The Major

R >> Ralph Connor >> The Major


"But four thousand dollars," she said, "is surely a small price."

"Small? I know it is small, but Martin knows I am in a corner. He is a
highway robber."

It was a bitter experience for him to be forced to confess himself a
business failure, and with this bitterness there mingled a feeling of
hostility toward all successful business men. To him it seemed that in
order to win success in business a man must become, like Mr. Martin,
a highway robber. In this mood of bitterness and hostility toward
successful men, Mr. Sleighter found him the next day.

"Couldn't find you at the store," said that gentleman, walking in with
his hat on his head. "I wanted to get this business straightened up,
so I just came in. Won't take more than five minutes. I guess you won't
mind taking a little check from me. Your business turned out better than
that fool of an assignee thought. Don't hurt me any, of course. I got
all that was comin' to me out of it, but here's this check. Perhaps
you'll sign the receipt. I guess they been puttin' it over you all
right. You're a little too soft with 'em."

Mr. Gwynne was an even-tempered man, but Mr. Sleighter's patronising
manner and his criticism of his business ability wrought in him a rage
that he could with difficulty control. He remembered he was in his own
house, however, and that the man before him was a stranger. While he was
searching for pen and ink the door opened and his wife entered the room.
Mr. Sleighter, with his hat still upon his head, was intently gazing
out of the window, easily rocking on the two hind legs of the chair. The
door opened behind him.

"My dear," said Mr. Gwynne, "will you excuse me? I am engaged."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't know any one was here. I merely
wanted--"

Mr. Sleighter glanced over his shoulder.

"Mr. Sleighter," said Mr. Gwynne. "My wife."

It was not his tone, however, that brought Mr. Sleighter hurriedly to
his feet with his hat in his hand. It was something in the bearing of
the little lady standing behind him.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I hope you are well," he said, bowing
elaborately before her.

"Thank you very much, I am quite well. I have heard a great deal about
you, Mr. Sleighter. I am glad to meet you."

Mr. Sleighter held her hand a moment while her eyes rested quietly and
kindly, if searchingly, upon his face. This was the man who had profited
by her husband's loss. Was he too a highway robber? Mr. Sleighter
somehow felt as if his soul were being exposed to a searchlight. It made
him uncomfortable.

"It's a fine day, ma'am," he remarked, seeking cover for his soul in
conversation. "A little warm for the time," he continued, wiping his
forehead with a highly coloured silk handkerchief.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Sleighter? Do you find it warm? I thought there
was quite a chilly wind to-day. But then you are more accustomed to the
wind than I."

The searching eyes were holding him steadily, but the face was kindly
and full of genuine interest.

"I guess so," he said with a little laugh. He would have scorned to
acknowledge that his laugh was nervous and thin. "I come from the windy
side of the earth."

"Oh!"

"Yes, I am from out West--Alberta. We have got all the winds there is
and the Chinook besides for a change."

"Alberta? The Chinook?" The eyes became less searching.

"Yes, that's the wind that comes down from the mountains and licks up
the snow at ten miles an hour."

"Oh!"

"It was an Alberta man, you know, who invented a rig with runners in
front and wheels behind." The lady was bewildered. "To catch up with the
Chinook, you see. One of my kid's jokes. Not much of a joke I guess, but
he's always ringin' 'em in."

"You have a son, Mr. Sleighter? He's in Alberta now?"

"No, the missis and the kids, three of them, are in Winnipeg. She got
tired of it out there; she was always wantin' the city, so I gave in."

"I hear it's a beautiful country out there."

"Now you're talkin', ma'am." She had touched Mr. Sleighter's favourite
theme. Indeed, the absorbing passion of his life, next to the picking
up of good salvage bargains, was his home in the Foothill country of the
West.

While he was engaged in an enthusiastic description of the glories of
that wonderland the children came in and were presented. Mr. Gwynne
handed his visitor his receipt and stood suggestively awaiting his
departure. But Mr. Sleighter was fairly started on his subject and was
not to be denied. The little girls drew shyly near him with eyes
aglow while Mr. Sleighter's words roiled forth like a mountain flood.
Eloquently he described the beauty of the rolling lands, the splendour
of the mountains, the richness of the soil, the health-giving qualities
of the climate, the warm-hearted hospitality of the settlers.

"None of your pin-head two-by-four shysters that you see here in the
East," exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. "I mean some folks, of course," he
explained in some confusion.

"And the children, did they like it?" inquired Mrs. Gwynne.

"You bet they did. Why, they was all over the hull prairie, all day and
all night, too, mostly--on ponies you know."

"Ponies!" exclaimed Larry. "Did they have ponies? Could they ride? How
big are they?"

"How big? Blamed if I know. Let's see. There's Tom. He's just about a
man, or thinks he is. He's sixteen or seventeen. Just now he's in the
high school at Winnipeg. He don't like it though." Here a shadow fell on
Mr. Sleighter's face. "And the girls--there's Hazel, she's fifteen,
and Ethel Mary, she's eleven or somewhere thereabouts. I never can keep
track of them. They keep againin' on me all the time."

"Yes," said Mrs. Gwynne. "It is hard to realise that they are growing up
and will soon be away from us."

"That's so," said Mr. Sleighter.

"And the schools," continued Mrs. Gwynne, "are there good schools?"

"Schools?" exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. "There's a real good school not more
than a couple of miles away."

"Two miles," exclaimed the mother aghast.

"Oh, that's nothin'. They ride, of course. But we ain't got much of a
master now. He's rather--you know." Mr. Sleighter significantly tipped
up with his little finger and winked toward Mr. Gwynne.

"But you love that country," she said.

"Yes, I love it and I hated to leave it. But the missis never liked
it. She was city born and bred. She wanted the lights, I guess, and the
shows. I don't blame her, though," he continued rapidly. "It's kind of
lonely for women, you know. They've got to have amusements and things.
But it's God's own country, believe me, and I would go back to-morrow,
if I could."

"You still own your ranch?"

"Yes; can't sell easily. You see there's not much broke on it--only a
hundred acres or so."

"Why, how big is the ranch?"

"Five hundred acres and a wood lot. I did not farm much, though--mostly
cattle and horses. I was away a good deal on the trail."

"The trail?"

"Yes, buying cattle and selling again. That was the worst of it. I am
not much of a farmer, though farming's all right there, and I was away
almost all of the time. I guess that made it pretty hard for the missis
and the kids."

At this point the Widow Martin came in to lay the table for tea. Mr.
Sleighter took the hint and rose to go.

"You will do us the pleasure of staying for tea, Mr. Sleighter?" said
Mrs. Gwynne earnestly.

"Oh, do," said the youngest little girl, Nora, whose snapping black eyes
gleamed with eager desire to hear more of the wonderful western land.

"Yes, do, and tell us more," said the boy.

"I hope you will be able to stay," continued Mrs. Gwynne.

Mr. Sleighter glanced at her husband. "Why, certainly," said Mr. Gwynne,
"we would be glad to have you."

Still Mr. Sleighter hesitated. "Say, I don't know what's come over me. I
feel as if I had been on the stump," he said in an embarrassed voice.
"I ain't talked to a soul about that country since I left. I guess I got
pretty full, and when you pulled the cork, out she come."

During the tea hour Mrs. Gwynne tried to draw her visitor out to talk
about his family, but here she failed. Indeed a restraint appeared to
fall upon him that nothing could dispel. Immediately after tea Mrs.
Gwynne placed the Bible and Book of Prayers on the table, saying,
"We follow the custom of reading prayers every evening after tea, Mr.
Sleighter. We shall be glad to have you join us."

"Sure thing, ma'am," said Mr. Sleighter, pushing back his chair and
beginning to rock on its hind legs, picking his teeth with his pen
knife, to the staring horror of the little girls.

The reading was from the Scripture to which throughout the centuries the
Christian Church has gone for authority and guidance in the exercise
of charity and in the performance of social service, the story of the
Samaritan gentleman to whom the unhappy traveller whose misfortune it
was to be sorely mishandled by thieves owed his rescue and his life.

Throughout the reading Mr. Sleighter paid the strictest attention and
joined in the prayers with every sign of reverence. At the close he
stood awkwardly shifting from one foot to another.

"Well, I'll be goin'," he said. "Don't know how you roped me in for this
here visit, ma'am. I ain't et in any one's house since I left home, and
I ain't heard any family prayers since my old dad had 'em--a regular old
Methodist exhorter he was. He used to pray until all was blue, though
most times, specially at night, I used to fall asleep. He was great on
religion."

"I don't suppose he was any the worse for that," said Mrs. Gwynne.

"Not a mite, not a mite, ma'am. A little strict, but straight as a
string, ma'am. No one could say anythin' against Hiram Sleighter--H. P.
Sleighter. I was named for him. He used to pray to beat creation, and
then some, but he was a straight man all right. And to-night your kids
and your family prayers made me think of them old days. Well, good-night
and thank you for the good time you gave me. Best I've had in a dog's
age."

"You will come again, Mr. Sleighter," said Mrs. Gwynne, giving him her
hand.

"Yes, and tell us more about that new country," added her son. "My, I'd
like to go out there!"

"It's a wonderful country all right and you might do a hull lot worse."



CHAPTER V

WESTWARD HO!


Mr. Gwynne accompanied Mr. Sleighter to the door. "Will you walk down to
the store?" said Mr. Sleighter.

"Very well," said Mr. Gwynne, setting off with him.

Mr. Sleighter evidently had something on his mind. The usual fountain
of his speech seemed to be dried up. As they drew near to the store, he
seized Mr. Gwynne by the arm, arrested him, and said:

"Say, Mr. Gwynne, you ain't got any right to be in business. You ain't
got the parts, and that Machine Company and the rest of 'em put it all
over you."

"We needn't go into that now, I suppose," said Mr. Gwynne.

"No, I guess I am buttin' in--a thing I don't often do--but I am off my
stride to-night anyway, and I am doin' what I never did in all my life
before. I guess it was them kids of yours and your missis. I know it
ain't my business, but what are you goin' to do with yourself?"

"I don't know yet," replied Mr. Gwynne, declining to be confidential.

"Not goin' into business, I hope. You ain't got the parts. Some people
ain't got 'em, and you ain't. Goin' to farm?"

"No, I think not. The fact is I'm about selling my farm."

"Selling it?"

"Yes, I had an offer to-day which I am thinking of accepting."

"An offer, eh, from a feller named Martin, I suppose?"

"How did you know?"

"I don't know. I just figgered. Offered you about a hundred dollars,
eh?"

"No; I wish he had. It's worth a hundred with the house and
buildings--they are good buildings."

"Say, I don't like to butt in on any man's business, but is the price a
secret?"

"Oh, no; he offers four thousand, half cash."

"And how much for the buildings?"

"Four thousand for everything, it's not enough but there are not many
buyers in this neighbourhood."

"Say, there's nothing rash about that feller. When do you close?"

"Must close to-morrow night. He has a chance of another place."

"Oh, he has, eh? Big rush on, eh? Well, don't you close until I see you
some time to-morrow, partner."

Mr. Sleighter scented another salvage deal, his keen eyes gleamed a bit,
the firm lips were pressed a little more closely together.

"And say," he said, turning back, "I don't wonder you can't do business.
I couldn't do anything myself with a missis like yours. I couldn't
get any smooth work over with her lookin' at me like that, durned if I
could. Well, good-night; see you to-morrow."

Mr. Sleighter spent the early hours of the following day among the
farmers with whom his salvage deal had brought him into contact. The
wrecker's instinct was strong in him, and besides he regarded with
abhorrence the tactics of Mr. Martin and welcomed an opportunity to beat
that gentleman at his own game. He could easily outbid the Martin offer
and still buy the farm at a low price. As a result of his inquiries he
had made up his mind that the land was worth at the very least eighty
dollars an acre and the buildings at least two thousand more. Five
thousand would be a ridiculously low figure and six thousand not
extravagantly high for both buildings and farm. The farm with the store
and machine business attached might offer a fair opening to his son,
who was already weary of school and anxious to engage in business for
himself.

"Guess I'll take a whirl out of the old boy," he said to himself. "He's
a durn fool anyway and if I don't get his money some one else will."

In the afternoon he made his way to the store. "Boss ain't in?" he
inquired of the clerk.

"No, he's at the house, I guess."

"Back soon?"

"Don't know. Guess he's busy over there."

"Seen Mr. Martin around?"

"Yes, he was here a while ago. Said he would be in again later."

Mr. Sleighter greatly disliked the idea of doing business with Mr.
Gwynne at his own house. "Can't do no business with his missis and
kids around," he said to himself. "Can't get no action with that woman
lookin' on seemingly. But that there old Martin geyser is on the job and
he might close things up. I guess I will wander over."

To his great relief he found Mr. Gwynne alone and without preliminaries,
and with the design of getting "quick action" before the disturbing
element of Mrs. Gwynne's presence should be introduced, he made his
offer. He explained his purpose in purchasing, and with something of
a flourish offered five thousand for "the hull plant, lock, stock and
barrel," cash down if specially desired, but he would prefer to pay half
in six months. He must have his answer immediately; was not anxious to
buy, but if Mr. Gwynne wanted to close up, he only had to say so. He was
not going to monkey with the thing.

"You have made me a much better offer than the one I received from Mr.
Martin, and I am inclined to accept it, but inasmuch as I have promised
to give him an answer to-day, I feel that it's due to him that I should
meet him with the bargain still unclosed."

"Why?" enquired Mr. Sleighter in surprise.

"Well, you see I asked him to hold the offer open until this afternoon.
I feel I ought to go to him with the matter still open."

"Want to screw him up, eh?" said Mr. Sleighter, his lips drawing close
together.

"No, sir." Mr. Gwynne's voice had a little ring in it. "I consider it
fairer to Mr. Martin."

"Don't see as how he has much claim on you," replied Mr. Sleighter. "But
that's your own business. Say, there he comes now. Look here, my offer
is open until six o'clock. After that it's a new deal. Take it or leave
it. I will be at your store."

"Very well," said Mr. Gwynne stiffly.

Mr. Sleighter was distinctly annoyed and disappointed. A few minutes'
longer pressure, he was convinced, would have practically closed a deal
which would have netted him a considerable profit. "Durn old fool," he
muttered to himself as he passed out of the room.

In the hallway Mrs. Gwynne's kindly welcome halted him. She greeted him
as she would a friend. Would he not sit down for a few moments. No,
he was busy. Mr. Sleighter was quite determined to get away from her
presence.

"The children were delighted with your description of your western
home," she said. "The free life, the beautiful hills, the mountains in
the distance--it must indeed be a lovely country."

Mr. Sleighter was taken off his guard. "Yes, ma'am, that's lovely
country all right. They'd like it fine out there, and healthy too. It
would make a man of that little kid of yours. He looks a little on the
weak side to me. A few months in the open and you wouldn't know him. The
girls too--"

"Come in here and sit down, won't you, Mr. Sleighter?" said Mrs. Gwynne.

Mr. Sleighter reluctantly passed into the room and sat down. He knew he
was taking a risk. However, his offer was already made and the deal he
believed would be closed in the store by six o'clock.

"I suppose the land is all taken up out there?" said Mrs. Gwynne.

"Oh, yes, mostly, unless away back. Folks are comin' in all the time,
but there's still lots of cheap land around."

"Cheap land, is there?" inquired Mrs. Gwynne with a certain eagerness in
her voice. "Indeed I should have thought that that beautiful land would
be very dear."

"Why, bless your heart, no. I know good land going for
six--seven--eight--ten dollars an acre. Ten dollars is high for good
farm lands; for cattle runs four dollars is good. No, there's lots of
good land lying around out of doors there. If these people around here
could get their heads up long enough from grubbing in the muck they
wouldn't stay here over night. They'd be hittin' the trail for the west,
you bet."

Mrs. Gwynne turned her honest eyes upon him. "Mr. Sleighter, I want to
ask your advice. I feel I can rely upon you ["Durn it all, she's gettin'
her work in all right," thought Mr. Sleighter to himself], and I am
getting quite anxious in the matter. You see, my husband is determined
to leave this place. He wishes to try something else. Indeed, he must
try something else. We must make a living, Mr. Sleighter." Mrs. Gwynne's
voice became hurried and anxious. "We were delighted last night by your
description of that wonderful country in the West, and the children
especially. I have been wondering if we might venture to try a small
farm in that country--quite a small farm. We have a little money
to invest. I thought I might be bold enough to ask you. I know your
judgment would be good and I felt somehow that we could trust you. I
hope I am not taking a liberty, but somehow I feel that you are not a
stranger."

"No, ma'am, certainly not," said Mr. Sleighter in a loud voice, his hope
of securing "quick action on that deal" growing dim.

"Do you happen to know any farm--a small farm--which we might be able
to buy? We hope to receive four thousand dollars for this place. I feel
that it is worth a good deal more, but there are not many buyers about
here. Then, of course, perhaps we value our place too highly. Then by
your kind help we have got something out of the business--twelve hundred
and fifty dollars I think Mr. Gwynne said. We are most grateful to you
for that, Mr. Sleighter." Her eyes beamed on him in a most disconcerting
way. "And so after our obligations here are met we might have about
forty-five hundred dollars clear. Could we do anything with that?"

"I donno, I donno," said Mr. Sleighter quickly and rising from his
chair, "I will think it over. I have got to go now."

At this moment Mr. Gwynne came into the room. "Oh, I am glad you are not
gone, Mr. Sleighter. I have just told Mr. Martin that I cannot accept
his offer."

"Cannot accept, Michael!" said Mrs. Gwynne, dismay in her voice and in
her eyes.

"I believe you said your offer was good until six, Mr. Sleighter?"

"Oh, I say, Gwynne, let's get out, let's get over to the store. It's
kind of hot here, and I've got to go. Come on over and we'll clean up."
Without a farewell word to either of them Mr. Sleighter passed rapidly
from the room.

"I do hope there's nothing wrong, Michael," said his wife. "I fear I
have made a mistake. I spoke to Mr. Sleighter about the possibility of
getting a small farm in the West. You were so eager about it, Michael
dear, and I spoke to Mr. Sleighter about it. I hope there is nothing
wrong."

"Don't worry, mother. I have his offer for five thousand dollars. Of
course he is rather peculiar, I confess, but I believe--" The door
opened abruptly upon them, admitting Mr. Sleighter.

"See here, Mr. Gwynne, I can't do no business with you."

"Sir, you made me an offer for my farm," said Mr. Gwynne indignantly,
"and I have just refused an offer from Mr. Martin on account of yours."

"Oh, we'll cut that all out," said Mr. Sleighter, whose voice and manner
indicated strong excitement. "Now don't talk. Listen to me, my son. You
ain't got any right to be playing around with business men anyhow. Now I
am going to do a little business for you, if you will allow me, ma'am.
I take it you want to get away from here." Mr. Gwynne nodded, gazing
at him in astonishment. "You want to go West." Again Mr. Gwynne nodded.
"Well, there's only one spot in the West--Alberta. You want a farm."

"Yes," said Mr. Gwynne.

"Yes, certainly," said Mrs. Gwynne.

"There's just one farm that will suit you, an' that's Lakeside Farm,
Wolf Willow, Alberta, owned by H. P. Sleighter, Esq., who's going to
stump you to a trade. Five hundred acres, one hundred broke an' a timber
lot; a granary; stables and corral, no good; house, fair to middlin'.
Two hundred an' fifty acres worth ten dollars at least, best out of
doors; cattle run, two hundred acres worth five; swamp and sleugh, fifty
acres, only good to look at but mighty pretty in the mornin' at sun-up.
Not much money in scenery though. Building worth between two and three
thousand. Your plant here is worth about six thousand. I know I offered
you five thousand, but I was buyin' then and now I am buyin' and
sellin'. Anyway, I guess it's about even, an' we'll save you a lot of
trouble an' time an' money. An' so, if you really want a western farm,
you might just as well have mine. I did not think to sell. Of course
I knew I must sell in the long run, but couldn't just see my place in
anybody else's hands. Somehow it seems different though to see you folks
on it. You seem to fit. Anyway, there's the offer. What do you say?"

"Sit down, Mr. Sleighter," said Mr. Gwynne. "This is a rather surprising
proposition."

Mrs. Gwynne's eyes grew soft. "Michael, I think it is wonderful."

But Mr. Gwynne would not look at his wife. "Let me see, Mr. Sleighter,
your farm, you say, with buildings, is worth about six thousand to
sixty-five hundred. Mine is worth from fifty-five hundred to six
thousand. I will take your offer and pay the difference."

"Oh, come off your perch," said Mr. Sleighter. "You're doin' the
highfalutin' Vere de Vere act now. Listen to me. The deal is as level as
I can figger it. Your farm and store with the machine business suit me
all right. I feel I can place my boy right here for a while anyway. My
farm, I believe, would suit you better than anythin' else you can get.
There's my offer. Take it or leave it."

"I think we will take it, Mr. Sleighter," said Mrs. Gwynne. "Michael
dear, I feel Mr. Sleighter is right, and besides I know he is doing us a
great kindness."

"Kindness, ma'am, not at all. Business is business, and that's all there
is to it. Well, I'll be goin'. Think it over, get the papers fixed up by
to-morrow. No, don't thank me. Good-bye."

Mrs. Gwynne followed him to the door, her face flushed, her eyes aglow,
a smile hovering uncertainly about her lips. "Mr. Sleighter," she said,
"the Lord sent you to us because He knew we were in need of guiding."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Mr. Sleighter. "Like that Samaritan chap in the
reading, eh? I guess you had got among thieves all right, more of 'em
perhaps than you recognised too."

"He sent you to us," repeated Mrs. Gwynne, offering him her hand.

"Well, I donno but that He steered me to you. But all the same I guess
the advantage is to me all right." Mr. Sleighter looked hard down the
street, then turned and faced her squarely. "I want to say that it's
done me a pile of good to have seen you, ma'am. It's made things look
different."

"You are a good man, Mr. Sleighter," she said, looking at him with misty
eyes.

"A good man!" Mr. Sleighter was seized with a cough. "A good man! Good
Lord, ma'am! nobody never found it out but you--durn that cough anyway."
And still troubled by his cough, Mr. Sleighter hurried down the path to
the gate and out on to the road.

Once resolved to break up their home in Eastern Canada, the Gwynnes
lost no time in completing their arrangements for the transportation of
themselves and their household gods and such of their household goods as
Mr. Sleighter advised, to the new western country.

Mr. Sleighter appeared to regard the migration of the Gwynne family to
the western country as an enterprise in which he had made an investment
from which he was bound to secure the greatest possible return. The
principle of exchange which had been the basis of the deal as far as
the farms were concerned was made to apply as far as possible to farm
implements and equipment, household goods and chattels.