
tier of plank seats. The boxes, next to the railing 
halfway around, bloomed with plumes and shoulders, 
incongruous against the flimsily garlanded plank par- 
titions, above the tanbark, and yet the more taking for 
the contrast. There is a flavour in the refinements of 
civilisation, the little luxuries of money and millinery, 
in such surroundings, which is more piquant, less 
enervating, than when every detail of the setting is 
complete. It is Burgundy in an earthen mug; cham- 
pagne in the open air ; truflles in a monastic refectory. 
There is a fine disdain about the white bosoms exposed 
amid such rusticity, a determined, inflexible elegance in 
the men's inutile starch and broadcloth. If some 
wearers are patently new to their accoutrements, that 
only adds a truer enjoyment, the naivete of a child 
with a first toy. If some of the gowns might pale 
before the Diamond Horseshoe, they need not feel out 
of countenance here; so much the better. Withal, 
Mrs. Dupont had hers from Paris; Mrs. Shane's 
aigrette was genuine ; Mrs. Manners' rose point was 
a hundred years old. 

A distinctly audible stir went round the tiered seats 
as the Lieutenant-Governor's party was suddenly ob- 
served entering the central box. (Ross had yet to 
take the oath of office, but courtesy post-dated his 
honours. He was expected in Edmonton for the cere- 
mony in a week.) Without lifting her ejrelids, Ei- 
leen saw the rows of faces torn toward her party. 



ovGooglc 



36o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

She smiled at her husband, b^ging him to remove 
her gauze scarf. Perhaps it was for that effect she 
had selected it. Lesley sat down, looking about with 
a lively expectation and some apprehension. She got 
only the overflow of the investigative glances, and 
could gaze back at her ease, or so much ease as her 
anxiety for Eileen allowed. Eileen sEpped from her 
cloak at last, while Lesley's gaze still ranged the boxes. 
She stood for one graceful moment glancing down to 
arrange her skirts, and then sank slowly into her chair, 
unfurling a large black lace fan. Lesley heard the 
swelling murmur, half a sigh, which was Eileen's 
tribute; and in some inexplicable manner it told her 
what she was waiting to know. Her heart grew light 
Eileen had won. 

Eileen's face betrayed no consciousness of victory. 
It expressed neither tritmiph nor disdain, but a pecu- 
liar innocence and unawareness, which innocence itself 
cannot achieve. It is a look only possible to a woman 
who has suffered, and deliberately forgotten; it can 
outface innocence itself because it has no mingling of 
curiosity; it is invulnerable — from the outside. The 
most acute observer could hardly have guessed if 
Eileen was acting. Only sometimes she tentatively 
drew in the comer of her ripe mouth as if she would 
bite her lip, and ceased again ; or her white-gloved left 
band slipped down stealthily and gripped her chair, 
the fingers locking and unlocking. She looked at the 
horses, at Chan, at her husband, anywhere but at the 
rows of boxes. Their partie carree had an air of utter 
self-sufficiency. 

People rose and resettled themselves, shifting up 
and down the great building, visiting from box to box, 
always manoeuvring for a nearer view. The mayor 
came up to speak to Ross, and was introduced with 
emprcssement to Eileen and Lesley. The Premier, 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 361 

whose wife was unluckily in Edmonton, came in late, 
and went directly to greet them. Then Lesley saw 
Mrs. Dupont give a look of calm command to her 
husband, and move majestically toward them. Of 
course she could not hear what Mrs. Dupont said to 
Mrs. Satterlee, which was : 

"Well have to do it, my dear ; we won't be able to 
resist ourselves. Besides, it would be stupid. And 
I'm going to be first. It pays. I hand it to Eileen. 
I'll pve a dinner for her next week." Mrs. Dupont 
was even clever enough to appreciate the sub-acid fla< 
vour of herself according the pas to Eileen, receiving 
the black sheep into the fold — Mrs. Dupont, whose 
love affairs, to call them by no cruder term, had be- 
come a matter of course. She had waited for matri- 
mony, that was all. 

She was first, by a narrow margin. Mrs. Martin 
' crowded on her heek, and Mrs. Martin was impec- 
cable as Lucretia. Mrs, Martin pretended to yield to 
pressure from little blonde Cissic, who was on pins 
and needles at sight of Lesley in full possession of 
Chan. With the instinct of a young woman of the 
world, she saw very clearly that Chan was firmly 
ranged on Eileen's side already. It was both or nei- 
ther. Cissie played innocence, in spite of having lis- 
tened from ambush to her mother and Mrs. Ames 
that afternoon. Cissie was just out. Just back from 
an Eastern boarding school the previous autumn. 

"But you know the Conways, mother," she urged. 
"Why don't you go and speak to her? I wish you'd 
let me wear colours. My hair would go with green." 
Mrs. Martin prudently waited until she forced Eileen's 
eye, bowed, and felt an actual relief at Eileen's. distant 
inclination in return. (She had smacked Eileen and 
given her cookies, like a second mother, a dozen years 
earlier.) Then she went. And Mrs. Manners, who 



ovCiooglc 



aSa THE SHADOW RIDERS 

had always been aristocratically Bohemian. She was 
an Eoglishwcnnan, and like her kind thought that any 
one she chose to rect^nise was patented thereby, in a 
country where any other distinction was idiotic. So- 
cial distinctions — fiddlesticks I They didn't exist out- 
side of England ; this was a rabble. Choose the most 
amusing of the rabbl& Here promised amusement 
All of which goes to show only that most of us can 
see the beam in our neighbour's eye even without pull- 
ing the mote out of our own. 

"My dear, you've actually grown," she swd, owning 
up statelily and tapping Eileen's snowy shoulder with 
her fan. "Pretty child I Why did you never write to 
an old woman ? Your mother telephoned me an hour 
ago that you were back, and I made a point of being 
here to see you. I meant to call to-morrow." 

"Do," said Eileen. "We can sit on the trunks and 
have tea." 

"After we've looked into the trunks," said Mrs. 
Manners firmly. "I am intoxicated with your gown. 
Paris, or Vienna?" 

"Paris," interposed Ross. "I am afraid Paris has 
much to forgive me, for snatching Eileen away from 
it" 

"Oh, was it there ?' asked Mrs. Manners archly. 

"Yes," said Ross. "The combination, you 
know " 

"You met in Paris? How romantic," said Mrs. 
Martin. She couldn't think of any other adjective. 

"It spoiled a career; Cavallini vows she will never 
forgive me for taking her favourite pupil," said Ross. 
"She was an old friend of mine, too — but I couldn't 
help that." 

"Were you studying with Cavallini? Why, so did 
1 1" cried Mrs. Manners. "But — no. It was her mother 
I was thinking of — going back to the dark ages. Oh, 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 363 

yottthi I'm gmng a musicale next w«dc; youll sii^ 
for us?" 

"If we don't have to go North first," said Eileen, 
contradicting nothing. She had always before thought 
Ross remarkably truthful. 

"Eileen I" said Mrs. Ames, squeezing her portly per- 
son into the perilously crowded box, "I've nodded 
my neck out of joint, trying to bow to you. How 
you've dazzled usl"- Mrs. Ames was respectability 
incarnate; the wife of a leading bank manager, who 
mothered all the fledgling bank clerks in the city, mar- 
shalling them at her teas in phalanxes and battalions. 
She also chaperoned innumerable girls to the dances. 

"Ross was standing on that side," said Eileen. "I 
can't see anything for him." 

"Very proper, in a bride," cooed Mrs. Ames. 
"Eileen, my next At Home is on Friday. Can you 
help me receive ?" 

"My shoes are too t^t to stand in," said Eileen. 
"I'd rather sit in a comer and eat all the cakes. Les- 
ley, do you know Mrs. Ames — Mrs. Manners — ^Mrs. 

Dupont How d'ye do, Mrs. Vamey?" For Mrs. 

Vamey had come also, executing a flank movement 
and visiting die next box, to lean over and nod ta 
Eileen with just the proper degree of carelessness. 
Eileen knew she was violating "form" in presenting 
the matrons to Lesley, instead of the reverse. She 
did it on purpose. They beamed on Lesley. Mrs. 
Martin cut out Chan and carried him away. She 
was a good mother. 

From a procession it became very nearly a stam- 
pede. Eileen had known every one. Then nobody 
had known her. Luckily, she had escaped the actual 
experience of that, by going away. Now she knew 
every one again. She had lived in the city fifteen of 
her twenty-one years. Her smile became more and 



ovGooglc 



264 THE SHADOW RfflERS 

more frozen. The taste in her mouth was honey 
and ashes mixed. Her manner was iced perfection. 

Lesley's spirits gradually sank; she grew nerv- 
ous and depressed. She had humanly thot^t sac- 
cess must mean happiness, and she could not doubt 
the success. She crowded back to the edge of the 
box to let Eileen's ^ests have room, and while she 
looked at Eileen, with her trouble in her eyes, Whitte- 
more leaned over her shoulder and spoke, tmiing his 
voice below the chatter of the women. 

"It was good of you to come with us," he said. 
"I hope we shall see you often. Eileen is deeply 
attached to you ; and she needs you. She can't live 
on this, you know." His eyes indicated the festal 
throng. 

"Yes, I — ^thanks," said Lesley confusedly. 'Whitte- 
more undoubtedly meant more than he had said, but 
precisely, what? The conjecture that came to mind 
was obviously untenable, but it persisted. There 
could, however, be no mistake about Whittemore's 
friendliness. She liked him. Owning that, she re- 
membered that Eileen had said all the women fell 
in love with him, and she wanted to laugh. Help- 
lessly muddled at last, she wanted most to escape. 
"Of course I will come," she repeated. "But I've 
got to go before I can come, haven't I? I wonder 
if I can get out? Please let me, without being no- 
ticed." Ross went back and said something to 
Eileen, who let Mrs. Ames address herself to her back 
hair while she turned to Lesley. 

"Of course you must go if you're tired," she said. 
"Send the car back for us. I want to see you to- 
morrow." The iciness melted out of her eyes a 
second, until she turned again. Ross had signalled 
to Chan in the interval, and he came instantly. Les- 
ley had meant to slip away without seemg him. 



ovCioo^lc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 265 

through some sudden, craven foreboding, but she was 
glad she could not, and refused to argue with her- 
self. She shut the lid down abruptly on all her feel- 
ings, and kept Chan highly amused all the way home, 
which she insisted on walking. 

"By Jiminy, you're the only sensible woman in 
this town," he said at the last, with a look of per- 
plexity. "I'm afraid you make the other girls seem 
stupid. I've missed you." Lesley's heart leaped, and 
quieted again. He was, too, too obviously just a 
friend. She didn't make the other girts seem plain 1 
It is better to have yellow hair than to be clever; 
this is a truth written in the Great Book of Women, 
wherein it is also said that one dimple is worth more 
to a woman than seventy years of learning. What 
was the use of being clever? Well, for one thing 
it is a good buckler over an unruly heart 

"So've I missed you," she said, with blackly de- 
ceitful frankness. "I haven't a thing to read." 

"I will come drivii^ a van loaded with the newest 
books," he promised, and then hurried back to the 
show building, where he missed Ross by just five 
minutes. Cissie got him again, and Esther Purring- 
ton grabbed him from Cissie almost by force majeure 
— Esther was dark and jolly and women called her 
bold — and he went the rounds like a box of bonbons 
at a nutinee before he got away. 

It seemed too solitary to Eileen to play all alone 
at her game of <;ross purposes when Lesley had left. 
She told every one indifferently that the journey had 
tired her, and went. In the motor she leaned back, 
pale under her bright hair, and did not speak. Ross 
wrapped her in rugs, though the night was pleas- 
ant. Only just before they reached the hotel she 
asked abruptly, without opening her eyes : 

"Why did you tell them I'd studied with Cavallini?" 



ovCioogIc 



266 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

It was an indirect way of sayii^;: "Why did you tell 
them we met in Paris?" 

"Oh, I don't know," he said reflectively. "Mrs, 
Dupont looks rather like Cavallini ; I fancy that put it 
in my head. She's a nice old thing— -Cavallini, I 
mean. The first time I went abroad, at eighteen, she 
was in her prime; and I spent a month's allowance 
on one bouquet and sent it to her with a languishing 
note. And she must have guessed the kind of cub 
that sent it, for she let me call on her, and laughed 
me into common sense, and all the rest of my stay 
she was a sort of mother in Israel to me. So we've 
been friends ever since. She loves to hear me talk 
of her opera days, before she retired and began to 
teach." Eileen, watching through her long, curled 
eyelashes, was baffled. He had told her nothing, and 
had done it as delightfully as he did everythii^. But 
he could not very well tell her that he had been back- 
ing up an almost forgotten lie of her mother's, of 
which Eileen herself might never have heard. 

"You had a great triumph," he added inconse- 
quently. 

"I knew 1 would," she said, "after I had tried 
It on you." 

"Why, you minx," He said. "Was that why you 
called me out — to try it on the dog?" 

"Of course," she said coolly, and turned her face 
away. 

When they reached their apartment he insisted en 
ordering a glass of wine for her, chat^d Lucie to 
rub her mistress' brow with camphor, and held her 
bedroom door open for her to retire. Eileen extended 
her hand to him, her face still averted. He kissed it, 
and after a fractional hesitation said good-night. 

But Eileen would not let her maid rub her head, 
nor do anything at all for her. She dismissed Lade, 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 267 

and sat with her chin on her hand, her brows drawn 
into two straight black lines with the crease between. 
After half an hour she rose, went softly into the 
sitting-room, looked at Ross's door, and went back 
to her own room quickly. Ross heard her. His 
hand was on the knob at tfie very moment she turned 
away. He heard her steps retreating, and withdrew 
it. She wanted something, he thought, but could not 
bring himself to intrude. She had her maid, of course. 
Later he thought of her as in bed, sleeping. But she 
was only lying on the coverlet, gazing at the ceiling, 
her arms extended, her iilmy gown unheeded. It was 
four o'clock when she finally sat up, tore off her fin- 
ery, and got beneath the sheets. 

She could not understand her husband. She was 
like a debtor whose creditor does not send a bill, 
and who for that reason cannot ^put the bill out of 
mind. Life wasn't like that; it was "nothing for 
nothing, and damned little for sixpence." What, 
in Heaven's name, would his bill ultimately be ? What 
could a man want — other than the obvious thing he 
never claimed? 

Her pride smarted, for a reason she would not allow 
hersdf to examine. . . . 



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CHAPTER XXIV 

LIFE has a way of going by fits and starts, let- 
ting months and years pass with an even flow, 
only to break unexpectedly into rafuds and 
waterfalls over sudden rocks where the voyager 
crowds long memories into breathless hours. So un- 
eventfully went more than a year wHh Lesley, and 
brought her past twenty-four. 

It was not a dull year, for she had Eileen now, and 
she had Chan back again, not quite so much to her- 
self as before because he had new friends, and lived 
in summer on the ChatBeld ranch; but on the old 
terms. She was satisfied perforce. 

She did not always have the Whittemores either. 
Naturally they went to Edmonton immediately after 
the Horse Show, Ross was inducted to his office and 
presented with a sword, a cocked hat and a black 
kimono, all with great gravity; and they established 
themselves fittingly in their new position. But they 
bou^t a cottage in Banff, and yet another in Lesley's 
city. A bigger house there would not have suited 
Eileen. When the Legislature adjourned, and she 
came South for the summer, she announced frankly 
that she did not want the bother of any more en- 
tertaining. But Lesley spent week-ends with her in 
Banff, dined at the town cottage every other day when 
assured there would be no other guests; and Eileen 
wrote when in Edmonton. 

Chan lived in the Whittemores' town cottage when 
it was otherwise unoccupied. It was a tiny, quaintly 
agly house close to the centre of the city, with prepos- 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 269 

terous pretentious gables and high, doll-house win- 
dows. There was a dining-room and two bedrooms on 
an infinitesimal scale, and a surprisingly large drawing- 
room, big enough for a fireplace and a piano to dwell 
together amicably. Eileen furnished it delightfully 
in blue and white chintz, and black oak, with a Dutch 
tiled fireplace, Chinese rugs, sage green hangings, and 
pots of tulips. She had to put her trunks down in the 
cellar, and her maids slept out. Chan went to a hotel, 
but he might be said to live at the cottage, neverthe- 
less. Mrs. Conway and the Judge came to dinner 
once a week r^ularly. They grew greatly attached 
to Ross, who treated them with a deference meant to 
act as a buffer between them and Eileen. 

Chan admired Eileen, he liked her, he almost un- 
derstood her, but he had never heard her story. No 
one quite dared to whisper it to him; he had his 
uncle's trick of putting people at their distance occa- 
sionally, and no one was very sure of him. Besides, 
he did not talk about women. But he did feet that 
there was something — ^well, strange, about his uncle's 
menage. It was none of his business, of course. That 
is the well-bred person's way of admitting thii^ are 
out of joint 

It was only his daily intimacy gave him that inklii^. 
People spoke, sentimentally or spitefully, of the 
Whittemores' happy marriage. Eileen's cold, bright 
beauty, Ross's detached devotion, were impenetrable 
to the scrutiny of the mob. And it was not an un- 
happy marriage, though to both it seemed something 
insubstantial and dreamlike. . . . The crux of it was, 
it was not a marriage at all. It was a play, put on 
by two who feared realities. 

Of course no disclaimer of hospitable intent, other 
than actually barring the door, could have kept guests 
from invading the cottage, after Eileen's success was 



ovCiooglc 



370 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

signed and witnessed. She had an infonnal day once 
a week, as a compromise. Lesley forgot at least 
once, and blundered into the day. A special mission 
brouj^t her. 

Everybody came on that unludgr day. Chan was 
there when Lesley arrived at four ; so was Ross. The 
three were close in talk when Lesley burst in, unan- 
nounced, since the door was open, and demanded a 
whiskbroom. 

"A whiskey ?" said Ross absently, risii^ to go to the 
sideboard. 

Chan shouted, and Eileen fell back on the chintz- 
oovered sofa, waving her hands feebly. 

"No, no, please — a whiskbroom, a brush," Lesley 
b^^d, laying a restraining hand on his arm. 

"My dear child, I beg your pardon. You do seem 
to need one; you look as if you'd been dragged at 
some one's chariot wheels." A maid came with the 
desired article, and Lesley explained while being 
brushed. 

"It was nearly that," she said. "I was prancii^ 
along Stephen Avenue admiring the cloud effects, and 
I stubbed my toe on the cussed car-tracks. I saw the 
workmen there all last week, but somehow I didn't 
believe there were any car-tracks. I fell flat, I bowed 
and fell like Dagon ; I was so mad I could have bitten 
a rail in two if I hadn't been in a. hurry. Eighty- 
nine people rushed to pick me up, but I withered them 
with a glance and flew on. Eileen, may I go to the 
kitchen sink? Look at my hands I" 

"The sceptic always stumbles over evidence," said 
Ross. "Now give three cheers for municipal owner- 
ship." Eileen was leading the way to a washbasin, 
but Lesley paused at this. 

"You ought to be biting rails in two, instead of 
cheering," she said. "I'm sure, if you'd built it, you 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 371 

wouldn't have left h lying around just where I'd be 
sure to fall over it." 

"Do you think me a dog in the manger?" he said 
%htly. "If I am, I hope I'm ao enlightened one; 
since I couldn't do it myself, I'd rather have the dty 
do it than any other individual." 

"Oh," Lesley's voice floated out of Eileen's tiny, 
lacy nest of a bedroom, where she was already splash- 
ing water into a Dresden bowl, "was that why you 
people at Edmonton stretched the city's credit so 
fast?" Every one had been surprised at the speed 
with which the city had organised and commenced 
the work on the car line after rejecting the proposals 
of Whittemore and the Winnipeg capitalists alike. 

"That was why," said Whittemore. "Besides, I 
have some money in suburban properties; possibly I 
want to get it out" 

"But," said Lesley excitedly, appearing at the door 
wavit^ a towel — the bedroom opened off the drawing- 
room perforce, because there had been no room for 
a half— "will the road go where you planned it? 
I never did know exactly where you meant it should 
go." 

"It will have to go nearly the same routes." Les- 
ley opened her mouth and closed it again. She had 
such a hazy idea of whether her own money had dis- 
appeared completely or not that she did not like to 
speak of it It must have disappeared; she did not 
blame Jack Addison, but there were forfeited options 
and things like that which reduced money to thin air. 
Probably the street-car line meant nothing to her. She 
went back to the bedroom, kicking the door to with 
an abstracted air and shutting herself and Eileen in. 
There would not have been space for three. 

"I want to talk to you a few minutes before I go," 
she said softly to Eileen. 



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273 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Of course," said Eileen. "Is it important ? Shall 
I diase the men away?" 

"No — I don't know if it's important — you can make 
an opportunity, can't you? We can go and look at 
your garden." The garden, behind the house, had a 
green trellised fence and a gravel walk, if there was 
no more than ten feet square of grass. 

"Very well ; after tea. And let me do up your hair. 
It's my day, you know ; wait till the mob has come 
and gone. Oh, now, you don't get out this time; 
youll stay and pour, young lady. Give everybody 
three lumps, no matter what they ask for, but be 
sure you ask them first, to make it really annoying. 
Gve Mrs. Dupont four, if she comes; she's get- 
ting fatter all the time." 

"Brute 1" moaned Lesley, even while she obediently 
took up the gold comb and brush. "Oh, what shall 
I talk about?" She was debating desperately if she 
should tell Eileen now, the thing she had come to tell. 
But it might upset her, and — — Some one of the 
expected guests might mention it ; that would be hor- 
rible. But surely they'd have enough sense not to. 
. . , She decided to postpone it. . . . 

"They'll do the talking ; never worry," said Eileen. 
"Say anything yoti like ; I give you letters of marque 
and reprisal. No one will hear you anyway. There, 
you look very charming. No, you don't need to wear 
your hat, it's a fool custom. Come back and let 
Chan tell you something," 

"Chan? What has he got to tell me? What have 
you got to tell me?" she demanded, irrupting once 
more into the drawing-room. 

"It isn't certain," said Chan. "Has Eileen been 
putting me on toast ?" 

"Chan," said Ross deliberately, "is goit^ to run 
for the X}ominion Legislature in the fall iVielding 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 373 

to die orgency of bis friends and the wish of the 
electorate and his own strong sense of duty, he will 
sacrifice " 

"Oh, shut upt" said Chan, enforcing his request by 
hooking an arm about Ross's neck very neatly from 
behmd. Ross tipped his chair backward into Chan's 
ribs and rose with dignity. 

"This isn't a bearpit," Eileen reminded them se- 
verely. "At least, not until the she-bears come- 
though they may be here any minute. Tell Lesley, 
quick." 

"It's true, then?" Lesley asked eagerly. 

"Well, they're short of men," said Chan dubiously; 
"at least, men who will bear even a cursory inspec- 
tion. And Ross put me up to them at an informal 
and preliminary caucus yesterday, where he was chief 
conspirator. They think I might do for one of the 
forlom-hope constituencies, to save a better man — if 
Ross makes his contribution big enot^h." 

"It was Geers mentioned you," said Ross. "And I've 
always subscribed ; it's a hereditary habit ; they know 
they'd get it, anyway. It is a forlorn hope they will 
offer you; but next time it won't be . ■ ." 

"I — I think it's wonderful," said Lesley, stricken 
to banality by surprise and admiration. "Really— 
really Just fancy! You'll be the youngest mem- 
ber, won't you ?" 

"The youngest candidate — in my district," Chan 
corrected her. But, though he persisted in taking it 
as a joke, he was secretly deeply elated and im- 
pressed, not by his own importance, but by his op- 
portunity. He did not count on being elected, but 
he coimted on doing some work that would make 
his name stick, so that it would be heard in a future 
convention. Deep down he was very much in earnest; 
his whole heart was already ei^^ed. 



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374 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"You're atiU on our side?" asked Lesley. "For 
Reciprocity? The Government's formal announce- 
ment just came over the wire before I left the office. 
I had some dope already on the galleys, so I got 
away." 

"Oh, yes. Reciprocity by all means I" laughed Chan. 
"I won't rat." 

"Don't be surprised when you stub your toe again," 
Ross said lazily, turning his magnetic smile on Les- 
ley. "There's the real forlorn hope. But the old 
order has always got to change ; let it go down in a 
good cause." 

"Go down ? Why should it go down f" 

"Money's the strongest thing in the modem world, 
and the money's all against us," Ross explained. 
"Never mind ; put up your best fight " The door- 
bell cut his phrase in two; he caught Eileen's eye 
commiseratingly, which pointed his words otherwise 
than he had intended. 

Mrs. Dupont came first again. It was to be a 
field day. 

"How do, Eileen ? Oh, Miss Johns — isn't it ? Well, 
Chan, are you going to pour? Eileen, youll have 
to hold an overflow meeting. Every soul at Mrs. Var- 
ncfs at home said they were coming on here; that's 
why I hurried. I wanted a sandwich ; your maid 
makes the best in town." Mrs. Dupont, like a Fu- 
turist sunset cloud in a tight lavender mousseline, 
which suited her eyes if not her figure, sat down and 
fanned herself. It was July, and warm for an Al- 
berta July. 

"Oh, I forgot Mrs. Vamey's At Home I" said 
^een. "Let 'em come; I'll climb up on the mantel, 
and they can have the house, and fight for refresh- 
ments." 

"They will take you for a new piece of bric-4-brac," 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 275 

said Ross, lookiiig at his wife. She wore an unfash- 
ionable but picturesque and Parisian Le Brun cos- 
tume of cream muU, with yards of the finest lace on 
sleeves and bosom. Her hair was braided about her 
head and confined in a silver net at the back. 

"A priceless article of "bigotry and virtue,' " said 
Chan, singularly malapropos. He was lookit^ out of 
the window, and added immediately: "There's the 
advance guard." 

Eileen yawned behind a ringed hand quite un- 
consciously. She rose mechanically and took a negli- 
gent stand in an alcove by the door. Lesley, obedient 
to a look, wedged herself defensively behind a tea 
wagon and a low table. Soon after five the room 
was filled; by six it was jammed. Chan retreated 
at discretion to his uncle's bedroom and found a 
pipe for company. Ross stuck to his post like 
a soldier and a gentleman. Women squeezed and 
pushed; every one talked and no one listened. 
Eileen had never had such a crowd. She wished 
inwardly they might all choke on her justly pnused 
sandwiches. Eileen could not see Lesley over the 
heads of the guests, but hoped she was not suf- 
fering unduly. As the press thinned slowly after six, 
she was aware that Lesley had got some one to listen 
to her, in defiance of prophecy. Eileen edged around, 
and listened also. Oh, it was Mrs. Ames' grandfather 
was on the tapis again — her grandfather the General. 
He had been with Wolfe, or something like that — 
or perfiaps it was Queenston Heights. Anyway, no 
one was ever allowed to be in doubt that Mrs. Ames 
had bad a grandfather, and he had been a General. 
What had really started the conversation was a ref- 
erence to a newcomer who had been at Mrs. Vamey's 
tea. Who was she, Mrs. Burdon wanted to know? 
Mrs. Dupont, who generally heard everything and 



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276 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

heard it first, explained; she was an Honourable; 
panddau^ter, therefore, to an Earl, but apparently 
not excited over that fact, and quite content to settle 
down in the Northwest. But nice — oh, she and her 
husband both, such nice people. . . . Anyway, that 
had let in Mrs. Ames' grandfather ; and somehow that 
extracted again the information that Mrs. Martin 
had been to Court, and Ossie was to be presented 
next year — if they went over. Lady Cumstuck, Mrs. 
Martin's cousin. . . . Those things did count — fam- 
ily — breeding — look at the difference between foreign 
and American men. They were all off, and Lesley 
silenced for the moment. Only for the moment, for 
Mrs. Ames' grandfather chaiged again, and Lesley 
met him full shock. ... It was just at that moment 
Eileen got within hearii^. . . . Mrs. Ames had a 
diamond-set miniature of the deceased gentleman, in a 
locket. 

"Nice old duck ; looks a bit apoplectic," Lesley was 
saying cheerfully. "Oh, I suppose it's his red coat ; 
and then they wore such funny chokers. I remem- 
ber my grandfather still wore two waistcoats — but 
it may have been to keep him warm. He would get 
drunk, and was out all night once, and might have 
frozen if he'd had only one. Of course he didn't get 
drunk tvery night. Perhaps grandmother drove him 
to it; she took morphine. But she was a dear old 
thing, just the same. She smoked a clay pipe, and 
wore the queerest shoes — pattens, didn't they call 
them? I just remember her; she died 'when I was 
five. I cried so. Grandfather was sober for a week. 
Some more tea, Mrs. Ames — oh, Eileen 1" Lesley 
had the grace to look guilty, "Have some iced tea, 
Eileen, or some cake, or something; you look awfully 
tired." 

"Yes, I will," said Eileen. "But do go on. What 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 377 

about your other grandparents? Did you have ooly 
two?" 

"Oh, they were Methodists; practically useless for 
conversational purposes," said Lesley airily. 

"My grandmother," said Eileen seriously — she and 
Lesley had the conversation to themseJves .by now — 
"the one I got my hair from, was Insh, of course; 
she loved to go barefoot. She carried a kit on her 
head — ^you know, a three-cornered receptacle, to keep 
her hands free so she could knit while she walked. 
But I think she died before I was bom; Aunt Jen- 
nie told me about her. Mrs. Dupont, you're a brick 
to stay all through. Now we can all have a chair, and 
some more cake." 

"That's why I stayed," said Mrs. Dupont. "You 
had a most successful 'day.' " 

"Yes, I'm nearly dead; it was quite like a Turkish 
bath during a panic an hour ago. Most successful. 
Mamie" — to the home-grown maid — ^"some more iced 
tea. Now you must tell me all the gossip ; I've heard 
nothing but how-d'ye-do's for a whole afternoon," 
And they did talk, the noble band of survivors, so 
it was nearly seven before the last had gone, while 
Lesley sat'on pins and needles for fear of some tact- 
less and too well-informed lady forestalling her. 

None did, and neither did Eileen forget to slip 
away to the garden with her at last, while Mamie 
and Lucie repaired the ravaged drawing-room, and 
Chan and Ross mixed a consolatory drink in the 
dining-room. 



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CHAPTER XXV 

THE garden was the littlest bit of peace one 
could im^ne, and Eileen walking in it, her 
white gown sweeping the grass, filled Les- 
ley's soul with poetry. But there was a snake in the 
garden, as in the beginning. Lesley concealed it yet 
a while 

"You terror," said Eileen, "blasphemii^ all our 
poor little gods in my drawing-room. How much of 
that about your esteemed grandparents was true?" 

"Oh, some of it," said Lesley cautiously. "I know, 
I was bad. They weren't your gods, anyway." 

"Oh, but they are," said Eileen. "Didn't I eat my 
heart out in exile for this?" 

"You were just as bad," Lesley defended herself. 
"Eileen, are you satisfied?" 

"Why shouldn't I be?" asked Eileen idly. "It isn't 
every one has her heart's desire. lo triompHe. There 
wasn't anything else left for me, was there?" 

Lesley pondered. She had always her work, but 

Eileen "Yes, it's true enough, your genius is 

beauty; c'est ton metier, it that's the phrase I want. 
But it all seemed so idiotic, I was just overcome, 
tempted of the devil. You understand, to see Mrs. 
Ames and her grandfather's miniature as a culmina- 
tion of all the toils and privations of the pioneers, 
strong men who left the Old World and subdued the 
wilderness because they were sick of the iron yoke 
of caste. Mrs. McConach this afternoon was almost 
in tears of ecstasy because the Duke of Inverarie is 
buying an estate scHnewhere hereabouts. Her gnuid- 
278 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS ayg 

father was a crofter, turned out to make more nxHit 
for deer on the Duke's grandfather's Scotch estate." 

"Oh, certainly; but then the Duke's great-grand- 
father's grandfather was simply the most successful 
cattle thief on the border. It all comes to the same 
thing in the end. Don't go letting the sawdust out 
of your dolly that way ; bring her to the party ; be a 
child again and smack your lips over the cambric tea 
and bread and butter. We're all nice people to- 
gether." 

"It ought to be the motto imder the beaver," said 
Lesley dreamily. " 'Nice people.' Of course I'm just 
jealous and spiteful. If I had a few new gowns, 
I'd come to all the cambric tea parties — if I was 
asked." 

"You'd be asked, if you had the gowns," said Eileen 
drily. "You would be anyway, if you'd let me- — " 

"No. No gowns." Lesley held up an admonitory 
finger. "I draw the line just beyond hats." 

"So mean of you. Ross calls you Cinderella ; says 
you'd be a stunner if you had a chance." 

"Does he? I like Ross. Don't you?" 

"Don't be so ingenuous, dear. Ross and I are excel- 
lent friends. He says he's too old for romance. And 
I — I'm too young!" He had never said that since 
the night he asked Eileen to marry him ; but neither 
had she forgotten. 

"Then it's because you want it that way," said 
Lesley, who had observed Ross. "It's none of my 
business; but he must — he couldn't help " 

"Oh, 3 man migjitl You think too much of my 
beauty. One other man resisted it, or got sick of it. 
Don't bother your sentimental little heart about us, 
Lesley; we are very well as we are; it suits us both." 
But there was dust in her mouth. Her beauty — it 
had mocked her twice. 



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aSo THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"How can ycm go on feeling like that?" asked Les- 
ley. "Win you always?" 

"I hope so. Ross says cynidsm is a drug — oh, 
how married I'm getting, with my everlasting 'Ross 
says.' Anyway, it's really a pleasant drug. One sees 
and hears, but doesn't feel." 

"You don't seem married," Lesley mused. 

Eileen was wrong; she could feel; she felt that 
She thought it was her pride was hurt. Why should 
she seem married? 

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" she asked 
abruptly. Lesley stopped, smitten afresh with hor-, 
ror, as if Eileen had laid her hand on a door behind 
which something evil waited. How could she tell 
Eileen? How could she thrust herself in, no mat- 
ter how often Eileen had drawn the latch and bidden 
her enter. 

"It was Do you know Have you 

heard " She tried to get it over quickly, as if 

she were taking a stiff medicine, and it balked on her 
tongue. 

"Tell me, quick," said Eileen, smiling. "Every- 
thing's happened to me, you know; it won't hurt I'm 
drugged." 

The garden was very quiet, a small quietness, that 
seemed to wait. 

"Harry Garth is coming back — with his wife!" saiA 
Lesley. 

"Is he?" said Eileen at last. She had looked so 
when she went to her father's house. It was Lesley 
who wanted to run away, who felt the tears in her 
lliroat. "That's interesting. Come into the house 
and see if there's any chance of dinner." 

"I can't stay to dinner," said Lesley shakily. 
"Please. Can't I go now?" 

"You're queer," said Eileen, staring at her. "Of 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS aSi 

couTse, you shall go if you like. Telephone me to- 
morrow." 

So Lesley went home, and cried, and cried. That 
sharp brightness of Eileen's seemed to pierce her 
heart. She fought against the cruelty of life with 
all the deep instinctive strei^th of her age. There 
is a very ache for happiness planted in the breast 
of all young creatures. They beat on the gate of 
heaven with their prayers for it; they will go down 
to the pit of hell in search of it. There must be 
happiness — there must— there musti If there be not, 
then the universe is a lie. And they are right, even if 
the universe must be wrong to prove it They are 
life at war with death ; they are love stronger than 
the grave. 

Eileen shed no tears. She was merry at dinner. 
Chan kept wondering why Lesley wouldn't stay, and 
went away early because he felt extraordinarily de trop. 
Eileen was obviously interested only in her husband 
that evening. 

After dinner, when Chan had gone, she sang to 
Ross all the old, simple, passionate songs she knew. 
She had turned off all the lights but the piano lamp, 
which made a halo round her head. The doors and 
windows were open to the dewy, cool air, which 
brought the odour of white clover from a wet lawn 
nearby. Her voice was uneven in quality, not suffi- 
ciently trained for absolute purity, and she was sing- 
ing softly, so its contralto notes were muffled down 
to a low sweetness that was almost hoarse. Ross 
thought of how the Greeks used to thicken their wine 
with honey, for a simile. 

Then she sprang up and declared she wanted to 
dance, and he played for her, and she did dance, 
improvising, while he watched her over his shoulder 
and struck innumerable false notes> Her white gown 



ovCiooglc 



S8a THE SHADOW RIDERS 

fluttered in the dusk, and her white arms wove spells 
like Vivien's. 

"Oh, I'm tired!" she cried at last, flingii^ herself 
into a deep chair. "Come here and fan m&— no, wait 
a minute, this gown is too tight Unhook me, please ; 
I've sent Lucie home." He unfastened the short 
bodice, baring her pathetic shoulder blades, and feel- 
ing a sudden impulse to kiss them for their faults. 
She tipped her face back over her shoulder to watch 
him now, and squirmed gently, like a naughty child. 
He called himself a fool, while she vanished into her 
room, to reappear with incredible quickness in some- 
thing golden and fluffy that fell in straight lines from 
shoulder to hem. 

"Now fan me," she said, sinking back with a sigh. 
"No, bring me something to drink first. Some Bur- 
gundy ; it's so warm and goi^eous." He obeyed and 
she waited, breathless in the dusk. 

"But you've brought only one glass I You're to 
drink, too. Touch your glass to mine ; I like to hear 
them ring — no, I'll kiss the rim. Give it to me." 
She stood up to offer it to him. She was so close 
the perfume of her mixed in his nostrils with the 
faint, stinging scent of the wine. He was pale; he 
drank quickly, and watched while she emptied her 
glass more deliberately, her head tipped back and her 
throat curved and tremulous. She filled his glass 
again, and pressed it into his hand. "Don't you like 
it?" she said. "I feel so to-night; I feel like doing 
something mad and splendid." He could never have 
guessed that under it all was terror, a fear of the 
world that had been so merciless once. Only Ross 
stood between her and a repetition of that cruelty, the 
silence and blankness that had been so hard to bear. 
If she could only know by what she held him, make 
sure of him forever. . . . 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 283 

She did know that there is one way to make any 
man tell anything. 

"Yes, I like it," he said in an undertcme. "You're 
fey, Eily; jrou are a witch; you make me feel mad 
and splendid, too; you make me feel yoimg." 

"Be young," she said pleadingly. "You are young 
enough." Something changed in her; she was not 
acting any more, nor moved altogether by fear. 

"You pretty thing," he said irrelevantly, "I will 
be anything you want. But you ought to go to bed; 
you're tiring yourself to death." 

"I — I " She felt repulsed, and made her last 

throw. "I — am tired Will you carry me in V 

He picked her up in his arms, very easily and 
lightly. But he did not move; only, with a drioked 
sound like a sob, he hid his face in the laces at her 
breast. "Eily I" he whispered. "Eilyl" 

"Yes," she said softly. 

"My little wife I" 

"Yes," she said again. 

He carried her in. 

In the middle of the night Eileen had a dream. It 
was not clear even while she dreamed it, only she 
was ashamed and hurt, and she had abased herself 
for something that was her right; she had made 
some grievous mistake, and the dust was in her 
mouth again. Eileen was of a high-strung, nervous 
temperament, like a horse too finely bred, and when 
she was a child she had often walked in her sleep. 
Ross, who had not slept, was watching her, his eyes 
grown accustomed to the silvery dark of the room, 
where the moonlight flickered in a square pool on the 
ceiling. Perhaps it was the effect of the light, but 
she boked mortally weary. He wished be could 
carry her in his arms again to rest her. 

Suddenly she sat up, dirowing back her loose, heavy 



ovCiooglc 



384 THE SHADOW RTOERS 

batr, and looking at him with the wide eyes of the 
somnambulist. 

"You made it so hard for mel' she cried reproach- 
fully. 

"I am sorry, dear," he said quietly. "Go to sleep. 
It is all right now." 

"Yes," she said, with a long sig^, still staring. "I 
had to pay — I couldn't have everything for noth- 
ing " He could not catch all she said ; her voice 

sank to a tired, incoherent munnur. "Don't under- 
stand Ross," she ended, more clearly. "What does 
he want? Any man I've got to pay — — Les- 
ley says I'm beautiful, but — that— isn't — any — 
use. . . ." She sank back heavily. Bung an arm 
across her eyes, and slept again profoundly. 

"God in heaven I" said Ross to himself. He had a 
physical sensation as if some one had closed a hand 
on his heart and gripped it tightly for a second. Aloud 
he said nothing, but his mind went on fumblingly 
picking up her words. "Was that why? She thought 
she ought to pay. . . . And she made me take her I" 
With a word spoken in sleep she had thrown him 
into the depths ; she had made him a man again and 
broken him within a night. 

He had known himself not insensible to her charm 
for a long time ; but habit is a strong defence and he 
had forged it carefully, taught himself to look on her 
as a friend, a child, anything but a wife. ' She had 
broken through the barrier ruthlessly, from a dis- 
torted sense of justice; the quick of him was bared 
as it had been years before, and everythii^ to suffer 
again. 

Well, if she had made him a man, he must be one. 
He still watched her, for an hour, till the moon 
went down and the room was pitch-black, and then he 
felt for her hair, kissed it, and went out quietly. la 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 285 

that moment he wished with ironic mirth that he had 
not stayed awake to look at his delight. 

In the morning Eileen never knew that she had 
spoken at all. Somnambulists do not, unless they 
have been thoroughly awakened ; and even then they 
do not know what they have said. She waked grop- 
ingly, to find herself alone. She huddled down and 
drew the coverlet up over her face, and was stilL 



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CHAPTER XXVT 

CHAN was nominated for one of the divisions of 
the city — which was divided into two constitu- 
encies — much more through a Buke than on his 
merits. It was just an instance of the luck of the 
banner, to get such an important riding. That is, 
if it mig^t be called luck to have as an opponent Ed- 
ward Folsom, one of the strongest men the Conserva- 
tives had in the province. Another had been slated 
for the place, a prosperous citizen bitten late in life 
with a taste for public honours. He had asked for 
the nomination, got it; and in the very midst of 
the convention withdrew his name. A sudden emer- 
gency of business necessitated his changing his resi- 
dence, and he put business first. The convention 
fell back on Chan in sheer desperation, and because 
his name came through Geers. 

It was a forlorn hope, indeed, a novitiate in the 
arena at "best. Folsom's own constituency, the same 
he had so lately won from the Liberals on the strei^th 
of his own personality, would not be likely to turn 
him down now. Not that he had made any shining 
record at Ottawa, but he had gained a good deal of 
publicity by some well-timed speeches. He had a 
ready tongue, and a little of the true fire of the ora- 
tor; though on analysis one might have discovered 
his speeches to be mostly froth and sounding phrases, 
backed up by the skill of practice and sheer lung 
power. 

Next, perhaps, to being bom under the sign of 

Taurus, a public man might rejoice at a nativity in 

986 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 387 

the house of Pisces, for the red herrii^ is a noble 
and useful animal, politically speaking. It has the 
power of the Philosopher's Stone in transmutation — 
which is mixing metaphors madly, but not more so 
than they were mixed in that impossible campaign 
which actually happened. Within a week after the 
campaign was fairly launched, Reciprocity, the issue 
on which it was fought, took on a form which must 
have amazed its sponsors, and left them aghast as 
was the fisherman in the presence of the Djinn he so 
carelessly let out of the bottle. Treason was the 
mildest name fastened by the Ginservatives to the 
efforts of the party in power to redeem the very 
pledge which had first won them place. It was an 
effort to disrupt the British Empire; it was a plot 
to contract an unholy alliance with the unspeakable 
United States, The money, as Ross had so casually 
predicted, aligned solidly on the side of things as 
they were. Special newspapers were started for the 
benefit of the "British bom"; the flag was torn to 
tatters in defence of a suddenly sacred tariff; and 
Reason and Fact retired to a cave in the mountains for 
a spell of meditation. The moral of all this probably 
is that sixteen years is too long to wait for a promise 
to be kept. 

Chan, not having hoped, did not especially despair. 
He flung himself with zest into the task of acquaint- 
ing his in^obable constituents with his personal ap- 
pearance and future intentions. He gained poise and 
assurance, if not votes, though indeed he was liked. 

He and Geers, who, like Folsom, was reasonably 
assured of his seat — for the other city constituency— 
i^in worked together when possible, which helped 
Chan in a way. At least, it brought him hearers. 
However, those seldom lack at a Canadian political 
meeting. Th^ still take their politics straight in 



ovCiooglc 



388 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Canada, without any mollifying admixture of sociology 
or class feeling; convictions are inherited like any 
other possession; and money is still respectable. 
There are no "bosses," because wealth, with simple 
and unostentatious dignity, does its own bossing, and 
saves the expense of a middleman. 

It was Lesley who remained astoimded and unrec- 
onciled at the turn of the tide of popular emotion 
against her sid& She sat at her typewriter like the 
sentinel at the gates of Pompeii, repeating her be- 
liefs until she could have recited them backwards. 
Crcsswell derived much amusement from her earnest- 
ness. But Cresswell did not know that the cause was 
not only hers, but Chan's. Lesley would not join 
Chan in his sweet reasonableness; she wanted him 
to win whether he had any chance or not All her- 
ardour was really inspired by that hope. She at- 
tended meetings like a revivalist convert ; she studied 
dreary and confusing schedules of "articles to be ad- 
mitted free" with a gusto that nothing else could 
have given; and when Chan had time to come and 
talk it over with her, she could not have been more 
thrilled had he read Browning and brought her 
flowers. 

Being so busy, she did not see quite so much of 
Eileen, but she had an accumulating sense of strain 
in the Whittemore household. Eileen got thinner, and 
her gaiety was feverish. Ross had the advantage 
of a longer trainii^ in masking his feelings. He 
induced Eileen to spend much of the time in Banff — 
lie had a remarkable gift of diplomacy, and could 
usually get people to do as he wanted without their 
even knowing what he did want — but the mountain 
air only stimulated her to greater restlessness ; and 
she rode and danced and swum to the point of ex- 
haustion, where his diplomacy failed, and she kept on 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 289 

dandng and riding and swimming. He was perplexed 
beyond words, for she avoided him whenever she 
a)uld, yet if he went away her relief at his return 
was unmistakable. She wanted to be alone, and not 
alone; she wanted him near, and out of sight. Things 
were very ill with them. 

Lesley hoped, or feared, for a time that Eileen 
would give her some further confidences, but in vain. 
She would, indeed, have been hard put to name any 
tangible thing on which she based her disquiet. Per- 
haps it was because Ross urged her more than once 
that she visit them often. It could not, Lesley de- 
cided, be Harry Garth's return, because the Garths 
had not yet arrived. They would not come till early 
winter, society whispered. . . . 

The Garths had just been married, at long last, 
and were honeymooning somewhere. Mrs. Garth was 
the girl Harry Garth had been engaged to when ■ . . 

Lesley still got her news from Cresswell. She heard 
that Garth was coming back to take over the man- 
agership of the wholesale business built up by Bur- 
rage as agent for the manufacturing firm Mrs. Garth's 
father controlled in the East. Burrage was going 
into business for himself. He and Cresswell were 
intimates. 

The importance of this diminished with time, and 
Eileen's coolness. After all, whaf could Harry Garth 
do, present or absent ? He had a damned cheek, Cress- 
well remarked, to come back at all ; but with a new 
bride to live up to, he would certainly be as glad as 
Eileen to forget It wasn't what he might do that was 
dangerous; it was the chance of renewed gossip 
reaching Whittemore. That would be fatal, in case 
there was already a rift within the lute. Or was 
it that he had, already, heard something? On think- 
ing it over, Lesley decided it was tmlikely any one 



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390 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

would have the ojurage of such an indiscretkHi. 

Aoyhow, Lesley concluded, she could not save the 
country and direct Eileen's affairs at the same time; 
and with this jibe at herself tried to put it all out 
of mind. 

As the heat of summer waned, the fervour of the 
campaign waxed. July, August, and September 
passed, and still the country was han^ng precari- 
ously in the balance. 

Intrinsically the whole campaign made dull and 
hopeless work. Lesley had a headache from read- 
ing Rudyard Kipling's remarkable telegram apropos 
of the issue of Reciprocity, and was nevertheless read- 
ing it doggedly again, trying to make sense of it, 
one afternoon late in the autumn, when Cresswell came 
out of the inner office and stood looking over her 
shoulder with a quizzical air. He had just been in 
conference with Duncombe, the owner of the Recorder. 

"Will you miss me when I'm gone, Johnny?" he 
enquired in lugubrious accents. 

"I might, if you'd give me a chance," she retorted 
ungraciously. "And, while you're gone, you may 
kill off Champ Clark, and one or two professional 
pests. And Mr. Cresswell, please, please tell the 
foreman I must have final proofs every time. He's 
driving me mad." 

"Tell him yourself, Johnny; he doesn't have to 
listen to mc any more." 

"Whatever is the matter with you?" she asked, look- 
ing him over suspiciously. 

"Not what you think," he said, his br^t blue 
eyes twinkling in their setting of concentric wrinkles. 
"Will you keep it to yourself for a matter of a 
few days if I tell you?" 

"I guess so. What is it?" 

"We're sold out, my dear, body and boots. Gone 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 291 

over to the Conservatives. I had a hunch that Dun- 
combe had been offered a good price a while ago, 
but he held off. Now he's decided he wants to re- 
tire. Oh, well, he's nursed this bally sheet for twenty- 
live years, and I don't blame him. Man's got a 
right to sell his own paper. It's a clean business 
proposition ; he gets clear out. New owner ; dummy, 
of course; the party is the real owner. He offered 
to include me in the good-will — but my opinions aren't 
so active and supple as when I was young, and 
I hate eating my words. I'll be on my way in a 
week." 

"B-but — what's to become of me ?" shridced 
Lesley. 

"Well, I can't possibly take you along," said Cress- 
well soothingly; "people are so censorious. Don't yell 
like that, Johnny ; this isn't an extra ; this is confiden- 
tial. There, cheer up; you'll be all right. The tail 
goes with the hide. I spoke about you; they want 
Mary Jane. I believe, in fact, that they'll ask you 
to get out a woman's page." 

"You pig I" said Lesley disrespectfully. "I don't 
believe a word of it." Cresswell dropped his ban- 
tering air. 

"Seriously, I'm telling you the truth. But it won't 
make any difference to you — only, of course, the coun- 
try won't be saved !" 

"What will you do?" said Lesley, banning to 
realise that she would be extremely soriy to lose Cress- 
well 

"I think I'll go to Chi. The new editor of the 
Tribtme there happens to be one of my best friends. 
He sent me word a white ago that I could come on 
any time I wanted. Think you'd like Chicago 1" 

"No, I don't think so," said Lesley unheedingly, 
"Why?" 



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292 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Because, if I saw a place for you, I could send 
you word " 

"Oh, do, dot" Chicago — anywhere — rather than 
the loathed and feared Woman's Page. "Will you? 
No, you'll forget all about it." 

"No, I won't. You've got the stuff; ni remem- 
ber. Back to the Big Game. It sounds good. Sorry 
I can't ask you to come out and have a drink, 
Johnny. I'U be around for a few days, anyway." 
So he left her, to digest the news. 

It was true. The formal announcement came three 
days later. Champ Clark's studiedly injudicious 
speech about annexation was used as a peg to hang 
the turned coat on. Cresswell made his exit, but 
stayed in town for a few days, offering libations in 
farewell to his friends. There was a new Pharaoh, 
who knew not Joseph, in his place ; he stripped Les- 
ley of her editorial dignities and gave her odd jobs 
to fill out her spare time. He was a quiet, amiable, 
able man, who did not need to be told her value. He 
explained that he wanted her to stay, and promised 
to map out her work more definitely when the cam- 
paign was over. 

Of course, there were cheers and jeers from the 
other newspapers. Lesley almost wept over her en- 
forced defection, when she saw Chan, and she was 
inclined to be offended when he told her smilingly that 
his prospects could hardly be worsened by the change. 
It was not he who had alarmed the Opposition into 
securing a new organ; they wouldn't kill a fly with 
a sledgehammer. The whole province was one of 
the most difficult for the Conservatives to capture, 
owing to its lack of manufactories and the nature 
of its products. There was also a strong American 
element to be considered, who naturally were not 
greatly placated by the frequent wantonly insultii^ 



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THE SHADOW RTOERS 293 

references to their country — although, with the reti- 
cence of the Anglo-Saxon breed when confronted 
with another's domestic squabbles, they forbore from 
any united demonstration or manifesto. 

With this cold comfort, Lesley perforce sat back, 
folded her-hands, and waited for judgment. 

So it happened that, a little at loose ends, she found 
herself on a Friday noon planning to leave the office 
early. She thought she might run up to Banff. The 
foreman had forgotten to bring her proofs of Mary 
Jane's latest wisdom. She wandered into the com- 
posing-room, dodging trucks and compositors expertly. 
They were just locking the fonns ; no one had even 
half a second to spare for her. She looked over the 
galleys for her stuff, which came out on Saturday. 
There were no proofs of it on the hooks. She found 
it, muttered a polite oath over the cussedness of 
compositors in not having pulled a proof, and began 
the task herself. Lesley had a fondness for the grimy, 
busy, composing-room; even the smell of ink was 
not distasteful to her ; and the foreman loved to ex- 
plain technicalities to her. She could read the tjrpe, 
in its queer looking-glass form, abnost as easily as 
proof. Her eye had the natural affinity for the 
printed word which makes the bom reader. 

It was an easy matter to ink the type and run the 
roller over it. Unconsciously, she glanced down the 
article standing in the next galley, read a sentence 
or two, and stopped, smudging the wet proof in 
her hand into a ball. She looked about the room 
quickly. Every one was feverishly busy, sending 
the locked forms down to the presses; Uiey were 
already fifteen minutes late. Only one compositor 
caught her eye and fiung her a hasty word as he 
rushed by with a truck. 

"Want something?" he called. 



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S9* THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"No, thanks, I've got tt," she said hastily. With 
trembling fingers she inked the other galley, got a 
proof, and left the room slowly, while her feet ached 
to run. She hid her proofs in a newspaper, got her 
hat, and went on out, to a tea-shop where she some- 
times lunched. She felt like a conspirator, or a high- 
wayman. 

It was not until she was well hidden behind her 
newspaper, a pot of tea and some buns, that she read 
on and discovered the stolen article was only half 
present. Still there was quite enough to give her 
the gist of it. 

Chan's chickens were coming home to roost very 
early. Somehow his letters to Burrage, from Banff, 
about Whittemore's hoped-for charter, had fallen into 
the hands of the enemy. It meant a double stroke for 
them. Oddly enough, Curtin was the man picked 
to succeed Geers in his Provincial seat. And here, 
in cold black and white, was a case of attempted brib- 
ery; one prospective candidate to another prospective 
candidate. Even a note from Curtin was among the 
lot, so he couldn't plead ignorance of the plan. Bur-> 
rage's name was carefully elided, but that did not 
matter; the story remained fatally intact. Even the 
blank transfer was duly noted and made the most and 
worst of. 

Lesle/s moral sense might Have been outraged 
if it had not protested at the very time the deed 
was conternplated, and been soothed by its abandon- 
ment 

She had wiped the slate long since. Now she could 
only see Chan defeated and discredited. Not even 
a ray of humour penetrated to illuminate her des- 
perate feeling of responsibility for his happiness. It 
seemed to be her business to save him. It is always 
a woman's business to k>ok after the man she loves. 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 295 

in her estimatioti. He appears to her as a large and 
rather onusually stupid duld that tvOl fall down and 
biunp its silly nose unless watched. 

She had to save him alone. If it had not meant 
delay, she would have sent for him and consulted 
with him ; but he had been obliged to go to the ranch 
that morning. Even Ross was in Banff. Clearly 
she had to hold the bridge herself; and she cast 
about wildly in her mind for some last-minute ex- 
pedient to avert the disaster. How had they got those 
letters? Who had the originals now? Where could 
she find out? 

Where, but from CresswcU, her perennial source of 
news? She flew to the telephone and left ui^ent calls 
for him at every hotel in town, even though she was 
not sure but that he had already gone to Chicago. 
Then she sat down again behind her teapot and waited 
an hour. 

Not in vain. A waitress summoned her to the 
telephone, and lingered casually to listen to the con- 
versation. 

"Mr. Cresswell, this is me, Johnny, Miss Johns. I 
want to see you — right away — this minute — ^I doa't 
care ; I simply must see you. Come over — come over 
to my house. It's horribly important, I tell you." She 
gave him the number. 

"Oh, all right, all right I" he yielded good-natur- 
edly, the first remark she had allowed him to fin* 
ish. It was not far to go; she was ahead of him, 
waiting at the door, and took him promptly to the 
privacy of her room, r^ardless of what he mi^t 
think. 

"This where you live?" he asked interestedly. 
"Funny to see a girl's room again; they don't give 
me that privilege hke they used. Well, what is it? 
Going to ask me to fly with you?" 



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296 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Read this," she ordered, heedless of his pleasan- 
tries, and handed htm the proof. 

He read it "Um-m," he said. "Where did you 
get it?" 

"I stole it," said Lesley impatiently. "From the 
con^sing-room. Where did they get it ? Who was 
Ross Whittemore's agent in that business ?" 

"They probably got it the way you did," he haz- 
arded. "Who was Why, it was Walter Bur- 
rage I Now I wonder why he never told me Did 

he give them the letters ?" 

"That's what I want to know," she said. "I want 
you to find out for me quick, before they can pub- 
lish it." 

He had been gazing thot^tfully at the proof, and 
noticed the initials at the top, which indicated the 
compositor who set it up. "I see Carman handled 
it himself," he said. Carman was the foreman of 
the composing-room, a trusted man who had been 
in the place for years. "That means they're keep- 
ing it quiet ; didn't want it to leak. I guess they want 
to use it for a roorbach, and not give time for it to be 
refuted or explained away. Why do you want to 
know?" 

"I want it stof^ed," she said. Her manner might 
have been Elizabeth's consigning a refractory cour- 
tier to the Tower. 

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, you are ambitious, lit- 
tle sister. What's the idea? Never knew you had any 
interest in Alderman Curtin." 

"I want Chan Herrick to be elected," she said, with 
hauteur. "The — the Whittemores are my dearest 

friends, and — and Find out for me who gave 

the Recorder those letters. You can ; you must !" 

"I'm all packed up; starting for Chicago in two 
hours," he said. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 297 

'Then you can unpack," she retorted "Oh, doo't 
you see no one else can manage it for ine?" 

"And for the Whittemores," he supplemented. 
Tears of exasperation came into her eyes. She stormed 
him with entreaties ; she fastened on him all her sup- 
ple will, which could twine and cling to its object, 
feel its way to any crevice in another's mind for a 
vantage, like a stroi^, growii^ ivy. 

He pretended to resist merely for the amusement of 
being coaxed, and then, as she had known he would, 
yielded at last. He bad long had a genuine affection 
for Lesley. 

"Herrick hasn't got the ghost of a chance, any- 
way, you know," he reminded her. "Folsom is so 
strong he turned down Frankland's help toKlay. 
There was pretty near a free-for-all over it; rather 
funny. Did you hear about it ?" 

"No; what do you mean? Frankland has been 
supporting him." 

Frankland was a more than local celebrity, owner 
and editor of a small semi-occasional sheet, a news- 
paper by courtesy, named the Onlooker. He wrote 
all his own copy. He was the wittiest man in Can- 
ada, with a bent for stinging satire truly Swiftian, 
and that is even rarer than wit. Frankland mi^t 
have been famous in either the Old World or the 
New if he could have held hts familiar Daemon in 
check. But in spite of his private weaknesses he 
was a power in politics ; stronger, perhaps, in oppo- 
sition than in advocacy. He was Irish-Scotch, and 
disliked Americans intensely, which made him an im- 
perialist willy-nilly. Lesley knew him slightly, "the 
mildest-mannered man that ever cut a throat," or 
flayed an enemy with the dagger-edge of ridicule. 
She read his paper, when it issued, with pure enjoy- 
ment of the man's talent, and a reluctant merriment 



ovCiooglc 



298 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

over the Rabelaisian passages which, like all great 
satirists, he seemed unable to reast inserting whether 
apropos or not 

"Yes, I know he's been supporting Folsom," said 
Cresswell; "that's why it made hkn so mad. Well — 
Frankland heard yesterday that Folsom's partner had 
taken Jim Kane's damage case gainst the Onlooker. 
You remember how Frankland panned Kane last year 
— about his oil company that never struck oil ? Frank- 
land went and looked up Folsom, told him he thought 
it was a — pardon me— <lamned unfriendly thing to 
do, while the Onlooker was helping elect him. Fo^ 
som told Frankland superciliously that he could be 
elected without his help, and if he couldn't, he'd as 
soon lose. Said he hadn't asked for Frankland's sup- 
port, and didn't consider it an aid to a public man, 
anyway. Wow I Frankland wanted to punch him ; 
but we jimiped in and led 'em away. I believe the 
real reason Folsom disclaimed him is because of the 
church crowd ; you know how strong he is on 
Y. M. C. A. speeches and such things — slimy old hypo- 
crite. I could tell you some tales about him, if they 
were 6t for your young ears. But there it is; if 
he can afford to antagonise Frankland, he must have 
things in his pocket I think he made a mistake. 
I'd as soon get a rattlesnake down on me as Frank- 
land. But you should worry; I like young Herrick 
myself, but he'll never get in." 

"I don't care," said Lesley obstinately. "Even if 
he doesn't this time ... I want to know, and I'm 
goii^ to stop that article." 

"I believe you'll bum down the plant, if every- 
thing else fails," said Cresswell, laughing. "For sheer 
unscmpulousness, I hand it to a woman." 

"Yes, yes ; but do go and find out," said Lesley 
anxiously, "just 'phone me who has the letters, and 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 299 

III tell you if I want you to do anything else. I'll 
wait here." 

"All right; I'm on my way. Taking orders — from 
the cub I taught. . . ." She pushed him out uncere- 
moniously. Then she roamed about the house for 
hours, like a caged panther, hardly able to sit still 
long enoi^h to eat her dinner. 

It was ten o'clock before he telephoned and made 
his brief report. 

"Burrage gave those letters to Jack Addison, at the 
time they were written," he said. 

"To whomT" 

"Addison — Jack Addison. Don't you remember 
Jack Addison was running the real-estate end of the 
thing? I don't know if he's actually let them out 
of his possession yet or not. Want me to ask Bur- 
rage to find out ? Hell probably smell a rat ; he doesn't 
know the Recorder's planning that story at all." 

"No, never mind. That's enough," she said hastily. 
"You've been awfully good. Good-bye I" She heard 
a faint chuckle come over the wire. 

"Oh, all right; I'm a squeezed lemon," he said. 
"Good-bye, Johnny! I hope you get what you want; 
all you want. I'll back you to do it, if you go after 
it. So long I" 

She was immediately conscience-stricken for in- 
gratitude, but he had hung up and gone, and there 
was no time to pursue him with apok^es. She had ' 
other business on hand. 



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CHAPTER XXVII 

JACK ADDISON was at home, by some accident ; 
Lesley had no trouble finding him by telephone. 
She could hear f^nt masculine talk and laugh- 
ter in the background of his voice when he answered. 
"... Heltol who is it?" 

"It's Lesley Johns," she said. There was a silence, 
save for the dim voices; the wire hummed in her 
ear. "It's me," she repeated. 

"Lesley I" he said, in a surprised, inexplicably de- 
fensive, puzzled voice. "Where are you? Do you 
want me?" She felt the chill of imminent failure 
strike through her. 

"You made me a promise," she said. 

"Yes, I did." Ah, he had not forgotten. "All 
right Tell me what to do. I'm glad you called." 
There was that much assured ; he was obviously ready 
to discharge himself of the old obligation. 

"Ill have to see you to tell you. Come — come to 
the station. . . ." It was too late to ask him to the 
house, and she couldn't think of any place else. The 
station was so very public it was private. Any one 
might be at the station on their lawful occasions. 
They could walk in the railway gardens and talk. 
"All right," he said again. "I'll come at once," 

He was there before her, though she hurried. He 
was aauntenng up and down, watching for her from 
another direction; she had never seen him look so 
thoughtful, but he smiled rather quizzically as he 
swimg around to greet her. He was very debonur 
... she might have loved him . . . might have . . . 
300 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 301 

They found a seat in the gloom of the evergreen 
shrubberies. She felt like a ghost meeting another 
ghost she had known in the flesh; so, perh^is, 
did he. 

"The half of my kingdom," he said at last, after 
waitit^ vainly for her to speak. 

"I want Chan Herrick's letters," she said abruptly, 
with that pretty, breathless lilt to her high voice which 
marked suppressed excitement. "His letters about 
the street-car franchise. I don't want them published." 

He whistled softly, and then said something under 
his breath that sounded like, "I'll be damned!" "And 
where," he asked, aloud, "did you hear I had 'em?" 

"I can't tell you that Will you give them to me ?" 

"Are you," he asked, "going to — marry Herrick?" 

"No," she said. "I'm going home." And she rose. 

"Sit down again," he b^ged. "You win. And I 
think you're more than even. Do sit down. You 
shall have them." She sank onto the bench again, 
growing hot and cold by turns. He began to laugh. 
"I suppose I can't, say anything at all, without ttak~ 
ing you mad 1" he asked. 

"Of course. I didn't mean I will tell you how 

I first heard; I stole a proof from the composing- 
room this afternoon," 

"Then Herrick doesn't know?" he asked. She 
Bind up without knowing why. 

"No, of course he doesn't. And I want you to 
promise you'll never tell — that it was I who got them 
from you." 

He was overcome at that. "Oesar's ghost I Do 
you sui^>ose I would?" he enquired feelb^y. "Do 
you think I want to be a joke to every man in Can- 
ada? Oh, Lordl" He rocked back and forth, chuc- 
kling, until passersby paused and peered at them. 
"Women," he said, "are weird; but you — you are 



ovCiooglc 



303 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

wonderfull" She felt niOcy; her dignity mlBed 
itself. 

"Can I have them now ?" she asked coldly. 

"I haven't them with me. Won't to-roorrow do as 

wenr 

"If you're sure," she said doubtfully. "Can you 
stop the story?" 

"Sure I can. If they haven't got the letters, and 
I teD 'em 111 deny everything — ^it's open and shut 
What can they do? They'd never have had sense 
enough to photograph the letters. Oh, welt, I don't 
mind if it is stopped ; I suppose it was a dir^ trick. 
They were coniidentiat letters, even if Whittemore 
did leave me to hold the sack." He had not actually 
cherished any grudge against Whittemore; nor, in 
fact, against Chan. 

"Why did you?" she asked, leaving the sentence 
even mentally unfinished. 

"I wanted to soak Curtin," he explained. Her van- 
ity, rebuked, crept away out of sight. Romantically 
she had imaged him swearing a vendetta against 
Chan for her sake; and she gave herself a passing 
flick of scorn for it. "Curtin never did forgive 
us for not coming through and buying his worth- 
less gas stock. So he tried to get bade at me through 
the council ; and he nearly kept the car lines from run- 
ning to my property. I meant to hand him a reminder 
— in the nedt. You know, I thought it was about that 
you wanted to see me. I was going to send yon 
word pretty soon myself." 

"Word about what?" 

"The Crescent Hill lots," he said. "By next spring 
111 have most of our money out of it, four times 
over . . ." 

"Do you mean," she asked, "that I'm to get my 
money back?" 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 303 

"Why, of course. Did you ever think you 
wouldn't?" 

"I thought," she stammered, "I thought it was lost 
— ^when there weren't to be any cars, I thought it 
all went You never said anything . . ." 

"I'm sorry you thought so badly of me. I wouldn't 
let you lose money, at least." He seemed deter- 
minedly amused. "How soon do you want it?" 

"Oh— when you get it— any time," she murmured. 
"I dcm't care." 

"It depends on you. If you want me to pick out 
a couple of good lots for you and hold on to 'em till 
most of the rest are sold, it will pile up to ten times 
what you put in. If you're in a hurry, I can double 
it pretty quick, and close you out. It's a question of, 
say, two months or eighteen. I was going to write 
you about it soon." 

"Oh, keep it as long — as kwig as you think best," 
she stammered. "Two years — any time. I — I didn't 
think badly of you; I was sure it wasn't your fauH; 
I thought you lost money, too, and — and— — " 

"And what?" Well, she had thought if she pressed 
him he m^ht make it up out of his own pocket, but 
she would not tell him that. 

"Oh, nothing; I'm getting all wound up. I must 
go. Will you — to-morrow — can I have " 

"That'll be all right," he assured her. "To-monow 
morning." 

"Will you bring them to me?" she asked anxiously. 

"I'll send them," he assured her. 

"No, please bring them," she insisted. "At — at ten 
o'clock I'll be at Legard's candy shop." She was 
afraid to let them pass into any intermediary hands. 

"Very well," he said, with a touch of resignation. 
"At ten." 

She wanted to thank him, but the embarrassment 



I 



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304 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

which had been growing on her all throu^ the inter- 
view tied her tongue. "I must go now," she said, 
and again he hesitated before saying he would cer- 
tainly see her home. 

"You needn't bother," she said. 

"But I must; really, I can't let you run about alone 
at this hour." He walked beside her, singularly 
silent, for he was usually fluent if nothing else ; and 
he made no attempt to detain her at the gate. 

"Guess III go back and see if those Indians have 
left any of my furniture intact," he said in farewell. 

"Did I take you away from your guests?" 

"Oh, just some of the bunch; they'll never miss 
me as long as the supplies hold out Good-night t" 

And again, in her room, she suffered that inex- 
plicable sense of loss. She was strangely weary, 
also, instead of being triumphant; she felt heavy 
with the melancholy of a fact accomplished. It is 
the dr^s of success, that ennui which ctHnes in 
the moment of cessation of effort. " 'Vanity, all is 
vanity, saith the preacher,' " she quoted oracularly to 
Hilda through the veil of her loosened hair. 

"What's the matter now, Lady Macbeth?" asked 
Hilda placidly. "Is it your hair you're vain of?" 

"My poor hair," said Lesley, laughing and holding 
it out to its brief length. It had never been long, 
thou^ it was lustrous and soft, of that burnt black 
which is sometimes brown. "So mean of you to 
sneer at it. I guess I'd better buy a switch, so when 
the Prince comes to my window and says, 'Rapunzel, 
Rapunzel, let down your hair,' I can hang on to one 
end of the switch and let him climb up. Wouldn't 
that be romantic ?" 

"Any enterprising Prince would bring a hook and 
ladder," said Hilda prosaically. "What nice shoul- 
ders you've got, Lesley." 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 305 

"Umpbl" said Lesley, feeling the nselessness of 
shoulders which could not be seen as against hair 
which could not be concealed. Just her luck! She 
went to bed crossly, and accused Hilda of taking 
all the bedclothes. Later she said she was suffo- 
cating with heat; and finally went to sleep murmuring 
that her pillow was hard. 

Before ten o'clock next morning she was in a fever 
of anxiety lest Jack Addison should go back on his 
word, and when he arrived at the rendezvous five 
minutes late she was furious. He seemed not to have 
stopped smiling; at least, it was the very same smile 
he gave her in greeting as he droiq)ed into the lit- 
tle iron chair across the round glass-topped table. 

"Here's your pound of flesh," he said softly, spin- 
ning a thin packet across to her as if he were deal- 
ing cards. She slipped it down into her lap, and 
wished she could bolt. A waitress came up and stood 
on one foot tentatively, waiting for an order and 
yawning. 

"What would you like?" asked Addison. 

"I don't want anything," said Lesley. 

"We've got to pay rent for the table. An ice- 
cream soda?" She nodded, and when the mess was 
brought, regarded it with fearful loathing while Ad- 
dison consumed his. His healthy and undiscrimi- 
nating appetite was doubtless typical of him. She 
got away at last, somehow, certainly without any 
further effort on his part to detain her, and with the 
letters crammed into an inner packet of her coat, 
where they bulged portentously. Addison she parted 
with at the door, and could feel his eyes on her 
retreating form. He had an unfair advantage, for 
she greatly desired a backward, unseen scrutiny of 
him, thoi^h she did not venture it. It seemed as if 
she might have surprised in his unguarded face the 



ovCioogIc 



3o6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

secret of his diange toward ber, and the reason 
for her sense of loss. Experience wonid have told 
her the two elements she missed; the approval of 
affection, however hot and misdirected; and still 
more strongly, the sense of power, most intoxicating 
of emotions. Very bitterly she envied him for his 
escape. She was still thrall; the letters in her pocket 
burnt her for a sign. No hopelessness could cure 
her silly infatuation for Chan — so, in her moment 
of unavailing revolt, she styled it 

She hurried home, meaning to bum the letters. 
Only the lack of a fire made her reconsider ; and then 
the idea struck her as unwise. Perhaps she had not 
got them alL She t>c^;an to read them over, and 
realised that would not help; she could not possibly 
tell if they were all present How, then ? Inspired 
to a solution, she seized her suitcase, hurled some 
necessities into it, and rushed downtown again, where 
she caught the early through train for Banff by vir- 
tue of her long legs and a final, undignified burst of 
speed. She would give the letters to Eileen to give 
to Ross, with strict injunctions of secrecy as to Uieir 
immediate source. 

The motion of the train calmed her. She loved the 
sensation of travelling, and the country, pr»rie gradu- 
ally merging into foothills, is lovely in a meagre, aus- 
tere way during summer and autumn. The train 
puffed along importantly; cross-continent travellers 
began to rouse from their torpor at the present 
prospect of Banff and a stop-over for stretching. Sev- 
eral agreeable-looking men made occasion to pass Les- 
ley slowly and give her tentatively friendly looks. 
Ordinarily she would have seized and devoured one 
for refreshment — the long distances of travel in the 
West make for informal sociability As on shipboard 
— but she was still smarting and bafHed over Jack 



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THE SHADOW RffiERS 307 

Addison, and kept her eyes out of the window. Why 
had he changed so ? Why couldn't she change ? Cress- 
well had said he would back her to get what she 
wanted, but . . . 

High River. . . . Five minutes' stop, two or three 
travellers coming aboard. The last one, popping out 
from the ticket office in a mif^hty hurry, was rush- 
ing past her vantage window before she recognised 
him. 

"Chant" she shrieked involuntarily. He nearly 
missed the train by looking around to see who had 
called, but just in time he discovered her, grinned, 
and swung up on the steps of her coadi as it moved by 
him. 

"What lade I" he remarked, stopping by her section. 
"May I sit down ? Thanks. Going up to see Eileen ? 
Why didn't you send me word?" 

"I didn't know I was coming. Why didn't you?" 

"For the same excellent reason. I oughtn't to, at 
that, with clcctioo only two weeks off — but 111 give 
'em absent treatment! I fancy it won't make much 
differoice. Are you going to meet the Grand Cham, 
too?" 

"To meet whom?" 

"Our Chief. He's on his way back, you know, 
from stumping British Columbia; at least, he spoke 
in Vancouver and Victoria. Must be feeling defeat 
ahead, I'm afraid, and making his last stand. He 
b to stay with Ross overnight, at least; and Ross 
wired me to hurry if I wanted to meet him, infor- 
mally " 

"Do you mean the Premier?" asked Lesley incredu- 
lously. "Good heavens, why didn't I stay at home?" 

"Why should you ? Start gathering reminiscences, 
to write when you are eighty. . . ." He rattled on, 
apparently in tiie best of spirits, for another hour. 



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3o6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

but at last tliey fell into the silence whidi always 
overtakes travellers nearing a stop, and she saw that 
he looked thorotighly fatigued and perplexed. That 
moved her. What could be troubling him? She 
kept a fast hold on the letters in her pocket, wonder- 
ing with some subdued mirth what he would say if 
she should drop them into his hand. But she had 
no real temptation to do it ; indeed, she had become 
dangerously inured to keepii^ things from Chan; 
it was small wonder if he had always felt her to be, 
in the last analysis, unapproachable, and had stayed 
courteously on the further side of the line she drew. 

"You don't think," she asked suddenly, out of their 
revery, "that you'll win?" 

"Scarcely, short of a miracle," he said. "You 
know I never expected to. Good thing, probably; 
I'm afraid I'd be a pitiful object in the House. Not 
but what I'd like to^I'd try I suppose you're no- 
ticing my gloom; I'm just tired of tilting at wind- 
mills. It makes one doubt democracy." 

She revived to her old spirit "I know," she said, 
with mischievous sympathy; "there are times when 
one knows so much better than any one else." He 
laughed unreservedly. 

"Oh, yes, I didn't mean it precisely. Only I feet 
as if I'd been beating a bladder, or a pan of doi^, 
or a sofa pillow, for weeks and weeks. Sentimentality 
is the vice of the age. By Jovel to hear the Con- 
servatives talk you'd not only think they had a patent 
on patriotism, but that every man, woman and child 
in the British Isles was our individual grandmother, 
and we ought to revere the old lady. Funny, you 
know, I used to rather like the idea of a living unity 
like the Empire, the thing that grew — before we 
really called it an Empire and began to spout . . . 
Now I feel the same as I do when a man prates about 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 309 

how he loves his wife, or about his own honesty, or 
a woman who . . . They're hawking it about, ask- 
ing for bids on this priceless patriotism of theirs. 
Makes me sick. Of course it got into English poll' 
tics first. Chamberlain was a clever man to realise 
how b^; a thing could be used for a personal end. 
Must have got his idea from religion. . . . And how 
the sheep have followed him. Can't we think for 
ourselves? 'The British bom* — my eye I They keep 
the Hindoos out of British Columbia just the same; 
and you don't find these carpet-baggers like Hawke 
objecting, as long as they get in themselves. That's 
whom they mean by the British bom ; just themselves. 
But they're playing with fire. Make this a. political 
issue once, and it will crop up again. The end of 
kii^ly prerogative in En^nd began when a Royal 
party appeared. . . . Oh, well, you'd better throw 
the switch, Lesley. I'm falling for this idet Hxe 
just like everybody else; and we're there — I mean, 
we're here. Give me that suitcase." 

It was too late to back out, though Lesley got 
stage-fright again as they approached the log cottage 
which sat back among the pines a quarter mile from 
the station. Eileen nor Ross did not come to meet 
them because they did not expect Lesley and thty 
did not think it necessary to desert their distinguished 
guest for Chan. Chan and Lesley gave their hand 
baggage to a porter, and walked. Many summer cot- 
tagers, and week-end visitors, were abroad on the for- 
est paths. Chan was greeted a number of times, 
and one young man, silently insistent on an intro- 
duction to Lesley, turned and walked with them. 
Warmed by the admiring curiosity of his gaze, Les- 
ley, who had passed him on the city streets a thou- 
sand times but not met him before for lack of oppor- 
ttmi^, felt wistful and cheated. She might have 



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3IO THE SHADOW RIDERS 

found some anuolation, might not be cHi^iiig so for- 
lornly to a frnitless dream, if Fate had been a little 
kinder and set her in the gates. In spite of ber oc- 
casional shyness, she had the ^fts of friendliness 
and tact, and could win liking instantly. The yom^ 
man, whose name was Charles Dixon, otherwise 
"Tod," had ingenuous blue, wide-open eyes, hair the 
colour of wheat straw in August, and the frame of 
a young Hercules, which draped even his serviceable 
tweeds to the powerful grace of line Millet caught 
in his labouring peasants. He was very popular, and 
had the qualities of that defect. 

"How's business ?" he asked Chan. "I hear you're 
the hope of the party. Went to hear yon speak the 
other night — good stuff. Little bit fed up on the 
'British bom,' aren't you ? So'm I. It's a quick change 
from our 'no Ei^lish need apply' advertisements." 

"Oh, well, I don't want to bring prejudice in," 
said Chan dubiously. "It's so irrelevant, and ex- 
traneous; that's what gravels me." 

" 'The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la,' " 
hummed Tod. "Quite so ; and if they gravel me much 

more. 111 By Jiminy, give me six hundred men — 

men like myself, eh? — and I'll put Canada on her 
own feet. We're getting a little too much advice 
about how to be Canadians. 'And Ireland shall be 
free, said the Shan van Voght.' Do you know," 
he turned a quizzical eye on the other two, "it could 
be done." 

"TTiat's what Aaron Burr thought," said Lesley. 

"It's what George Washington thou^t," said Tod 
cheerfully, "the irreverent old rebel — what? But I 
won't argue with you. Miss Johns ; I've heard about 
you ; too clever for me. When I get my six hundred, 
'men that can shoot and ride,' I'll convince you. I'm 
beginning to convince myself. So long; no, I can't 



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THE SHADOW RmERS 311 

■top, going to the Murdochs' for tea. Staying over? 
See you ^ain — if I may." 

"I wonder," Chan muttered to himself as they 
mounted the porch steps, "if there is any significance 
in the fact that he could think that, even as a big 

joke? Fifty years more Hello, Eileen 1 you look 

like a dryad. Hello, Ross! " 

There was another occupant of the dim, redwood- 
panelled living-room ; a tall, elegant, white-crested fig- 
ure, before whom Chan watted respectfully for a 
greeting. Lesley wondered if she ought to bow or 
shake hands. Perhaps the Premier of her country 
required a courtesy. She shook hands, because the 
distinguished guest offered his hand. He had a warm, 
strong, magnetic clasp, brilliant black eyes under 
drooping, wrinkled lids like "Dizzy's," and the large, 
firm mouth of the orator. In five minutes Lesley had 
quite forgotten to be shy. 



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CHAPTER XXVIII 

THEY dined very informally, and to save Lesley 
from feeling shabby Eileen wore a simple aft- 
ernoon gown, but after dinner the two women 
withdrew in English fashion. Eileen had caught Les- 
ley's unspoken request for a word alone. They 
strolled out on the verandah, where they could still 
hear faint snatches of deep-toned talk from within. 
Lesley fell gratefully into a hammock; Eileen dis- 
posed herself in a grass chair under a Chinese Ian- 
tern, with her unfailing instinct for effect. Her cop- 
pery hair glowed in the light of the green and amber 
globe above it, as one would have sworn she "taught 
the candle to bum bright," and that the Chinese lan- 
tern was but a reflection. Lesley was so aestheticaUy 
gratified she fot^ot the letters until Eileen spoke. 

"Have you some more pleasant news?" she asked. 
Lesley actually shivered at her tone. 

"No, not like that. ... I have something I want 
you to give to Ross, if you'll promise not to say 
who gave it to you." 

"Tell me first," said Eileen doubtfully. "Then if 
I don't want to promise, 3rou can give it to him some 
other way. I can't imagine . . ." 

"It's something you've probably never heard of," 
agreed Lesley, and recited her carefully prepared 
tale. It had to be carefully prepared, to get smoothly 
past the reason for Jack Addison giving her the , 
letters. Even for Eileen, Lesley didn't care to dig 
up that particular bit of ancient history. But Eileen 
did not seem to notice any inconsistent^ ; and ap- 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 313 

peared willing to accept the fortuitous appearance 
of Jack in the story as the disinterested act of a 
noble friend. 

"The letters are in my coat pocket," Lesley fin- 
ished ; "and what I really want is that Chan shouldn't 
ever know. I'd feel so silly and meddlesome, and he 

might Oh, you can see how stupid it would be, 

can't you ?" 

"I shall have to tell Ross," said Eileen. "But be 
needn't tell Chan. Won't that do? How clever you 
are, Lesley — ^you never offend people; you can be 
all things to all men, I believe. Oh, you certainly 
would have been a marvellous intrigante, in other 
circumstances. Madame de Maintenon, say?" 

"Not religious enough ; besides, I should have hated 
the kii^. I want freedom, not power." 

"The two are really the same, unless you have the 
temperament of a Thoreau, and can do without the 
world," said Eileen, biting her petulant red lip. Ah! 
she had meant to forget, but she never forgot, not 
for a moment. . . . "Come into my room, and you 
can give me the letters; Ross will be coming out 
in a minute if we don't." They went in by a side 
door; Lesley rid herself of her hard-won trophy, 
and watched Eileen drop the packet into a big jewel- 
box and lock it with a little gold key. The lavish- 
ness of her personal appointments always filled Les- 
ley with astonishment too great for envy — those gold- 
stoppered bottles of crystal, the gold-backed mirror, 
the perfumes and' bijouterie and vellum-bound 
bibelots; the closets overflowing with lacy and rib- 
bony thinffs. . . . Barring the last, they were almost 
all Ross's immediate gifts. 

"There, that's settled," said Eileen. "I'll get Ross 
alone, to-morrow. . . ." Lesley gave her a quick look. 
"You'll have to sleep with me,'* Eileen went on, "and 



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314 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Chan will have to take a cot ; or we won't have room 
for Sir Lucien. Do you mind ?" 

"Oh, not if you don't 1 I've got to go back in 
the morning, you know." 

"Oh, nonsense 1" said Eileen, and peeped into the 
living-room. The men had come from the table, and 
Ross was looking out of the window for Eileen. The 
distinguished guest was talking to Chan; his suave, 
musical voice had some power of carrying conviction 
even to one who could not make out the words. 

", . . Excellent discipline, to lose your iirst am- 
test," he was saying. "You fly high, anyway; I 
served twelve years in the provincial assembly be- 
fore I got a look at the Dominion House at all." 

"Oh, well, it wasn't my fault," protested Chan 
wicomfortably. "I know I'm riding on Ross's shoul- 
ders; and then, as you say, I'm bound to lose." 

"No, I didn't say that," said Sir Lucien kindly. 
"All my hopes are the other way; though of course 
Folsom is a remarkably good talker." 

"Not even a good speaker?" interjected Ross. "You 
do praise him with faint damns. I call him a blather- 
skite; vulgar but excellent word." 

"Very excellent," agreed Sir Lucien gravely. "But 
it's often an able type," 

"Yes, able in its own behalf, if not creative — take 
Winston Churchill as the apotheosis of it" 

"Words are a power, you must remember," s^ 
Sir Lucien. "Even words without actual ideas, if 
they convey an image, or have a ringing sound. I 
may speak from experience. There is nothing an 
luiconsidered word may not do. What else lost Blaine 
the presidency?" 

"Yes," said Chan. "Six hundred men " 

"Pardon me," said Sir Lucien doubtfully. 

"That was a phrase I heard this afterrioon," Chan 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 315 

explained. He repeated, with a smile, Tod Dixon's 
aimless remarks. Sir Lucien Ibtened, with his hand 
concealing his expressive mouth. 

"It made an impression on me," said Chan hesi- 
tantly, at last "I don't know why ; certainly he was 
only joking." 

Ross looked at Sir Lucien. "Does it, then, survive, 
like a lost river, underground?" he asked cryptically. 

"I fancy the spring is dry," said Sir Lucien. 

"Did you think so at the first Imperial Conference?" 
Ross persisted. Now Sir Lucien smiled. 

"Everything I thought there is on the records," 
he said. 

"But, you know, it isn't impossible?" said Chan 
tentatively. 

"Nothing is impossible," said Sir Lucien, "only to 
the old, who will not live to see the new. And 
I am old. 'The young men see visions,' you remem- 
ber; the old men only dream dreams.*' 

"It was not a young man who blocked Imperial 
Federation," Ross thrust again. 

"I only asked for a workable proposition," said 
Sir Lucien quietly. "I cannot see one yet — for Im- 
perial Federation, I mean. And if it were tried 
and did not work, it m^ht bring great difficulties and 
evils, whereas now everything goes very smoothly. 
Draw a bond too tight and it breads. It was the 
others there who dreamed dreams." But he gave 
an impression of impenetrable reserves. 

"I should say they did," remarked Ross. "To fancy 
they could get from the aristocratic classes of Eng- 
land what the people of England themselves have 
never won I I mean the control of England's fore^ 
policy. That was very young and sanguine ... or 
else it meant a hope that we and Australia might 
create an aristocratic class to share without dimin- 



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3i6 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

ishii^ that privil^e. But aristocrats are jealous; 
they need to be. They won't share." 

"They will," said Sir Luden, "if it is ^lare or 
die." 

"We've got 3 couple of peers now," said Chan. 
"Just a white chip." 

"No one," said Ross, "has ever noted the impor- 
tant fact that our peers are both childless. Nothii^ 
given there that time won't take back. For the rest 
Canada has not even attained to a baronetcy. It's 
like Sydney Smith's way of coaxing a donkey with a 
carrot tied to its headstall." They dissipated gravity 
with a general laugh, and Eileen and Lesley, who 
had been listening with considerable interest, came 
in. Tht talk fell on music, books, and people. Eileen 
played and sang; Sir Lucien relaxed and took his ease. 
His stopover wag practically incognito; and Ross 
had told the few who knew of it that he had been 
advised by his physicians to refuse visitors, so no 
one came to call. Sir Lucien's entourage had tact- 
fully stopped off at Lake Xxniise, where Sir Lucien 
himself was supposed to be in temporary retirement. 

Lesley felt as if she were lapped in a pleasant 
dream. This was life at its best; or at least at its 
softest. The flower, perhaps, if not the root nor 
the fruit. It was the couch of rose leaves. With 
the weariness of the day's work on her, she could 
not even imagine use so blunting her enjoyment that 
she might detect the crumpled petal and complain. 
She wanted most intensely to stay here, where she was 
BO comfortable ; she realised subconsciously that there 
Is actually no spiritual pain that may not be drugged 
by material opiates, and was almost ready to take ^is 
quintessence of comfort, bodily and mental, as a suffi- 
cient goal. And then the curious back action of the 
small, strong Puritan fibre in her made her recall and 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 317 

cling to her decision to go bade in the morning. She 
still wanted to stay, but . . . She had not won even 
to this goal; why cheat herself even for an hour? 

She went. Eileen managed to slip off to go to the 
station with her, and Lesley made her reiterate her 
promise not to let Chan know the part she, Lesley, 
was playing as Deus ex Machina. 

"Of course I won't tell him," said Eileen. " '83^6, 
dear. Oh, here's Chan after all! He'll put you on 
the train ; I hate the crowd." And Eileen went back 
to find Ross and execute her commission. 

Her manner was very cold when she asked him 
quietly for a word by Oiemselves. But she was al- 
ways cold and constrained now when they were alone 
tf^ether, which was seldom. Pride and shame had 
cankered in her, Ross thought she hated him be- 
cause necessity had driven her to yield to him even 
once. He wondered why he did not hate her for the 
brand she had put on him ; evidently she had judged 
him as one with Simon Mage, who would buy the 
gift of the Holy Ghost. A man may have a deep 
and obstinate pride in preserving the decencies of 
passion, whether spiritual or fleshly. 'Is thy servant 
a dog," his heart demanded silently of her, "that he 
should do this thing?" Nevertheless, or because of 
what was between them, there was nothing she could 
have asked him that he could have withheld. And 
she did not hate him; his basic premise was wrong. 
They did not hate each other at all ; they only felt 
each other's presence so keenly, they both remem- 
bered so blindingly, that every nerve vibrated beyond 
that pitch where pleasure turns to pain. 

He came, at her request, to her small cedar-scented 
chamber. As he entered, she lifted her head, with 
a peculiar shru^ng motion of her shoulders, and 
her eyelids lowered and her mouth wried; an expres- 



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3i8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

sitm he often noted passing over her like a flash when 
she thought herself unobserved. It made him think 
of a child tasting something bitter. He knew well 
enough it was some ambush of memory brought that 
shudder to her — and he wondered each time: which 
memory? 

She laid the packet of letters in his hand. "I got 
these," she explained promptly, "from Lesley. She 
wants you to see if they're all there ; if there's some- 
thing more to look out for. And you mustn't tell 
Oian where you got them ; you mustn't tell him any- 
thing; but you may do anything else you like with 
the letters. I promised Lesley he shouldn't be told." 

Ross looked the letters over with bewildered com- 
prehension, and had to be told ^ain how they came 
into Eileen's possession. 

"You know what they're about?" he asked. 

"I didn't read them, but Lesley told me. I think 
I understand. Are they all there?" He noted them 
carefully. 

"Yes," he said. "You say Lesley got these from 
Cresswel!, or Addison? It doesn't matter; I under- 
stand — the Recorder had them. Lesley has the mak- 
ings of a remarkable woman. Why doesn't she vrant 
me to tell Chan ?" 

Eileen smiled enigmatically. "Because," she said, 
"Chan is a great fool." She turned away and picked 
up her hand-mirror, yawning delicately into it 

"Ohl Yes. Yes, he certainly is," agreed Ross 
slowly. 

"Men," said Eileen, "are all fools." She had her 
back to him fairly by now; he could not see that 
she was watching him in the little gold-backed toy 
she held. He merely looked resigned and tired. 

"Credo," he said. "But we don't always mean 
badly, Eily." She did not turn. "Thank you, and 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 319 

Lesley," he said, and went out. He could not leave 
Sir Lucien alone much longer without rudeness. 

Anyway, Chan remained in blissful ignorance. 

From force of habit, even though her weapon had 
been wrested from her, Lesley followed the fortunes 
of the fight as closely as before. She still went to 
all the meetings she could compass, and orated fiercely 
to Chan and Hilda on the perverse course of af- 
fairs. That meant a lot of meetii^, now the cam- 
paign was reaching its climax. 

The truly climacteric meeting was a joint debate, 
between Geers and Folsom, two weeks later. Chan 
was also billed to speak, in his first humble status. 

The Whittemores went, and Lesley was with them 
instead of at the press table again, and sat in a box. 
Chan spoke well. The audience, not yet suffocated 
with close air and smoke, was noisily appreciative. 
Chan was no longer embarrassed, his voice had im- 
proved, he even looked much older and more re- 
sponsible, and his earnestness was indubitable. Les- 
ley felt that his brief exposition was nothing short 
of masterly. Any one who wouldn't be convinced by 
such a speech was — well, a little lacking. But as 
a matter of fact it was really too close reasoned for 
the crowd. In spite of his random training, Chan 
had retained an executive, correlative mind, a pas- 
sion for demonstrable facts, and an impatience of 
the emotional appeal in practical matters. Without 
charm, he would have been lost; but he did have 
charm of a kind, the straightforward, man-to-man 
kind. The most critical member of his audience, Ross 
Whittemore, was the most satisfied at the close. At 
last he was sure that Chan was a three-dimensioned 
person, a man, not a weathercock. He had the es- 
sential solidity which discounts luck in a public career; 
and Whittemore knew already that he would rather 



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320 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

work than talk. The prospect of talking did not 
elate him, even if he did obviously enjoy the quick- 
ened mental processes developed in the actual mo- 
ment of it. In Jifteen minutes he managed to cover 
the whole groimd — the growing chauvinism of Can- 
ada, the alarming class solidarity and power of the 
country's Bnancial men, the absurdity of that mare's 
nest of annexation — annexation, by a nation whose 
foreign policy is dictated by the man in the street, who 
hardly knows whether Canada is a town or a cock- 
tail, and whose interest -^n territorial acquisitions is 
absolutely nil and in taxes paramount — and the real, 
clear, candid issue, entirely domestic, of a lowering 
of the tariff. If they didn't want the tariff lowered, 
well and good ; they might go on paying for their 
fancy ; if they did, why turn the country into a vast 
nursery wailing over a bogey? Very lucid and terse 
^-and his hearers liked young Herrick — good-looking, 
wasn't he ? the few women whispered — the men said 
he didn't put on any side and was certainly a comer 
in business and a great little mixer, regularly one 
of the boys, but not a booze-fighter, oh, no! — and 
his uncle was rotten with money — married the Conway 
girl, that red-headed woman there in the box; damn 
funny, wasn't it? — did you ever hear 

So they clapped very heartily, and gave him a few 
hurrahs for good measure, even if he had not just . . . 
The fact was they actually missed the fustian and 
bombast. They ivanted emotional appeal, steam to get 
the load of facts under way. 

They were to be satisfied soon. Folsom was next, 
and he gave them steam enough, so much they never 
noticed he was running in ballast. He had a power- 
ful, ringing voice, of a good tone, so that his im- 
mensely nervous delivery never sounded staccato ; he 
could pile up metaphors as clouds tower on a June 



ovGooglc 



THE SHATkOW RIDERS 321 

day, to darken and dischai^ in a Jovian explosion 
of question or statement; there was something irre- 
sistible about the way he recited statistics, which he 
handled in a manner to recall Modjeska's famous 
feat of bringing tears to her auditors' eyes fay de- 
claiming the Polish alphabet. And his patriotisn^- 
it burned, oh, indeed, it went up in fireworks that 
left trails of glory down the lowering skyl One 
could see him repelling an imaginary enemy at the 
point of a lance — well, no, hardly that, but one could 
see a band of gallant youths doing the repellit^, while 
Folsom waited with decorations and wreaths well in 
the rear. 

That was what the audience wanted. They yelled 
and stamped and cheered; they glowed and breathed 
heavily. It was Folsom they wanted; a man to do 
them credit at Ottawa. He had the experience, too. 
Like Geers, whose partisans still WMted patiently for 
him. 

In the meanwhile, Folsom took a final drink of wa- 
ter, mopped his tall, glistening brow once more, and 
was about to seat himself when some one unob- 
trusively slid on to the platform from the wings and 
gave him something — a folded paper. 

"But what did he really say, after all?" demanded 
Lesley, loftily critical. "Told us his grandmother was 
a U. E. Loyalist — well, so was mine — my great- 
grandmother, I mean " 

"If you're going to bring out those versatile pn^^em- 
tors of yours, I refuse to enter into a discussion," said 
Eileen wamingly. 

"Well, she was, just the same," Lesley repeated. 
"Doesn't he laiow Queen Anne's dead ? And he told 
us the price of oats here and in Chicago. I could 

tell him the price of shoes Mr. Whittemore, what 

is that he's reading?" 



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3aa THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Who's reading? I be; yoar pardon," said Ross, 
who had been secretly watching his wife. It had 
grown into a habit, an obsession; he couldn't keep 
his eyes off her, and she would never, never look 
at him. Only when he wasn't looking . . . 

"Mr. Folsom," explained Lesley, in a tense whis- 
per, leaning forward over the velvet raiting. "He's 
got some bad news; something's gone wrong. . . . 
Ifs a newspaper. Look at his face I No, he's put 
the paper away, but his face . . ." 

"I fancy he's done up; been campaigning pretty 
strenuously for the last month," said Whittemore. 
"He appears to be wearing his usual face." 

"Oh," said Lesley, wriggling with impatience, "can't 
you seet I tell you there was something — some- 
thing It was in a newspaper; I'm going right 

out and get me a newspaper and hnd out. That 
man's just jvA inside; he wants to kill some one; 
I can jeei it" She was getting to her feet, simulta- 
neously with Geers on the platform, Folsom was 
sitting quietly enough. Whittemore was too polite 
to show his real astonishment; he only touched Les- 
ley gently on the arm. 

"Please do sit down," he murmured. "I will go. 
Certainly I will; it's a good excuse for a smoke," 
He disappeared down the aisle. Eileen whispered: 
"Now do be quiet, dear, or they'll throw us out. Chan's 
wondering if you are having a fit." Lesley sank back, 
exchanging a smile with Chan. But she had not heard 
a word of Geers' peroration when Whittemore came 
very quietly into the box again, ten minutes later. 

She lifted her expressive, narrow eyebrows at him, 
and he nodded gravely. 

"You were right," he said, sotto voce. 

"How?" asked Eileen behind her fan. 

"Folsom's done for," said Whittemore. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 323 

"Let me see," hissed Lesley, and reached arouod 
to draw sl folded newspaper from Ross's pocket. He 
made to stop her, and then desisted with some brief 
movement of his head that conveyed what a shrug 
mi^t have. 

"It isn't reading for young bdies," he said — he had 
taken his seat in the very I»ck of the box, and they 
were all tensely quiet; no one noticed their repressed 
excitement unless Chan, who looked across the dead 
footlights like an intelligent pointer scenting game, 
very evidently bored by his isolated grandeur. — "But 
you'll undoubtedly read it, anyway," Whittemore con- 
tinued. Of course she would ; she had it half stdmmed 
over already. 

Most indubitably, Folsom was done fori The 
paper was the Onlooker; and without headlines or 
blackface type the front page yet screamed that fact 

Scandal — the kind of scandal a public man cannot 
survive — a baldly ugly story about a woman. ... No 
mere hints nor innuendoes, all of a most stark and 
damnatory explicitness. . . . 

To recount it were merely sordid. Frankland had 
revenged the affront Folsom had put on him. As 
Cresswell had thought, Folsom had made a terrible 
mistake. 

Lesley got to the end, and Eileen took the paper 
from her casually. Again Whittemore seemed about 
to recapture it, but again he let it go. 

"Win it lose him the election?" whispered Lesley. 

"Bound to," Whittemore nodded. "Poor devil." 

Eileen dropped the paper on the floor of the box. 
She kwked bored and cold. 

"Then — then," Lesley whispered again, "Chan will 
get in?" 

Whittemore nodded again. 

"Chan will get in?" murmured EUeetL "Fancy — 



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324 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

I didn't think of tbatt" She did not say what she 
had been thinking of. "Isn't it libel?" she asked. 

"Certainly, but Folsom won't dare prosecute. 
There's his wife — and the other woman's husband. 
His course will be to say nothing, ignore it But 
it's all over for him." The story was skilfully writ- 
ten with a confessedly false name given to the woman 
involved, while no other detail, place nor date, was 
omitted. And Frankland had been careful to state 
that the missing name, too, would be given on demand 
from Folsom. 

"I'd like to get out," Lesley whispered feverishly, 
"but I suppose we must stay to the end. Oh, 
well I . . ." They all sat silent through the inter- 
minable remainder of the evening. Eileen pushed 
the paper to the edge of the box with her foot Les- 
ley sat with clenched hands. Whittemore looked grim 
and sad. 

It was over at last. They hurried out, and found 
Chan ahead of them. He met them at the door, 
cramming another copy of the Onlooker into his pocket 
hastily. It struck Lesley as strange that he should 
look so horribly depressed, almost angry. Ross could 
understand that, and put his hand on Chan's shoul- 
der sympathetically. 

"I liked your speech, Chan," said Eileen, speaking 
6rst Truly she had the social instinct "It was ex- 
cellent; and you know how easily bored I am. I 
suppose you've heard — the news?" 

"Seen it," said Chan curtly. "Excuse me, Eileen, 
I feel upset. . . ." 

"Why, it means everythii^ to you," said Lesl<y 
wonderingly. 

"That's just it," said Chaa and excused himself 
in order to excuse himself again to some members 
of his committee who wanted to seize and perhaps 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 325 

congratulate him. Then he came back and cUmbed 
hastily into the automobile, emitting a sigh of relief 
as the car started. "It's a rotten way to win," he 
burst out. 

"One sometimes has to accept a game by default," 
said Ross. 

"There doesn't seem to be any other way in poli- 
tics," growled Chan. "This whole election's going 
by default, by a Suke. Just raving prejudice. . . . 
Do they think they're voting on Folsom's private life, 
the American accent, or tariff reduction?" 

"The tale is as old as Troy," said Ross. "No use 
bucking a basic fact in human nature. Human na- 
ture's your raw material now ; learn to use it You've 
got work ahead of you." 

"Yes," he said, brightening. "The talking is over 
for a while. Of course I can't expect to do any real 
work at first, but there must be some chance for a 
plain pick-and-shovel man." He always set his teeth 
with a kind of dogged enjoyment at the prospect of 
some tangible thing to do ; and but for the means he 
would certainly have been glowing over his pros- 
pective victory. As it was, losing would not have 
been half so hard as this fortuitous winning; and 
then, he felt for Folsom a touch of "There, but for 
the grace of God, go I." Perhaps it is that secret 
sense of guilt in common makes for the solidarity 
of men as a sex ; they are all outlaws together. Only 
women have ever been classifiable into the sheep and 
the goats. Give them the saving sense of being sin- 
ners in common and they, too, will be comradely. 

"Really," said Ross, "hate is the fulcrum Archime- 
des was looking for. You can always swing the world 
on that. Hate and hunger have made nations out of 
tribes, and tamed the desert." 

'Tm sorry for Folsom, anyway," said Chan, who 



ovCiooglc 



326 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

could not philosophise just then. He sank into gloom 
ag^. 

"I'm not; it serves him right," said Lesley, subtly 
irritated by Chan's behaviour. 

"You women always turn down your thumbs," said 
Chan. Lesley yearned to slap him. 

Only Whittemore recognised that it wasn't because 
she was a woman, nor even through innate cruelty; 
but because she at least had no dark places to fear 
the light She was an innocent little Pharisee, but 
no hypocrite. But he did not say so. 

"Oh, go on ; sit on your haunches and howl if you 
want to," said Lesley, in a burst of honest rage that 
touched oti an explosion of laughter among them and 
cleared the air. Was it strange if she wanted to 
rejoice ? 

Whittemore appreciated that ; he said to her aside, 
as he got out of the car : "It would have been a stand- 
off, anyway, if you hadn't rescued those letters. They 
would have been a backfire against Folsom's blazing 
scandal. After all, you've elected him." He did not 
give her time to deny it; he and Eileen went into 
the cottage and left Chan to take Lesley home, 

"Aren't you glad at all, Chan?" she asked mourn- 
fully. 

He turned to her, his face flashing into the old boy^ 
ish smile she had hardly seen for a year or more, 
for her lugubrious tone, taken from his own, had 
touched and tickled the natural man. 

"You bet I am," he said. "I really am sorry for 
Folsom, but just on my own account I'd like to give 
a few war whoops. I'm sorry I was a crab before 
you and Eileen — and after the way you've worked, 
too.. Please excuse me. By George, Lesley! I wish 
you were going to be in Ottawa. I've got to like it 
here; 111 lute to leave. But — ^hurrah for success!" 



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THE SHAEIOW RIDERS 327 

She had helped get him what he wanted I And her 
reward ? Oh, he was sorry to leave — the town, CUsie 
Martin, perhaps even herself. He "wished" she 
would be in Ottawa. . . . 

Welt, in the name of wonder, what else had she 
worked for? She had done her best to send him 
away, and now was ready to whimper at his going. 
Amazing — she had never really thoug^ht of that end 
to her labours and scheming 1 Now she would lose 
him altc^ether. . . . 

Why not, she asked herself heavily, as she went to 
her room ? Face to face with her position, could she 
see any other sensible thing to do? Send him away 
— put hun out of her life. Build her life around its 
own centre, not around him. Oh, yes, it must be 
for the best . . . 

She had got it by heart by the time election was 
over; and still she repeated it valiantly. 

They had been justified in speaking with such cer- 
tainty of Chan's return. Folsom went back to pri- 
vate life a discredited man ; Reciprocity was a great 
deal deader than Queen Anne, since it had never 
been alive ; and gallant old Sir Lucien, turned out of 
his keep with a few faithful men-at-anns, was a free 
lance once more. 

And after these considerable happenings, one girl 
sat, staring out of her window at the snowy, sleepy 
streets and too lonely and dejected to seek com- 
pany. Chan had gone East that day, and she had 
been to the station, with Eileen and Ross, to see 
him off; and had cried afterward in the kindly pri- 
vacy of her room. For all she was such a Spartan 
pupil of adversity, she cried a long time before aris- 
ing to arm her spirit for a quite fresh start Her 
spirit was already galled with harness, and decidedly 
restive. 



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338 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Funny to think Chan was a Member of Parliament 
now — an Hononrable — and she bad boxed bis ears 
onc«! But that was ages ago, redconing in that at 
least a century bad passed since his train pulled out 
that morning with him on the rear platform waving 
good-bye. 



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CHAPTER XXIX 

LESLEY reached for her hat with one hand, and 
with the other took a letter from her desk. 
She was in a tremendous hurry to be gone from 
the office, nevertheless she would not resist opening 
the letter for one more look at the slip of greenish 
paper it contained. She stood gloating just another 
minute. 

It shared with an earlier letter, received the week 
before, the honour of being in Lesley's estimation the 
most important event of the summer. And yet that 
was the summer of 1914. . . . 

But it was only July when the letters came 

Doubtless other things had happened to other peo- 
ple. For instance, in some remote, unheard-of vil- 
lage with a queer foreign name, two royal person- 
ages had come to a violent end. Lesley had read of 
that in her morning paper; and had asked for an- 
other cup of coffee and remarked that the day prom- 
ised fair. Radical that she was, she thought roy- 
alty pass£ and even rather tedious. It would have been 
grotesque to imagine that those two royal personages 
must go down to the Shades accompanied by a vast, 
unaccountable multitude of other reluctant and tragi- 
cally astounded souls. . . . She may have been too 
soon in thinking royalty passe. There is something to 
it still; a state procession like that may not be 
despised. 

It is not a new thing for men to go about their busi- 
ness under the shadow of Pclee or Vesuvius, buyii^^ 
and selling and marrying and getting children, while 
339 



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330 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Death stands by with a grin and his bony hand crooked 
for the clutch. But then Death always stands so; 
it is every man's end, and he must be about his 
business. 

This was most particularly Leslejr's business. At 
last she was ready to put her folly away in lavender 
, — not rosemary if she could help it — and take up her 
old plan. The letter was from Jack Addison ; it was 
very formal and businesslike, but it enclosed a check 
for five hundred dollars. First payment on her in- 
vestment, he explained. He had turned it twice for 
her, and now, by the successful speculator's sixth 
sense, was closing her out at the top of the market 

It removed her last anxiety about the answer she 
had sent to the letter of the week before, which came 
from Cresswelt 

Cresswell, too, had redeemed his promise. After 
a year and a half, when she had really almost for- 
gotten him, he had written. In the autumn, the joui^ 
nalistic time of change, he said he could give her a 
place on his paper, if she would take it. 

How that would have delighted her once I Mere 
pride forbade hesitation; she accepted. But now 
she could (eel at ease, no longer fearful about leav- 
ing her mother and climbing out of her rut, which 
threatened to become dully comfortable and to ei^lf 
her definitely. 

She went out into the dry, hot afternoon; to tell 
Eileen. It was necessary to tell some one. Scorning 
the street-cars, she turned her face toward the Whitte- 
more cottage, a haven of peace to her forward-looking 
fancy. The city sprawled naked before heaven; 
bigger, noisier, and even less beantiful than it had 
always been. Lesley hurried, regardless of the heat, 
wishing to get off the clattering streets, but almost 
unconscious of her surroundings. It is a merciful 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 331 

thing that accustomed ugliness becomes almost invisi- 
ble. She turned into the cut beneath the railway 
crossing, after passing the enormous new hotel. 
Years before, she had often been obliged to wait fif- 
teen minutes at that crossing for an insolent freight 
train to move out of the way; or else, as she had 
been seen to do, swing up and scramble over the coup- 
lings between the cars, careless of danger. 

"It has changed. ... I wonder why Jack didn't 
bring the cheque himself, so that I could thank him. 
. , . He must bate me for making him give me those 
letters. . . . Well, it won't matter now ; I'll never see 
— any one — after next month. . . . No, I won't write 
to Chan. . . . What's the use? 111 tell Eileen not to 
tell him. Unless ... he comes back soon. . . . Chi- 
cago can't be any uglier than this. Pouf 1" She wiped 
the dust out of her eyes, while her brain still shut- 
tled back and forward. No, decidedly she would 
not write to Chan, not till afterward. For the first 
time since he had gone Hast, a letter of his lay un- 
answered. She meant it should, as a sign. He must 
never take first place again. She was going to need 
a free mind now. His mind was free enough, that 
scrappy note proclaimed. Perhaps she had hoped 
absence might work some magic, but it had not. . . . 
As for why she would not tell him — and so would 
not write at all until Chicago had swallowed her — 
that was a bit of unreasoned superstition. Once be- 
fore she bad told him, and been disappointed; and 
from what had come of it lingered a strange feel- 
ing of disaster. Their one quarrel and year-long later 
estrangement ; the erection of some barrier within her- 
self upon which her heart had beaten in vain to 
reach him. . . . 

The cottage was cool indeed, and odorous of 
potpourri. Eileen, in a delicate green gown, shone 



ovCiooglc 



333 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

in the chintzy drawing-room like a flower. She kissed 
Lesley imwontedly, and pulled oif her hat, and rang 
for something iced to drink. What was more, she 
appreciated the vast importance of the cheque. Though 
she had learned to spend money frantically, merely 
as an occupation, she had not lost her sense of 
proportion. 

"How perfectly splendid," she said. "Ross," she 
summoned him throug^h the open door from the back 
garden, "would you believe it, Lesley's got five hun- 
dred dollars 1 What are you going to do with it? Did 
you say Jack Addison made it for you? Have you 
got him in your pocket? You produce him so mys- 
teriously at just the right time; I never guessed you 
knew him so well." 

"I — I used to," said I.esley. "I really never see him 
now ; it's years since I gave him that money. It was 
to gamble on Ross's street-cars." 

"I didn't know I was robbing widows and orphans," 
said Ross apologetically. 

"This doesn't look like robbery to me," said Les- 
ley contentedly, and went on to answer Eileen's ques- 
tion as to its ultimate uses. 

Ross looked unexpectedly disquieted at her ao- 
nouncement, but Eileen seemed dismayed. "Oh, I 
think that's detestable!" she cried, " — no, of course, 
it's nice for you ; but why should I ever come back 
if you're gone?" Lesley knew the Whittemores had 
meant to spend the late summer abroad. 

"Would you rather not comt back?" asked Ross. 
Eileen was calm again. 

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said. "Besides, youll 
have to, so that you can finish out your term and be 
knighted on the next Birthday." 

One felt a shrug in Ross's answer. "I never yearned 
to be elevated to equality with a London grocer," 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 333 

he said drily, and hastened to add : "Not unless you 
wish it ?" 

"To be a grocercss?" she countered. "No, thanks." 

With silent intensity he wished that she would want 
something. Time had wrought another alteration in 
Eileen. Her cold vivacity was disappearing; she 
seemed tired and distrait always, yielding everything 
with indifference. And that wrung his heart. He 
had loved her dainty arrogance and spirit . . . and 
he could never forget how like a flame she had been, 
on their belated bridal night, which was like the 
"little book" of the prophet, honey on the tongue 
and gal! to the aftertaste. How could she have coun- 
terfeited so well? There was much he had forgot- 
ten, in the dead years her fire had consumed, else 
he would have known she could not. She had the 
gift of passion, which is not every woman's ; and it 
was starved in her; small wonder if she grew pale 
and listless. But he thought she had even ceased 
to hate him. How empty-handed it left him toward 
her. H she desired nothing, what could he give her? 
This, this was like watching her die. Had it been 
all in vain; had he not saved her after all? Would 
the hard contact with life through work have been 
better for her than this? And was it too late to 
rectify such a stupendous mistake? 

"I wish — " said Lesley, breaking the thread of his 
thoughts off short, "I wish you wouldn't go — abroad." 

"Why not ?" asked Eileen, putting down her 
frosted glass of iced tea in astonishment 

"I don't know — I just wish " 

"Really, this must be a conspiracy," said Eileen, look- 
ing from Ross to Lesley again. "We aren't gott^; 
at least, not yet. Ross says he doesn't like the Euro- 
pean situation. I didn't know there was one; but, 
anyway, we are only going to Maine. Chan will be 



ovGooglc 



334 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

in Bar Harbor with a party next month, and well 
join him there, and go no further if the European 
situation insists." Ross had a few foreign corre- 
spondents who still remembered him, 

"Then Chan isn't coming back this summer?" said 
Lesley, with studied calm. 

"Probably not; he appears to be quite exhausted 
with his labours helping to block Borden's donation 
party. You know, the thirty-five million gift to the 
English Admiralty. I'm sure he must have favoured 
you with his view on it more than once." 

"Oh, yes," said Lesley absently, "he wanted to know 
if I wished to become a helot, paying tribute for pro- 
tection. I assured him that I didn't, even if I'm 
not quite sure what a helot is." 

"In principle he's right," said Ross, "but in fact 
we have to go it blind anyway, and support Eng- 
land in any event — but it may be best to seem to 
keep a choice, even if we haven't really a word to 
say beforehand of any quarrel we nnist inevitably 
share. Half measures " 

"I have a brilliant plan," Eileen broke in suddenly. 
She had not been listening, having heard quite enoi^ 
of the helots some time since. "Lesley can marry 
Jack Addison and stay here, so I can come back 
after all. That will be much nicer than Chicago," 
she smiled at Lesley. 

"Well, but what am I going to do with his wife?" 
demanded Lesley indignantly. 

"She's attending to that, dear. She got her in- 
terlocutory decree two weeks ago — dear me, didn't 
you know she is in California gettii^ a divorce? I 
did hope, when you mentioned him, that you could 
give me his side of it. Now don't deny everything; 
leave me a little hope." 

"It's the very first I've heard," protested Lesley. "I 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADiOW RIDERS 335 

thought you were hinting at polygainy. Don't startle 
me lUce that again." 

"But men say they are all polygamists at heart; 
why be startled? I am sure Jack has polygamous 



"Men have always talked a great deal of non- 
sense to excuse themselves," said Ross unexpect- 
edly. "That's some of it." 

"Then they aren't?" asked Lesley meekly. 

"Polygamists? Not any more than women. Yon 
hear them say that in a sort of aside, as if they meant 
to spare women's feelings ; as if you were soft crea- 
tures that can't stand the truth. Actually, only women 
ever have faced that fact, put up with the natural 
man, made the best of him. Men have locked women 
up in harems, ostracised them, bow-stringed them, 
everything, to keep from facing the same fact by 
making women over to suit their theories. To say 
that we're all polygamists is a crude and rather mis- 
representative statement You hear it from the kind 
of people who, Hke Robert Service, are 'never afraid 
to call a spade a murderous, hellish plough.' " Lesley 
snickered and checked herself to listen. "The trou- 
ble is," Ross went on detachedly, "that in all pas- 
sionate love there's a hard, insatiable core, that noth- 
ing could fully satisfy, so it always bums beneath 
the ash of fulfilled desire. No man or woman is quite 
absolutely enough for any other woman or man. Neither 
would a world of them be. Six husbands or wives 
wouldn't be better than one, because, as I say, that 
demand is insatiable; it's a little bottomless pit we 
all possess. I fancy it is merely Nature's safeguarf 
against 'battle, murder and sudden death.' Senti> 
mentalists want us to believe in one mate for each 
of us, and that may be so in the long run, and we 
may find that mate — but here and now, the human 



ovCiooglc 



336 ■ THE SHADOW RmERS 

race wouldn't last two generations if Nature listened 
to that nonsense. Think of the chance of finding your 
mate among the billions of earth's population!" 

"Then you think one person will do as well as 
another?" asked Eileen smoothly, while an old, un- 
answered question reared its poisonous head in her 
bosom. Why had he married her? 

"No," said Ross, still more gently. 

They sat in a vibrant, electric silence. A hot, hon- 
ored scent of clover came in the window, as on a 
night two years before. Lesley felt a strong^ intuitive 
impulsion to go. But when she rose, Eileen sprai^ 
up also, with a strange, short catch of her breath, 
and seized Lesley's hand. 

'You're not going I" she cried. "No — I don't care; 
I'll be vexed if you don't stay for dinner. I won't 
see you at all soon. Sit down." 

"Of course she will stay for dinner — unless you 
expect some one at home?" said Ross persuasively. 
Lesley looked at him helplessly, feeling herself drawn 
one way and another by conflicting wills and instincts, 
and sat down. 

"ni stay if you want me," she said, "and I don't 
expect any one — even if Mrs. Callender did call on 
me yesterday. I meant to ask you, Eileen, if you 
know what she wanted. I wasn't tn; she left her 
card. It must have been a mistake; I don't know 
her from Adam. Does she think I'm the society 
editor?" 

"I sent her," said Eileen, with a quick sparkle of 
mischief. 

"You sent her? Why? Do you like her so much?" 

"She's a nice little ninny," said Eileen coolly, ctm- 
juring up to Lesley's mind a picture of the lady in 
question — a small, fair woman with a neat figure and 
a pretty, n^ative face ; always fashionably and charm- 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 337 

Ingly dressed, with great pearls in her ears and a 
diamond bracelet showing over her white-gloved 
wrist — a newcomer, comparatively, and a social 
soupirant. "I sent her to ask you to her house- 
warming ball ; youll get a card soon. She came to 
get me to help her receive, just when Ross had de- 
cided he didn't like the European situation" — there 
was always something faintly, yet not unpleasingly, 
mocking about Eileen's mention of Ross in his pres- 
ence. It was impossible to say if she were coquetting 
with him or jeering at him. "I was so at loose ends 
I said I would; besides, I'm tired of watching her 
struggle. It will be a relief to boost her in. The 
worst that can be said of her is that she wears those 
pearls even with a Hdit^ habit. . . . But I must have 
your moral support ; I refuse to do it alone." 

Lesley had not even heard of the ball previously, 
and had not the slightest interest in Mrs. Callender. 
"But I don't want to go," she protested. "I haven't 
got a gown " 

"Piffle," said Eileen calmly. "You have five him- 
dred dollars. Lucie shall take your measurements, 
and I'll write to Jacquin in New York. If the result 
doesn't fit, Lucie can alter it. Just shut your eyes 
and don't bother me, and you'll make Solomon in all 
his glory look like a basque in an Empire season. 
No, it won't cost tons of money — it will cost — it will 
cost forty dolbrs; I'll put that limit on Jacquin." 
Lesley, in her simplicity, had never heard of Jacquin 
either, and so accepted this preposterous statement. 
She subsided feebly, with a treacherous intention of 
leaving for Chicago at the last moment The ball 
was not to be until September, when Mrs. Callen- 
der's new house would be finished. 

"I don't see," she protested weakly, "how youll be 
alone ... if I don't go . . ." 



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338 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

'You know what Carljrle said of London: Time 
nulfions, mostly fools.' What coaM be worse tfian 
to be alone with two hundred of them? . . . Lesley, 
why don't you have a real holiday before Chicago^ 
and come to Bar Harbor with us?" 

"No," said L^ley, with unpremeditatad and un- 
alterable decision, "I can't — I just can'L" And she 
ttajred by that for the rest of the evening, though 
it was the first time she had refused any request of 
Eileen's. Yet she never mentioned the one real lea- 
fOD, that of a sadden her will had triumphed, after 
a tUiigg:le five years' long, over her heart. Her bruised 
pride had risen when Eileen told her Chan would 
not come back that summer. All in a moment, she 
never wanted to see him again. Some inchoate fed- 
ing, stirred gradually at first by his negligent and 
diminishing letters, crystallised into hard resolve. She 
had said she would be free. She uitu free. 



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CHAPTER XXX 

THERE was storm in the sky. The air was 
thick, and carried little swirls of dust about 
the street When the sun disappeared behind 
a cloud the wind blew cold, though it was but the 
first week in September. Lesley struggled with an 
enveloping oppression, which had thickened about her 
ever since those terrible August days when the world 
went mad. It is not difficult to recall, despite that 
man's memory is so brief, how sensitive hearts were 
stunned by that stupendous clash of arms; what an 
abyss of blackness and terror opened to the imap- 
native spirit; how the moral vision was darkened by 
the fume of hatred and frenzied lies which ascended 
to heaven like the smoke of the pit. Lesley wan- 
dered in it as through a nightmare, for days, before 
she was able to think again of her own affairs, ab- 
sorbing as they had been just previously. 

The thought that her personal plans might be de- 
ranged by the general catastrophe occurred to her at 
last, and stung her into a more endurable and human 
irritation. It was simply the last straw. From feel- 
ing the weight of the whole world's woe, she came 
down to consideration of her own difficulties. There- 
with she telegraphed to Cresswell, to ask if his offer 
still held. 

She was never more astonished in her life than 
when he replied that it did. 

The telegram had just arrived ; so had a te1e|4tone 

message from Eileen Whittcmore, asking her to come 

over early for tea. Eileen gave some reason — aomt- 

3» 



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340 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

thing about a new dress. Anyway, it was always a 
relief to go to the Whittemores. Ross eased her ach- 
ing mind by talking intelligently of conditions abroad, 
instead of repeating phrases parroted from the daily 
press. She was glad the Whittemores had not gone 
away. They had put off leaving for the East until 
it was dear their European journey must be defi- 
nitely cancelled. Then they had gone to Edmonton 
instead, where it appeared Ross had discovered some- 
diing to do, organising for the Red Cross, or equip- 
ment for the Rough Riders, or something. 

With a hopeless sigh, and a queer shake of her 
shoulders, like a bird that ruffles its plumage, she put 
the telegram absently into a hairpin dish and prepared 
for the street Eileen had asked her to hurry. She 
hurried, like a leaf blown ahead of the early equinoc- 
tial storm. 

It almost caught her. The screen door of the cot- 
tage banged viciously behind her, and the rain be- 
gan spattering softly on the walk. She heard Eileen's 
voice before she could see into the interior of the 
drawing-room, which was shrouded in a peculiar arti- 
ficial darkness due to the storm. 

"Here she is," Eileen called. "Now Chan can stop 
fussing about you getting wet " 

"Chan I" The name struck her oddly. For the first 
time since she had known him, he had not been in her 
mind for days. "Why, he isn't — here " 

"Oh, yes, he is I" Chan answered for himself, tow- 
erii^ up all in a moment over Eileen's shoulder, 
as Lesley's eyes accustomed themselves to the soft 
gloom. 

He looked . . . taller ... no, older, more mature, 
graver— no, not that at all — how extraordinary I He 
looked lilte a stranger, a mere acquamtance rather. 
. . . Her heart fluttered and steadied. . . . She bad 



ovGoogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 341 

done H; she had got free at last . . . She held out 
her hand to him, with a laugh of sheer relief, as one 
does laugh after a shock that does not hurt. The 
dreaded event had happened ; he had come back . . . 
and it did not matter in the least 

"How do you do — and why didn't you let us know 
you were coming?" 

"Mostly because I didn't know," he said. "Besides, 
you had stopped writing, and I was on my digni^." 

"But why so sudden?" she asked, sinking into a 
diair, without even attempting to defend herself from 
his char:ge. 

"Oh, I don't know," he looked involuntarily at 
Ross. "I may find out after I've been here a while. 
Why didn't you write ?" 

"I'm sorry," she said vaguely. "Look at the 

storm " A peal of thunder seemed to shake the 

house. "There, I feel better ; don't you, Eileen ? Al- 
most anything is a relief— can you think of anything 
but the war?" she turned to Chan again. 

"Not very much," he confessed, knitting his brows. 
He looked much older then. 

"One can't," said Ross. "I have a kind of wak- 
ing vision of it; I can see a colossal pyramid that 
men have been building for years out of fear and 
vanity and greed and gullibility. And on the apex 
stands one man, chosen of himself as most fitly rep- 
resentative to crown it A little man, an ipAated 
pygmy — plucking at the stars and calling on God to 
be his servant Then God hears him — and overturns 
the pyramid, leaving the little man to carry it on 
his shouders if he can. Then I feel the earth shake 
with the ruin of its fall." His low, toneless voice in 
tiie dusk sounded uncanny. It evoked the vision to 
them all. He had promised to be a speaker of the 
6rst rank before he left public life, and the impress 



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343 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

of bis brief trainii^ was visible wbeoever be qioke 
more than a casual seatence. 

"Yes, that's it," said Lesley, after a sDence. 1 
couldn't express it. I thought of an earthquake, or 
a tidal wave — ^but that wasn't clear. . . . Oh, I msh 
I could think of something elsel My nerves are ia 
rags." She spoke with a sharp, strained note of ap- 
peal, and then, disregarding her own wish: "You're 
furnishing a Red Cross unit, aren't you ?" 

"Yes," said Ross. "I really haven't anything to 
give but money. Too old to volunteer." 

"Would you volunteer?" asked Eileen. 

He hesitated. . . . "Mi^t be a way out," ran his 
thot^hts. "Probably," he said, aloud, nuslildt^ the 
too common habit of those exempt, of wanting credit 
for good intentions. ■ 

"Well . . . anyway, you can't," said Eileen, in an 
unreadable voice. He wished he could see her face 
clearly. 

"Jack Addison's been accepted," said Lesley, in an 
unconsciously melancholy voice. 

"Cheer up, dear, I'm sure hell come back," sdd 
Eileen, with patent meaning. 

"Oh, shut up!" said Lesley disgustedly. With pain- 
ful surprise, Chan saw that she was embarrassed 
and startled into the rudeness. "I was just countmg 
how many from here," she explained. "He's the only 
one I know." 

"Jim Kane is going; you know him, dont you?" 

"No. He's Mrs. Callender's brother, isn't he?" 

"Yes. And by the way, you unnatural female, why 
haven't you asked to see your dress? It came this 
morning." 

"My dress ?" 

"For Mrs. Callender'a ball, Don't tell me you for- 
got I" 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 343 

"Is some (Nie giving a ball 7" asked Chan. 

"Cynthia Callander is, next Tuesday. She planned 
it for a housewarming; it's to be a farewell instead; 
she says she wants Jim to have a cheerful send-off. 
I must tell her you're here. She's followii^ a classic 
example, isn't she?" 

"Well, why not?" asked Ross. 

"I don't want to go to the ball," said Lesley in- 
consequently. She had forgotten it, in truth. 

'T>arling, please don't bother me," said Eileen pa- 
tiently. "We're all going out in a blaze of glory, if 
the end of the world does crane. Come and look 
at your dress." The two women vanished, and throt^ 
the transom Ross and Chan heard an exclamation of 
surprise and del^t. 

"Lot of good fellows going," said Chan, with seera- 
ii^ irrelevance. "Rotten business, isn't it ? But we've 
got to go through with it." 

"Yes," said Ross. "Must go through with it. Talk- 
ii^ is grotesque, now." 

"What was the use of Boding a New World, if 
we can't cut loose from all that sickening business 
of kings and intrigue and old, stupid hates?" said 
Chan. "Dragging it after us like a ball and chain — 
I wish I could think straight for an hour. I thought 
I'd like to see you. . . .'* 

"I don't think I can help you," said Ross. "But 
I'm glad you came." They fell into another silence. 
"I wonder," said Ross measuredly, "if this is one of 
Time's revenges for the South African War, Yes, 
the bill is coming in. I fancy God has a sense of 
humour, don't you ?" 

"Or the devil," said Chan. "... So Jim Kane and 

Addison are going ! Did Eileen say that Lesley 

I thot^ht Jack had a wife." 

"He had, but he hasn't Divorced," explained Ross 



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344 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

briefly, but with a contemplative scrutiny which Chan 
missed. He recalled something else Eileen had said, 
long before. "I believe," he added, "that Addison 
has been . . . But, in fact, I don't know; and Les- 
ley is very capable of attending to her own affairs. 
She must have had plenty of men in love with her, 
anyway. Very good-looking girl, if you take time 
to notice it ; not showy, that's all." Chan was scowl- 
ing thoughtfully. He got up and k)oked for a match, 
with a needless appearance of perplexity, for the 
matches were in plain sight over the mantel. 

"Addison's such a chaser," he said irritably. 

"He puts his cards cmi the table," said Ross, with 
the suspicion of a smile. "By the way, would you 
like us to ask the Martins for dinner to-morrow ?" 

"The Martins — ^why, I suppose Eileen knows who 
she wants What in blazes are you driving at?" 

Unfortunately, he got no answer, for Eileen and 
Lesley came back; lights and tea were ordered, and 
they all fell into a long discussion of the Red Cross 
work. That feeling of things unspoken and yet half 
understood vanished with the dusk. Nevertheless, 
the afternoon left Chan with an added feeling of dis- 
satisfaction. He was already struggling with a grave 
problem, and he realised with surprise that he had 
meant to put it before Lesley and talk it over with 
her. And she was — changed. Her silence of the past 
few months became pointed by her manner. 

Experience had taught him that there was one 
thing that could always be counted on to crowd out old 
interests. A love affair never failed. He did not 
know just where he had learned that. . . . 

Jack Addison had been attracted to her once. It 
had seemed to him negligible at the time. Well, what 
of it? He didn't know; he just felt dog-in-the- 
mangerish generally. Lesley was talking to Ross 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 34S 

while Chan bit his dgarette-holder and thought aboat 
these things. She did not look at him as she bad 
used; that br^t understanding ^ance which bad 
been wont to answer better than words. . . . Ross 
absorbed her completely. 

"I am afraid I cannot reassure you ; Chicago is to 
me most like the antechamber of hell," Ross was say* 
ing. "But you are too young to care." 

"I hope it will be the antechamber of New York 
for me," Lesley smiled. So did Ross. 

"That's what I said," he agreed. "It's " 

"Are you going to Chia^o?" Chan cut in, regard- 
less of interruptit^ Ross. Lesley turned a startled, 
defensive glance on him. 

"Yes," she said. "I've had a place offered me on 
a newspaper there. Going about the fifteenth." 

Overhearing any conversation is a mistake. There 
is inherent in it a sense of injury to the eavesdrop- 
per, however innocently he may become one. It is 
not that listeners never hear good of themselves; it 
is merely that to overhear a piece of news commU' 
nicated to another touches our self-love by showing 
us to ourselves as left out, not the first to be consid- 
ered and enlightened. Chan did not know exactly 
why he had that sense of sustaining a blow — his mind 
only prodded him with: "And she never even told 
me I" He was about to say so, when he caught Eileen's 
bhie eyes bent on him with gentle malice. 

"Till the war is over, at least," said Eileen. 

"Eileen I" said Lesley, exasperated, and rose and 
marched off in search of her hat She had been about 
to go in any event, but the action seemed to Chan 
unmistakable in its significance. And — she did not 
want him to walk home with her. The storm had 
cleared, and Ross and Eileen wanted him for dinner; 
that was a good excuse. 



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346 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

He simply could not mistake it ; she was avoidii^ 
him purposely. That was the Icmgest time he was 
to see her until the night of the dance She had a 
subconscious fear of disturbing that priceless sense 
of freedom. Everything was settled ; ^e was calmly 
eager for her new start, despite the all-pervading de- 
pression ; and she would risk nothing. 

Psychologists, who claim to know us better than 
we know ourselves, tell us that the half of fear is 
desire. . . . 

She did think of him, with some secret sense of 
expectancy, while she dressed, at the cottage, in the 
new gown ; why not ? He might arrive any minute ; 
he and Ross had been ordered to dine at the club 
once more, leaving the field clear for the battle of Uie 
chiffons. 

"I hope you enjoy it," said Eileen, sitting on the 
bed to direct like a general the coifBng of Lesley's 
hair. "Poor Mrs. Callender has cried her eyes out 
and worked like a Trojan alternately ; and she's done 
wonders. Simply tons of fbwers for decorations; I 
was up this afternoon — and the sitting-out places are 
positively strokes of genius. But it will be a jam; 
absolutely everybody will be there. I suppose Jack 
Addison is coming 7" 

l-esley fell into the trap, '^es," she said absently, 
and then looked the more vexed and guilty that she 
was really quite innocent She had heard from Ad- 
dison, but only about winding up their financial trans- 
actions. He had telephoned to say he needed to see 
her, only that morning ; and when she said she would 
not be in for the evening, he told her he also would 
be going to the ball. "Save me a dance," he had said, 
with something of his old manner. And that was all; 
there was no need for Eileen to keep harping oa 
Ilis name. Which she explained to Eileen, quite f niit> 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 347 

lessly. Eileen only toM tocie to hurry, for they ' 
must go early so Eileen could help receive. 

If Lesley was more than a little pleased when Lude 
had finished and she saw herself cap-i-pie in the loi^ 
gold-framed mirror in the drawing-room, she had 
some cause. Her gown, which had taken her breath 
to see, was all of glistening silver tissue, made i la 
Josephine, held over the shoulders, Eileen said, "by 
the grace of God, a little court-plaster, and a string 
of beads." There were sleeves, which came down 
over her hands to the thumb, making her long fingers 
look surprisingly delicate. But at the top the sleeves 
ended at the edge of the bodice, so the exquisite line 
of her shoulders and flat back, which dimpled faintly 
when she moved, was unbroken. Despite the newer 
fashion, the skirt was not wide, but when she walked 
it parted over an nndeidress of blade chiffon, a 
startling combination, carried out in the strands of 
jet that upheld the bodice. The brilliant-set tortoise- 
shell combs in her hair carried the glitter to a climax 
above her low, smooth brow. The black and white set 
off her face like a cameo and brought out the Japa- 
nesey deamess of her eyes and brows. It was bizarre 
— perhaps; it was beautiful undoubtedly. 

She leaned to the mirror with arms outstretched, 
touching the gilt frame on either side, her pink upper 
lip lifted in a smile of the most disarming childish 
delight. "Oh, Eileen," she said wistfully, "I do look 
nice, don't I ?" And she read her answer in another 
face in the mirror that was not Eileen's nor hers. 
Eileen had gone back to finish her own toilette. 

"You look — you look wonderfull" said Chan, tak- 
ing a deep breath. Manlike, he had never dreamed 
of the transformation clothes might make in a woman. 
He felt tike a fool; he had never appreciated her, 
never. . . . Odd, that in that very moment he re- 



ovCiooglc 



348 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

membered, for the first tune in months, years maybe, 
that he had kissed her once. . . . And he had very 
candid, even telltale, eyes. 

Now, verily, he was a stranger ; for Chan had never 
looked at her like that 

"T-thank you," she stammered. "I — I must get my 

coat " She disappeared in confusion, and when 

she came out again Eileen was with her. 

It is 3 frightful injustice, to say the least, that 
modem male evening dress is only becoming to one 
who has almost every advantage of appearance with- 
out it And yet there is a distinct artistic value 
in the massed blacks and whites it displays, if the 
line is good ; and there Chan's thin flanks and broad 
shoulders served him weU. His was a different kind 
of good looks from Ross's, who had a hint of a less 
brusque, more courtly age in his bearing and his im- 
pressive, ascetic features — you could imagine him sav- 
ing a lace cuff from contact with a gold snuff-box. 
Certainly Ross was handsome, and Chan hardly so— 
but is that not superfluous when a man is under thirty- 
five, successful, and six feet tall? 



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CHAPTER XXXI 

THE Duchess of Richmond once gave a ball, at 
Brussels. So did Mrs. Callender, a hundred 
years later and six thousand miles away. Let 
the censorious carp at either; surely it is a good deed 
to add to the gaiety of nations when that commodi^ is 
at its lowest. 

Lights and laughter, flowers and flirting, the quick- 
ening beat of frothy, foolish, catchy music, the subtly 
stupefying and yetexciting odours of perfumes shaken 
out of floating gowns and powder blown off bare 
shoulders; and faces, faces, faces, all smiling, all re- 
peating the same expressions of stereotyped delight — 
"How lovely . . . charming . . . exquisite . . . what 
wonderful flowers . . . how nice you look, dear Mrs. 
Callender . . . what a sweet gown ... so glad to be 
here . . ."and more smiles, more faces, until the giver 
of the feast becomes a mere automaton in the midst 
of a merry-go-round, knowing her right hand from 
her left oaly because it aches from too many greet- 
ings. So does a hostess enjoy herself. 

Eileen, standing resolutely beside her, less dazzling 
but more delicately beautiful than usual in a full short 
frock of unrelieved black chiffon, leaned wearily 
against the smilax-dniped stair rail by which they 
stood to receive, and smiled in sympathetic misery. 
"There can't be many more," she murmured, under 
cover of the orchestra. "What time is it? Only 
eleven! Mrs. Callender, your dance will be talked 
about for years." 

349 



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350 THE SHAI3DW RIDERS 

"Do you really think it's gmng off well?" Mrs. 
^llender heaved a deep si^ and shifted her wei^t 
from one pink-satin foot to the other. "No, I'm sore 
there won't be many more, Mrs. Whittemore ; and 
I wish you would go and rest, and have a glass of 
champagne." 

"My dear" — Mrs. Callender revived under the en- 
dearment — "I am rooted to the spot ; I kicked off my 
slippers an hour ago, and I can't get into them again. 
I advise you to do the same, and then we'll sit down 
on the floor. I'll stay as long as you do." 

"How clever of you 1 But do go and have a sand- 
wich — Mrs. Conway, I am trying to coax your dai^- 
ter to rest." Mrs. Conway, ample and stately in 
grey satin and cut steel beads, hurried up at the 
moment She looked singularly distressed and 
agitated. 

"Do come, Eileen," she urged, though still timidly. 

"I — I want you to — Miss Johns wants you " Her 

eyes, which would not meet Eileen's, fell on Lesley at 
the moment, dancing with Tod Dixon, her silvery 
skirt flashing and falling with the movement of her 
feet, her shapely dark head plain above the other 
women. She was smiling; she had let go of care — 
in flne, she was flirting furiously. 

"Lesl^ wants me?" Even over the music, Lesley 
must have heard ; she drew Tod off the floor and came 
to Eileen. 

"Are you enjojfing yourself?" asked Eileen. "Yes, 
mother— what is it " 

"Oh, gorgeously," Lesley's flute notes rang out 
"It is too wonderful. . . . Oh, how do you do f" She 
gave a very formal bow to Jack Addison, for Eileen's 
benefit, and he asked her for a dance. They were 
all talking at once; and Mrs. Conway plucked at 
Eileen's filmy sleeve. 



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THE SHADOW RTOERS 351 

"Do come, dear," she repeated in a whisper. "It's 
something — I can't tell you here " Eileen, per- 
plexed, crushed her slippers on somehow and fol- 
lowed her mother. They skirted the dancers, Eileen 
answering a greeting at every step. "But what is 
it, mother?" she repeated for a third time, and turned 
to look back at Lesley. Mrs. Gjnway, with a smoth- 
ered, choking sound, caught at her arm to draw her 
out of range, but Eileen saw. 

It was nothing — nothing she had not expected for 
years. Only Harry Garth, with a girl on his arm — 
his wife, of course— entering ; the familiar smile on 
his face, his sleek, fair hair immaculate; everything 
about him tame, correct, commonplace. Eileen stood 
gazing, with a pucker between her brows, her pupils 
expanding, her mouth curling faintly at the comers, 
until her mother touched her again, and then she 
shivered and turned away, "Yes, I see," she said. 
Her mother drew her into the nearest door, into the 
pantry it happened — ^thcy were dancing in the draw- 
ing-room and the dining-nx>m, which had been left 
in one for the purpose. The pantry was empty. Mrs. 
Conway held her daughter's hand convulsively and 
her face worked; two tears gathered slowly in her 
dim eyes. 

"Yes," said Eileen. "Oh, mother, don't, don't cryt 
Dear mother, thank you ; it was kind of you ; but you 
see it doesn't matter. . . . Mother . . ." She put 
her arm about Mrs. Conway's plump, bare shoulders, 
and the grey head went down on her breast; her 
yont^, smooth breast 'Thank you, mother," she 
repeated. 

"I just heard they were coming," Mrs. Conway 
moaned, as if exculpating herself. "Mrs. Callender 
didn't know, of course — she hasn't been here long. I 
didn't want you to a ' ' 



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3Sa THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"But I should probably have seen him some other 
time," said Eileen. "Mother, it doesn't matter at all : 
can't you see? It's all so long ago — and it does not 
hurt me now " 

"It's cruel," sobbed Mrs. Conway ; "it's cruel — my 
little girl — after you suffered so. . . . Eily, you thiiJc 
I wasn't kind to you ; you've never forgiven me — but 

we didn't know what to do — I — your father If 

we could just have killed him " Her gentle 

mother I 

"Father?" asked Eileen grotesquely. 

"No — ^no — that — that beast — oh, oh I" Her shoul- 
ders heaved. 

"Mother," said Eileen with gentle finnness, "you 
must stop — for my sake," Mrs. Conway drew herself 
up pathetically. "We mustn't have people talking," 
Hleen continued soothingly. 

"I know — but it made me sick to see him — I kate 
him so," 

"I'm sorry, mammy, but for my sake " Sud- 
denly Eileen's red mouth trembled, and Mrs. Conway 
saw the jewel-bright eyes fill with tears. "Oh, mother, 
can't we forget?" said Eileen. "I — I am sorry, too." 

"Dear heart," said Mrs. Conway, leaving her own 
eyes overflowing to sop Eileen's with her soaking 
handkerchief, "dear childie, don't you feel bad. 

S-sh, some one might come — there — there " Now 

her sore heart was eased; she was a mother again, 
come into her own; she could comfort her child. 

"You see, mammy," said Eileen, "this isn't any place 
to cry, is it?" A strain from the newest waltz floated 
to them in sweet mockery. "Shall we go back? You 
understand, I have got to, just as if it were noth- 
ing, . . . Help me, mother, won't you?" Mrs. Ccm- 
way's tears ceased ; a sad dignity informed her heavy, 
age-weighted figure and round, wrinkled face, whence 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 353 

the powder had been washed away in streaks. "Come 
this way," Eileen continued : "we can get to Mrs. Cal- 
lender's bedroom up the back way, and get some pow- 
der. I must go back soon, if only for Lesley . . ." 
She drew her mother hastily through the kitchen, 
where a couple of sleepy maids had barely time to 
stare 

She need not have troubled about Lesley; indeed, 
she passed very close to that young lady on the upper 
landing, without knowing it. 

Neither did Lesley. She was occupied in settling 
herself inconspicuously behind a great bank of palms, 
carefully arranging her gown so that she might not 
have to speak first to Jack Addison. Since he had 
requested the tete-i-tete, he might fairly begin it. But 
she had to look up at last, and meet his smile and 
that abrupt, unrevealing glance she had come to 
know. 

"Well ?" she said. "I thought — you wanted to talk 
tome?" 

"I wonder what you did think?" he returned. 
"Never mind; you certainly won't tell me. Do you 
know I'm going away with my regiment, Lesley?" 

"Yes," she said, "I hope " She stopped, and 

b^an again, confused by some inexplicable shade of - 
melancholy that brushed her like a cool wind. "I'm 
sorry," she said instead. 

"Are you really?" he asked slowly. "I used to think 

you were a hard-hearted creature — but How 

could you understand ?" 

"You didn't give me much chance," she said re- 
sentfully, for she felt her gaiety departing, and it 
left some sort of an ache. "I— I always wanted to 
be friendly — it was you that wouldn't " 

He locJced at her, with a kind of doglike appeal, 
mixed with humour, in his brown eyes. "I'm afraid," 



ovCiooglc 



354 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

be said, "that it isn't in ine to be just — friendly widi 
a pret^ woman. So, on the whole, I guess it was 
better for me to stay away." 

"OhJ" she said. "Did you — try to stay away?" 

"I certainly did. I bcUeved you meant what yott 
said. If I'd thoo^t I had any chance, I wouldn't 
have given up — bat you don't suppose I enjoy want- 
ing what I can't get? I always try to make the best 
of things," he smUed. "And I've nearly cured myself, 
you see." 

"Yes," she orarmured, "I see. . . . Tell me some- 
thing." 

"Go ahead; but be warned. Ill probably tell the 
trath." 

"CouW I do it again?" she ventured. "Get you 
backr 

"By God, I believe you could, but I'm not going 

to let you — unless " He did not miss her slight 

involuntary movement of withdrawal. "You seel" 

But she had an object, and pursued it. "Why did 
you want — me, just me — so much ?" She was asking, 
like many another woman, for the secret of attrac- 
tion, which Nature alone holds and will not yield. 

"How can I tell?" he said. "For every man there 
are certain women — one if the first one takes and 
holds him — that go to his head, make him drunk with 
wanting 'em, send his senses spinning. You got me 
like that. Oh, I like women ; I've loved lots of women, 
in a way; but nobody'd got me that way since I was 
nineteen and in love for the first time. She was 
ten years older — and married — she thought it was 
funny. I don't know why with her, either ; she wasn't 
so devilish pretty, not as pretty as you; and there 
are prettier women than you — though you're stunnii^ 
to-night But I'd have got down and let you walk on 
me, Idssed your feet Come away, my dear, this 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 355 

isn't good for me. I've got the next dance vnAi Mrs. 
Healy. . . ." 

"Very well ; I didn't mean to bother you," said Les- 
ley, rising. It was a very small comer behind the 
pafans; her shoulder brushed his, and the flame she 
used to know came into his eyes. 

"Lesley," he said, in a level whisper, as a gambler 
might name his stalce, "will you kiss me? It isn't 
much, after everything — I'd like it to remember when 

I'm too old for love, — or if I never come back " 

Lai^hter flickered just beneath his voic& She did 
not consider, nor pause; he had spoken at the one 
right moment Now there was no one else, no shad- 
owy third. 

She put her arms about his neck, a shimmering dr- 
clet in their silver sleeves, and he bent to her like 
one who quenches a long thirst. All her blood drew 
from her heart to his wann, asking mouth, like a 
spring tide; her senses mutinied and left her dizzy 
and faint, and she withdrew from his arms by sheer 
strength of will. Even so his eyes still possessed 
her ; triumph looked out of them, though he was very 
white. 

"So — I could have I" he said shortly, after a pause. 

She understood, and made a gesture of refusal; and 
as he had made no move to touch her, he laughed. 
"No," she said. "No. That wasn't me — it was — any 
woman. There's — something more. That you couldn't 
have got" 

"It was good enough," he said. He had summed up 
his own philosophy; and certainly he had not often 
been unhappy with it "Don't you think, after all, 
you've missed a lot?" 

"Nobody can tell," she said, for indeed she dared 
not face the issue then. "No — I can't do it — again I" 
She put her hands on his breast and held him off. 



ovCiooglc 



356 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

and he saw at last a real terror in her eyes. "Be- 
cause I ask youl" she cried. "I've got to go on, my 
own way I" 

"But are you sorry?" he umsted. 

"No," she said generously, meeting his eyes. He 
did not know why, but that conquered him. 

"Well — then we'd better— go back." He stooped 
for her handkerchief; and when he lifted his face 
i^in some change had come to it; he was as she 
had always known him. His passion had its lyric 
heights, too. 

Now he was no more troubling to her than he had 
always been. She went past him, and was surprised 
when he stopped her once more. 

"Wait a minute," he said. "You made me for- 
get — that's a bad habit of yours, isn't it? Here is 
what I had to see you about." From the pocket 
of his white waistcoat he produced a bit of paper. 
She saw that it was another cheque. "This is your 
balance," he said. "Now we're qttits — aren't we? 
Here's the account, too." 

Without reading the last she thrust them down into 
her bodice, after a dazzled glance at the amount on 
the cheque. It had his own name on it, but she never 
noticed that, nor knew that he had really taken the 
account over himself, desiring to set his house in 
order before he left. His word satisfied her. 

"Oh, yes I" she said. "I want to thank you for — 
all that You couldn't ever know how much it means 
to me. But I must go back — no, wait a minute." 
Stepping out of their nook, she saw Cissie Martin's 
goldy head and white chiffons fluttering down the 
stairs ; and across the room, Chan looking about. He 
joined Cissie. Lesley walked around the gallery, keep- 
ing out of sight, and they came down to the strains 
of a dance just beginning, in the general confusion 



ovCioogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 357 

of searching for mislaid partners. Tod Dixon had the 
next dance with her, his third. But she refused to 
flirt with him any more, and looked obstinately over 
bis shoulder at nothing in particular. 

It was Lesley Chan was looking for. He had 
got his dance card mixed, and thought he had the 
next with her. With masculine brutality and single- 
ness of purpose he did not see the demure Cissie 
until she was under his very nose. She was petite, 
and enhanced it with a fascinating pout, which unfor- 
ttmately Chan knew by heart. Earlier in the even- 
ing she had pouted at the War, since when he had 
fled from her. She made him think of the women 
who helped make the French Revolution merely by 
&t things they did not tmderstand. 

"What have you lost?" she enquired. 

"My partner;" he paused politely, his glance stil! 
roving. "Have you seen Miss Johns ?" 

"Yes," with a little tinkling laugh, "but I won't tell 
you where. It would be mean to disturb her." 

'T)on't say she's asleep," said Chan at random. 

"Asleep I" She choked a giggle into her handker- 
chief. "Oh, dear, how funny t Cross your heart, and 

I will tell yoti " Chan was attending now. "She's 

tip in the gallery saying good-bye to Jack Addison. 
Do you suppose," Cissie stood on tiptoe confidentially, 
"do you suppose they're engf^ed? Wouldn't it be 
mnantic? Jim Kane wanted me to be engaged to 
him so he'd have some one to think of in the trenches, 
he said ; but I tUdn't care enough for him, and then 
Esther Purrii^oti told me he asked her just the same 
thii^. So I wouldn't dance with him at all to- 
ni|^t " 

"Engaged? Why do you think they are ei^aged?" 
He was pumping the little featherbrain ; he knew it, 
and be did not care. 



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3S8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

*Wel), be gave her somethuig, I didn't ice what— 



-And r 

Gsaie blushed with excellent effect. "Ob, I tfiink 
you mi^t guess," she said. "You just ask her; there 
she goes now, on the flcwr with Tod Dixon. . . ." 
Mercifully, some one claimed Cissie for the dance. 
Chan, suddenly out of sorts with the music and br^ht- 
nesa and all the mere froth that the many Cissie Mar- 
tins in his life had typified, tried to escape and have 
a smoke. Confound it, he had not come all the way 
from the Atlantic coast to go to a dance. He had 
come to think something out Why he could not have 
thought it out any nearer the same Atlantic was not 
very clear. He had nearly got away when Eileen 
jerked htm back with a bedc of her fan. 

He could not but observe the utter fatigue in her 
purple shadowed eyes, the nervous movements of her 
slim, pale hands. She was answering mechanically 
Mrs. Callender's urgings of a sandwich or a glass 
of punch. "Oh, thanks, but I couldn't ; my head aches 
quite stupidly. Chan, have you seen Ross or Lesley?" 

"Lesley is dancing," said Chan. "Aren't you go- 
ing to?" 

"I haven't, but you might ask me." Chan put his 
arm about her slim waist and swept her on to the 
floor. "I wanted an excuse to get away," she whis- 
pered. "I UTce Mrs. Callcnder, in homceopathic doses; 
and if I had danced with any one but you, I'd have 
had to dance with every one. Half an hour of her, and 
I want to scream. Now we're out of sight, let's sit 
down. Do you think Lesley is having a good time?" 

"A very good time," Chan assured her grimly. 
Eileen leaned back suddenly and closed her eyes, to 
shut out the sight of Harry Garth. She felt very ill, 
and as if something inside her were crumbling to 



ovCiooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 359 

ashes. For the first time since the dreadful night 
when Lesley's sympathy had released her tears, an- 
other had got behind her defences. Her mother's un- 
spoken apology had penetrated deep. , . . She had 
read sonKwhere of mummies brought to the light 
after ages of interment, which seemed fresh and per- 
fect to a momentary first view, and fell to dust at 
a touch. Yes, that was what she felt like. . . . And 
she was a coward, too. She had put Ross between 
herself and what she had done. It was not that she 
had wronged him; she had wronged herself, owned 
herself worthless and broken, else why had she traded 
on a lie ? False pride ; false coin. . . . Had there been 
nothing left of her very self that she must creep into 
marriage like a wreck into harbour? Yes, she had 
lied tacitly from fear, not because she was her own ; 
if it had even been to save Ross's feelings, she could 
now have forgiven herself. 

Chan worried a loose button of his glove until it 
came off, and then spoke, apparently to the button. 

"Is Lesley engaged to Jadt Addison ?" he asked. 

The intrusion of his voice hurt Eileen, in her secret 
and self-centred misery. "Why do you ask that?" she 
enquired sharply. 

"Because — oh, I just heard some gossip," he an- 
swered lamely. The word was unlucky. With a mad 
impatience tearing at her heart, an impatience of con- 
cealments and evasions and stupidities, Eileen sat up- 
right and spoke very dearly, "I don't think they 
are engaged, but I am sure he is in love with her. 
If he hadn't been, he would never have given her your 
letters, and if she had, she wouldn't have asked him 
for them. Why don't you ask her?" 

"Given her my tetters? What letters?" 

"The letters you wrote from Banff, about the street- 
car franchise, when you meant to bribe Alderman 



ovGooglc 



36o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

Curtin. The Recorder got them, and was aboat to 
publish them just before you were elected. Lesley 
made Jack get them back for her, and she gave them 
to Ross. She elected you, really. I don't know why 
she did that, either; but you see the gossips don't 
know everything. So I don't think you need listen 
to them any more." Her onslaught was so savage and 
so totally unlocked for, Chan was stunned for a mo- 
ment before he felt the sting of it. 

"That wasn't very sporting, Eileen," was all he said, 
in a carefully subdued voice, but with a cold anger 
in his green^^y eyes. "Still, I'm obliged to you. 
Will you excuse me?" He rose. 

"Chan I" He hesitated. "Chan, wait a moment 
You are quite right — " the flare went ss it came and 
she was numb enough to see clearly once more — ^"but 
forget the way I said it. I broke my word to teH 
you. Wouldn't you rather know ?" 

"Oh — I understand," he said slowty. "Yes, I 
would." 

"Are you going to say you had it from me? I'm — 
fond of Lesley, and she might not forgive me." 

"Of course I won't." She held out her hand to him 
on the impulse of reconciliation, and he found it 
deadly cold. But his brain was too busy on his own 
affairs to note the danger signals flown by her ex- 
hausted nerves and temper. She was fit for any- 
thing, and knew it; and she wondered if she would 
get through the evening without disaster. Perhaps it 
was disaster enough to have so flagrantly and need' 
lessly broken her word to Lesley. 

"Can't you find Rosa for mc?" she be^ed. As 
usual, when he was not in sight she wanted him. 
Chan went off obediently, still astounded and with 
a slower anger, like his second wind of n^ be- 
ginning. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 361 

Eileen closed her eyes again. She sat in a retired 
nook under the stairs, out of view of the main floor; 
one saw only her slim black-satin feet and the bouffant 
edge of her skirt beyond a Japanese screen which hid 
a hi^ window. She felt, rather than heard, an in- 
tmder, and lifted her lashes haughtily. 

"Eileen," said Harry Garth hastily, and he could 
not meet her steady, icy stare, never dreaming that it 
was only a cloak for frantic fear, "can I speak to you a 
nunute?" Her silence disconcerted him; he stam- 
mered, and blurted out: "I know you hate me, and 

I was a I treated you badly; but I was in a 

tight comer We were too young to have any 

sense then; but now we're older, and both married, 
and if we've got to meet each other sometimes, why 
should we start people gossiping? I'm glad you've 
done so well " 

The fear vanished; she could have tai^hed in his 
face. "Don't call me Eileen again," she said. "What 
do you want ?" 

"Just to let bygones be bygones," he repeated, with 
a touch of that ineffectual sulkincss — ineffectual when 
he was himself the suppliant — which she remembered. 
"If you should meet my wife " 

"I am not likely to meet your wife," said Eileen, 
with a composure that surprised herself. "And I do 
not see any reason for this conversation." 

"But you might meet her," he persisted amazingly. 
"Or if you don't, she'll wonder. . . . She did wonder 
why you didn't go to Mrs. Johnson's tea that was {^ven 
for her. ..." A white lig^t flooded Eileen's brain. 
iMuch as she had hated him once, before he became 
too negligible for her hatred, she had not thoi^t 
him so infinitely contemptible as this. He wanted her 
to meet his wife; his wife unsuspiciously desired it 
tiao. The same simple, greedy snobbery that had 



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3ta THE SHADOW KICERS 

made ittm b(dd lo his o^agctiient to die diuiglilcf 
of « wealth; father in qrite of honour, sent him 
creepto; bade lolicitiiig the favoor of the girl he 
had thrown aside, now she was impwtant enoc^b. . . . 

"Go away," said Eileen, in a small, dead^ voioe, 
rising to her feet Fool — fool — fool — echoed in her 
mind, but she hardly knew if it meant herself or him. 
Oh, incredible, that she should (nxe have cared for 
— thisi 

"But " 

"I believe you wanted me, Eileen?" Ross's voice 
cot between ihan; and Eileen put out her hand in- 
stinctively, as if to a sure support 

"Oh . . . yes," she said, in a half whisper. "Yes, 
I think you m^t take me to snpper." She took his 
arm. With a grave, sl^^t inclination of his head, 
Ross stood aside for Garth to pass. Flushed with 
chagrin, biting his lip. Garth went 

"You look tired," Eileen heard Ross's kind voice, 
the inflection that she knew so well. "Do you think 
you should stay late?" 

"No." She could not talk. Her eyes wandered 
about mechanically; she felt like an automaton, or as if 
she had been dead a long time and but now realised 
it The immense stupidity of things was pressing 
down on her like a coffin lid. The crystal chandelier, 
flooding the waxed floor with light, the competii^ 
brilliance from silvery sconces on the walls, all twin- 
kHng on beads and buckles and combs and bracelets 
in women's toilettes, gleaming back again fr(»n the 
round Colonial mirrors over the mantel and door, 
struck at Eileen's eyes pitilessly, reminding her that 
this was what she had faced and accepted that night 
at the opera-~this endless glitter, those admiring^ 
envious glances, no softness, never any peace. . . . 
She had her reward. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 3i^ 

"Oh, look at that I" A burst of delighted laughter 
from some of the dancers, who stopped and crowded 
toward the stairs, made her glance upward. On the 
upper landing a two-year-old girl baby, deliciously 
shapeless in a Teddy-bear sleeping suit, and blinkii^ 
with solemn joy at the gala scene, was wrigglit^ 
down from the top step, bent on joining the festivities. 
It was young Edith Callender, escaped from the 
nursery, 

"She will fall!" said Eileen, dropping Ross's ann, 
and flying upstairs. So the little thing would have, 
but Eileen caught her in the nick of time. But she 
was not afraid, not even of the lovely stranger. "Bye- 
bye," she cooed airily, and waved her dimpled fist at 
her mother, who was swooping— if one may swoop up- 
ward — upon her also. 

"Oh, naughty, bad girl," said Mrs. Callender se- 
verely, offering to take the offender. But Eileen could 
see down the hall the quiet nursery, with only its little 
tti^t lig^t burning; it offered a moment's refuge 
from the crowd. 

"Let me carry her in," she said, Mrs. Callender, 
secretly and tenderly gratified, led the way, laughii^ 
in spite of herself, and relating a worse exploit of 
the week before, when wee Edith had come down at 
tea time, escaping from her nurse in a state of com- 
plete nudity and nonchalance, in the face of half a 
dozen guests. 

"She just loves company," said the mother apolo- 
getically. Eileen put her down, leavii^ a wisp of black 
chiffon in the baby's grasp. She bit her lip and her 
shoulders quivered before she faced the light again ; 
and turning, found Ross at her elbow. He had seen, 
though she was unaware of it All Eileen wanted was 
strength enough to get through supper, and then home; 
but it was not strange if he read her otherwise, seeing . 



ovCiooglc 



364 THE SHADOW RmERS 

her stoop again over the rebellious cherub in the white 
crib. " 'Night, sweetheart," she said, and got a wet 
kiss on her chin. Then Mrs. Callender reappeared 
with a nurse, and they all went to supper, followed by 
an unrepentant wail from Edith. 

Eileen saw Harry Garth at another table, beside 
his bride — rather an envious little bride, who looked 
at Eileen's diamonds quite wistfully — and saw also 
that Harry would not trouble her again. She wished 
nothing might ever trouble her again, not even Ross's 
kindness. So she got home somehow, immediately 
after supper, having arranged with Mrs. Dupont to 
take Lesley home. Ordinarily she would have left 
that to Chan, but it did oot seem the wisest thing now. 



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CHAPTER XXXn 

ROSS heard the muffled chuning of a French 
clock IP the drawing-room. Three o'clock. 
He shifted in hia chair and threw his dead 
cigar out of the vindow. He had lit it two hours be- 
fore, but there was not half an inch of ash to show 
on it. For over an hour he had not moved. Before 
that he could hear, by listening painfully, soft small 
noises from his wife's room, as of the dropping of a 
slipper or putting down a brush or a book. Since 
then, silence, so he mi^t have thought her asleep. But 
if she slept, why had she left her light burning? From 
his own dark window he could see it streaming across 
the lawn. 

At first he had tried to read ; he did not know what. 
But why put off any longer the settlement that must 
come? It was necessary to get to a clear understand- 
ing with himself. Something must remain for him 
to do 

He had recognised Harry Garth. Now if he could 
kill him. . . . There was no melodrama there; he 
wanted to do it, in a peculiarly matter-of-fact way. 
Not for any ancient grudge of the possessive male, 
any sense of having been cheated of his droit de 
seigneur, the husbandly prerogative which old Uw 
did not blush to name, though our more reticent and 
shame-faced age dare not require it save by indirec- 
tion. Perhaps there was a time when he too would 
have made the immemorial demand ; but the Sultan 
in him had died by violence, with his hot youth. No, 
he wanted to kill Uie other man because he could even 



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366 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

now make Eileen look as she had hioked, when she said 
good night. . . . 

Better to consider possibilities, of which there were 
at least two. He stiU stared at the patch of light on 
the lawn. 

Suddenly be turn^ as if he could see through the 
wall into the daric drawing-room. Somewhere a door 
had opened gently. Eileen's door ; she might be walk- 
ii^ in her sleep. . . . Her high-heeled Spanish mules 
shuffled whisperii^Iy across the space of polished floor 
that surrounded the Chinese rug. . . . He could al- 
most see her. Then there was a small stumbling crash 
and a low plaintive exclamation as of a sick child. 
He could not bear it 

As he turned the li^t on she winced, turning her 
head away, as if she could do no more. She was lean- 
ing on the back of a tall oak chair, ^ich had tripped 
her in the dark ; cliogii^ as if without that support 
she must have fallen. All her hair hung in a heavy 
tangle about her shotdders and over her eyes, as if 
she had fought and smothered in it; her beauty was 
in eclipse, the geranium red of her curved mouth sod- 
den and pale, her eyes swollen with weeping and her 
cheeks still wet and of a streaked whiteness. A smudge 
of dust or fleck of soot had got on her chin and been 
rubbed across heedlessly. A filmy dressing gown 
trailed out behind her nightrobe, half on, half off, and 
she had lost one of the useless, omamentol slippers. 

Without a word, Ross stripped off the black burnous 
he had on coming home substituted for his evening 
coat, and threw it around her. The night was not cold, 
but she looked so utterly forlorn, his action was in- 
stinctive. Then he picked her up — she did not resist, 
and he put her on the wide sofa. Her head fell back, 
but he could see, by her eyes following him, that she 
had not fainted. 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 367 

"There was something you wanted?" he asked 
quietly. 

"A drink — of water," she said, in the flat voice of 
one who has wept to exhaustion. "I got so thirsty 
... I fell over a chair; that was all." He brought 
water, and held it for her to drink. She felt better. The 
smarting memories that had flooded her had grown 
to a physical fever. All that the mere shell of her dis- 
dainful pride had kept back in the actual presence of 
the man she despised, had found her out in retrospect. 
The vtn^ary lees of a wine that had once intoxicated 
her was pressed to her lips. The horrible, minute 
memories. . . . Her flesh and blood was ashamed to 
its last nerve and ceU. A spiritual nausea like the 
E^ost of its prototype had racked her. Much better 
if she had worn her regrets out in patience, instead 
of locking them so long apart to grow monstrous and 
distorted in the dark. Suppressed emotion takes an 
exquisite revenge. 

"Thank you," she whispered, and pushed the g1as» 
away. He sat by her, gripping her hands. The pres- 
sure was grateful to her. 

"Can I get you something more?" 

"No." 

"You don't want to talk, do you ?" Her eyes t^ned 
wider. He could feel her exhausted brain grappling 
with the present 

"You mean — you want to say something? I don't 
mind." She felt acquiescent. Get it over with. 

"Not mitil you are ready." 

"Say it I'd rather you did." 

"You aren't happy, Eileen ?" But she only watched 
htm. "No," he went on quietly, "that was a stupid 
question. I have failed." 

"You?" she whispered. 

"Yes. I meant to make you happy. I thought I 



ovGooglc 



368 THE SHADOW RHJERS 

could give you freedom, but it hasn't been freedom. 
I've only shut you up, kept you from living. Eileen, 
do you want to be free?" 

"How could I be free?" she asked. "Do you want 
me to go away?" 

"It's what you want; I want you to have it. Per- 
haps — if you were free, you might — find some 
one " He hesitated. Her eyes closed momenta- 
rily. He released her hands, and walked across the 
room and back. "Some one you could care for . . ." 
he said. 

She straggled up to a sitting posture, put back her 
hair, and kroked at him with bUnk eyes. It had 
reached her, but he could not guess how. 

"No, no. Not some one else," she said. Another 
... oh, horrible I More memories. . . . 

"But I will go away," she added. "That's what you 
mean, isn't it?' 

"My God," he said roughly, the golden lights in 
his eyes sparkling, his thin handsome face free of its 
mask for once, drawn with pain that looked like anger, 
"will you stop botherii^ about what I want? What 

r^ht have I ? Is there nothing at all that you 

want?" 

She was silent, but he saw in her gaze that sup- 
pressed purpose, timid and unhopeful now, yet alive. 
He sat down beside her again, and put his hands over 
her eyes. His finger tips remembered much that his 
brain cells had forgotten; he had the hands of the 
bom lover. 'There is something," he said. "Tell me. 
Or take it without telling me. I know I made a mis- 
take, to offer such a life to a girl of your age. But 
we don't need to go on this way. You can be free if 
you want to; you shall be. Or if you don't want that 
— if it is only^ — >— Listen, Eileen, would you care to 
ad(^ a child? If you know of one . . . you need 



ovGooglc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 369 

not explain to me at alt . . ." She flung away from 
him. 

"Is it my fault " she cried, in a voice he scarry 
knew, "if we have no children ?" 

"What?" he said slowly, not knowing that he spoke, 
nor that he put out hb arms for her. 

"No— wait — wait " she panted, retreating, panic 

stricken. "What did jrou mean?" 

"I don't know — nothing at all. Eilyl" He was will- 
ing enough to b^ ; he preferred infinitely the part of 
the suppliant lover to that of the husband tosistii^ 
on his rights. But she was steeled against his mere 
kindness; and she reftised to credit the message of 
his finger tips or the caressing ghostly charm of his 
voice, or even the signal of her own blood in answer. 
Still she stood back, and her look was enough of a 
barrier; he did not need more from any woman. 

"Yes, you did — ^you did I Why did you say that 
about — adopting. . , . You meant something else. 
You know. , . . Don't you know? How long have 
jrou known ? Oh, I won't lie any more, and neither 
shall you. How long ?" 

"I always knew," he said. 

"Ahl" Less than ever did she understand now. 

"It was stupid of me," he added gently, "but until 
I saw you in Mrs. Callender's nursery to-n^ht, I never 
thought how you must have longed for your own childi 
Why should we not adopt it?" 

"She died," Eileen said. Still they stood staring, 
as if they would reach each other's souls. "I was 
glad, then," she added. "For her own sake. . . . She 
was so pretty, too ; only how could I want her to live, 
and be unhappy? Now will you tell me why? . . . 
If you always knew, didn't it nrake any difference 7" 

"Not to me." 

"Why not?" 



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3;o THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"ShaU I teU you?" 

"I think I have— a right to that Afterward, 111 go 
away, or — anything you like." 

"You shall do anything you like," he repeated. "Sit 
down . . . dear. Do you know that it is difficult to 
tell an old story one has never told? . . . How old 
are you, Eileen?" It was singular, but he did not 
know exactly. 'Twenty-three? I was twenty-five — 
then. That's nineteen years ago. I was in love. First 
love. She was twenty. Dark and — slim and sweet, 
like you. So much alive. . . . She was married to a 
nan twice her age, too. Alwajrs a mistake, I dare say. 
He used to be away a great deal; he was a rou^, 
hearty, outdoor man — very rich, that was why she 
married htm, but, you understand, she was quite a 
child, and dazzled ; indeed, she didn't know what mar- 
riage was at all. His money was in timber ; he used 
to be away on business — I said that, didn't I ? Well 
... I had always had everything I wanted — and, you 
know, I loved her, too. I suppose first love can't help 
beti^ selfish. 

"One night she came to me ; she was wild, b^ged 
me to take her away. - He was returning home, after 
a long trip. We had been in a fool's paradise. She 
cried terribly; she couldn't bear ever to see him again, 
she said, after everything. ... Of course I said I 
would ; I wanted to. We planned how we would go, 
the next day, and she went away laughit^. 

'"Hie next day I called on my sister Laura, just to 
say good-bye; and somehow Laura guessed. She had 
seen Rose, only an hour before, and then she had al- 
ways suspected. She pinned me down, wouldn't listen 
to any denial, and told me I was mad. Why not wait, 
let "Rose get a divorce, instead of givii^ up every- 
thmg and putting ourselves outside the pale? I don't 
know if she hoped delay would wear it out ; perhaps 



ovGoogIc 



THE SHADOW RIDERS 371 

not, she was fond of Rose, too. She said she wanted 
to be able to welcome her as a sister. And she made 
me sit down and write a sensible letter to Rose. Sen- 
sible. . . . Full of prudent plans, you know. Oh, I 
did it" Eileen saw his hands clench, and his mouth 
twist as if he tasted something bitter. "The next 
day," he went on, without any change in his voice, "I 
heard that Rose was dead. She had killed herself. I 
wanted to do the same, but Laura kept me from it; 
Laura brought me the news. But she didn't know 
everything; not the, worst I heard that whispered, 
weeks later, when I was strong enough to stand more. 
They said that Rose hadn't been quite herself . . . 
they said women weren't always responsible, you know. 
. , . She had been expecting our child — mine. That 
was why she wanted to go at once. Only she hadn't 
been able to tell me. I understood quite clearly, you 
see, when it was too late. Of course, no one else 
ever knew. . . . You're the first. Now you know." 

He bowed his face in his hands. Eileen, sitting 
stiffly upright, gripping the arms of the sofa, had not 
moved while he talked. 

"You loved her so much?" she asked in a queer dry 
voice— dry after so many tears. 

"Yes, I did. And I killed her. That was what 
it amounted to. Part of myself — most of myself, too." 

"More than you ever loved any one else?" said 
Eileen. 

"More? I suppose I had felt some fancies before I 
ever met her; I forget. I was just an ordinary young 
man. But do you think that afterward I could have 
taken a woman in my arms " 

Their eyes met ; a dark, unbecoming wave of color 
flooded Eileen's face and throat 

"Only you," he said. He was the bom lover; he 
knew when it were better not to speak. He gathered 



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373 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

her in his arms, dishevelled, spent, forlorn, and kissed 
her tangled hair, and pressed her hot eyelids down 
with kisses. 

"You loved me a little, too," she asked at length, 
with a deep, quivering s^, "when you asked me 
to marry you?" 

If he knew when not to apeak, he knew also when 
to lie. 

"Yes," he said. "I have been waiting for you to 
eare." 

"But when I did — when I did " she stammered. 

He told her what she had said in her sleep, and she 
hid her face. 

"It wasn't true," she said courageously. "1 tried 

to make mjreelf believe that, but Do you want me 

to tell you— that I used to dream of you even 

You did make it hard for me " 

Mercifully, he stopped her mouth. What had he 
expected? he asked himself. To make a nun of her? 
At her age, with her ardent spirit and warm bkx>d, 
to be held in a kind of bodiless captivity by the power 
of a few words which gratitude and a sense of honour 
made unbreakable I If honour would not yield, she 
must; he had seen her fading. That she had turned 
to him, first and last, was more than he deserved. His 
savage, gigantic joke on society might have been 
more grimly upon himself. Well if he could smile at 
it now. How inexpressibly marvellous to hold her 
in his arms, feel her wild heart beating against his, 
after those barren years. His very denial had kept 
his feelings fresh, retained in them the strangeness 
and wonder which is the portion of youth. Something 
of this he tried to tell her, whisperii^, hushing her 
with tender words. She relaxed in his arms. 

"Yes," she said, "yes. Say it again — that it doesn't 
matter. We can boUi — forget. Youll help me. Say 



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THE SHADOW RTOERS 373 

— you love me." Her bri|^t head sank against bis 
breast ; her voice broke ofi drowsily. She was asleep. 
The black robe had fallen away from one bare foot 
Carefully, bo that he might not disturb her, he covered 
it up. Poor little feet! She breathed deeply and 
evenly. Her breath was sweet ; her whole body was 
fragrant. He did not dare to kiss her, for fear of 
waUng her. He held her until morning, and she 
never stirred till she opened her eyes to the daylight 



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CHAPTER XXXIII 

NOTHING is so unreasoningly sad as the hour 
following on pleasure. Lesley, snatched from 
her last partner's arms by inexorable Fate in 
the portly person of Mrs. Dupont, plunged into this 
melancholy only with the opening of her own front 
door. In the motor with the Duponts there had still 
becD talk and laughter, like a lingering echo. Mrs. 
Dupont was brusque and jolly and cheerfully apolo- 
getic for leaving so early. It was half past three, a 
good hour before the end ; once she would have danced 
the sun up. Now she declared she must think of her 
beauty sleep; a little late, for her beauty was gone. 
But it had been a very splendid ball, and Mrs. Cal- 
lender was at last officially "in," and every one oug^t 
to be satisfied. 

Lesley agreed with Mrs. Dupont about everything; 
and there was her own house. She thanked the Du- 
ponts sincerely and got out and waved good-bye from 
the steps with her latch key. Then she let herself in 
and felt her way cautiously up the narrow stairs in 
the dark, remembering the two odd steps at the top, 
and got into her own room without even a creak of 
the door. Hilda screwed up her face at the light with- 
out waking. Lesley threw o£F her cloak. The dead 
cold air before the dawn crinkled her smooth shoulders 
into gooseflesh, but she sat still a while, looking list- 
lessly at her pale face in the mirror, noting some new 
maturity in the shadowed cheek and the droop of her 
piquant mouth. There was no sign of Jack Addison's 
farewell kiss upc«i it — a virginal close mouth. Was 
374 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 375 

she sorry tiiat all her freshness, all the golden possi- 
bilities of her youth, should go for nothing but that 
one kiss ? Even now she did not know. 

Less poetically, she was a little sorry that she had 
not had a chance to say good night to Chan. Three 
times she had seen htm start across the floor to her; 
she was sure it was for her ; and each time some one 
detained him, or another took her out to dance. There 
was something tantalising about that. He had only 
danced with her once, though he had asked her for 
another and missed it 

She took off her slippers mournfully, and stoopii^^ 
knocked a book from the edge of the bed. Hilda was 
wont to read in bed. Hilda woke. 

"Huh ! Oh — 's you — 'dje have a nice time?" mum- 
bled Hilda, rubbing her eyes and preparing to be 
very wide awake and interested. 

"A lovely time," said Lesley lugubriously, "ni 
tell you all about it to-morrow, Hilda. Please unhook 
me now; I'm so cold. And tell Mrs. Holt ni kill any 
one who wakes me in the morning. I'm not going to 
work." She wriggled out of her silvery panoply like 
a snake and threw it across a chair, and crept into the 
soft bed. How tired she was, all suddenly I The last 
dance, that had been playing when she left, sang in 
her head ; it had some repeated thrumming chord in 
it, like the characteristic note of a guitar — something 
Spanish and delicately sensuous and sad. And Chan 
was looking for her, but always across the room. . . . 
Hilda spoke to her twice, and she did not answer; 
she was fathoms deep in sleep. 

The next she knew some one was shaking her by the 
shoulder, and Mrs. Holt's pleasant, broad-vowelled 
Irish voice was repeating: 

"Wake up — wake up, ye unnatural girl. There's i 
young man to see you, downstairs." 



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376 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Chant" said Lesley, startinff up in bed. She had 
dreamed the same dream again. 

"He said he was Mr, Herrick," Mrs. Holt replied, 
and Lesley was covered with confusion as with a gar- 
ment. Why should she sit up screaming Chan's name 
like that? She did not think he could have heard, 
however. "What time is it?" she asked, and would 
hardly believe it was two o'clock. "It must have been 
the claret cup," was her guilty thought. In fact, she 
had only been more tired than she knew, and quite 
unused to late hours. "Tell him 111 be r^t down," 
she said, climbing out and bq^nning to hunt for her 
clothes. They seemed to have disajqwared, and Chan 
waited well over half an hour before she came into 
Mrs. Holt's parlour, still heavy-eyed and hardly alive 
to the workaday world. 

He was sitting tentatively on a slippery horsehair- 
covered sofa, holding his hat and scowling out of tiie 
window. He did not look at home, as he had used to 
do at Mrs. Cranston's, and some access of shyness at 
his altered exterior overcame her, so that she withdrew 
the hand she was extending to him and looked at him 
doubtfully. Gnderella was back by the hearth again, 
wearing her blue serge, and a white blouse she had evi- 
dently worn the day before. 

"You didn't expect me ?" he asked. 

"No, I didn't expect any one — well, how could I? 
I was sound asleep," she confessed. 

"Did I wake you ? I'm sorry ; I was just going by, 
and there was something I wanted to see you ^out 
You enjoyed the dance?" 

"Yes, of course." 

"I thou^t you did," he said moodily. He wanted 
to ask her about the letters ; he had come for that ; but 
his mind kept reverting to another matter. 

"Didn't you want me to ?" asked Lesley. It was s^- 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 377 

ntficant how things had changed between them, that 
she wondered just what he had come for. 

"Why, of course. But I thought you niight be feel- 
ir^ badly to-day -" 

"About what?" 

"Oh, I don't know — that is, I heard — I undei^ 



"For pity's sake, Chan, say it! I haven't heard nor 
understood anything." 

"I heard you might be engaged," he said, though it 
was the last thing in the world he had meant to say. 
He had always thought it detestable, almost caddish, to 
force a confidence. 

"To whom?" 

"To Jack Addison." He was in so far; he could 
not draw back. 

"Well, I'm not. Who told you that? Why did you 
think so?" Her directness was only the eicpression 
of a vast confusion. 

"Then I beg your pardon." 

"But you've got to tell me why you thought so." 

The devil was in Chan's tongue; he could not stop 
it. How had this idiotic, maddening conversation 
started ? He knew that look in Lesley's eye ; she would 
not be diverted now. Still he tried his poor best. 
"Oh, it was nothing; some one saw you both up in 
the gallery, last night. 1 shouldn't have menttooed it, 
but I wanted to ask you about him " 

"Why shouldn't we have been in the gallery? What 
do you mean they saw?" 

She woiiid have it; he had been throu^ her crost* 
examinations once or twice before. It was despera- 
tion as much as some other unnamed motive, a motive 
that had knocked for recognition at the threshold of 
consciousness for days, that answered her for him. 

"Saw him kiss you. Now I beg your pardon again." 



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3;8 THE SHADOW RIDERS 

"Did you see us ?" Neither did she want nor mean 
to say that ; but it gave her a pang to think he might 
have seen. Something revived in her at the image; ■ 
something put aside and shamed, that protested. 

"No. Please don't ask me who told me. I don't 
want to make you tell me ; I only wanted to say " 

"But you did," she retorted, not realisii^ the in- 
ferential admission until too late. 

"Then it is true?" 

"What is true? I'm not ei^aged to him " 

"No, but you did let him " Good heavens, they 

were quarrelling now I Why could he not get to lus 
own business — the letters? 

"Well, if I did— I don't care ; I'm not " 

"But I thought that must be why *' 

"It wasn't. It was because — because I don't 

know why. Because he was going away, and he'd 

wanted to for years You talk as if you'd never 

kissed any one 1 Why should you come here and n^ 
me about it anyway?" She was almost in tears; she 
felt as if they must both have suddenly gone mad. 

"Because," said Chan, a great light suddenly break- 
ing on him, so that he spoke slowly while he looked 
and looked again at the bewildering truth, "I wanted 
that kiss myself." 

Lesley felt weak, almost stunned. He was looking 
at her again as he had ktoked the night before, with 
those new eyes that saw the woman where the friend 
had been; she felt that she was desirable — and now 
she was not arrayed for admiration ; she was only 
herself, in her crumpled cheap blouse, and pale in the 
glare of noon. There was a flooding warmth about 
her heart, and her breath came short. Chan put his 
hands in his pockets, with a quick tense motion, and 
vtood waiting, biting his lip. He could have faced the 



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THE SHADOW RIDERS 379 

gnus with more composure — he did, whea the time 
came — but he did not show it. . 
, "I suppose," she said, half tearfully, "that you think 
we ought to sit around with our hands folded until 
you get through with your kissing. ... I don't care; 
he's going away to fight, and he probably won't come 
back at all. . . ." She stopped, wishing she had not 
said that, for io the old mysterious way she knew it 
was true. 

"So am I," said Chan. 

"What?" 

"Going away. I volunteered by wire yesterday; and 
in fact, there was a commission waiting for me. . . ." 

"Not you I" she cried, and knew that she had not 
changed at all. "Why must you go ?" 

"Why not me as well as the others ? I came West 
this time to make up my mind. I've decided that it's 
too late to think now ; we must fight, I'd like to help 
pay the bill; then I may have a right to think. So 
I'm going. Now — will you kiss me, too, since I'm 
going away and may never come back ?" 

"No — no——" she said, though she did not mean 
that at alt ; and since she was already in his arms, he 
knew that very well. 

"You won't ?" he asked, with tender raillery, holding 
her away yet a moment so he could see her face. 

With a great effort, she drew the fateful curtains 
of her secret prescient mind, and though her sou! 
quailed with fear that it m^t see too much sorrow, 
she dared. Her eyes for a moment were remote. 

"But you will come back," she said, "only it will be 
so long. . . ." The sentence was never completed, and 
neither did he ever remember to ask her about the let- 
ters. Akmg with a great many other things, th^ did 
not matter particularly. 

THE Ein> 



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