The Major

R >> Ralph Connor >> The Major


"My God, Kathleen!" he cried. "You are hurt? You might have been
killed." His eyes burned like two blazing lights, his voice was husky,
his face white. Suddenly crushing her to him, he kissed her on the cheek
and again on her lips. The girl struggled to get free.

"Oh, let me go, let me go," she cried. "How can you, how can you?"

But his arms were like steel about her, and again and again he continued
to kiss her, until, suddenly relaxing, she lay white and shuddering in
his arms.

"Kathleen," he said, his voice hoarse with passion, "I love you, I love
you. I want you. Gott in Himmel, I want you. Open your eyes, Kathleen,
my darling. Speak to me. Open your eyes. Look at me. Tell me you love
me." But still she lay white and shuddering. Suddenly he released her
and set her on her feet. She stood looking at him with quiet, searching
eyes.

"You love me," she said, her voice low and quivering with a passionate
scorn, "and you treat me so? Let us go." She moved toward her horse.

"Kathleen, hear me," he entreated. "You must hear me. You shall hear
me." He caught her once more by the arm. "I forgot myself. I saw you
lying there so white. How could I help it? I meant no harm. I have loved
you since you were a little girl, since that day I saw you first herding
the cattle. You had a blue dress and long braids. I loved you then. I
have loved you every day since. I think of you and I dream of you. The
world is full of you. I am offering you marriage. I want you to be my
wife." The hands that clutched her arm were shaking, his voice was thick
and broken. But still she stood with her face turned from him, quietly
trying to break from his grasp. But no word did she speak.

"Kathleen, I forgot myself," he said, letting go of her arm. "I was
wrong, but, my God, Kathleen, I am not stone, and when I felt your heart
beat against mine--"

"Oh," she cried, shuddering and drawing further away from him.

"--and your face so white, your dear face so near mine, I forgot
myself."

"No," said the girl, turning her face toward him and searching him with
her quiet, steady, but contemptuous eyes, "you forgot me."



CHAPTER IX

EXCEPT HE STRIVE LAWFULLY


The Wolf Willow Dominion Day Celebration Committee were in session in
the schoolhouse with the Reverend Evans Rhye in the chair, and all
of the fifteen members in attendance. The reports from the various
sub-committees had been presented and approved.

The programme for the day was in the parson's hand. "A fine programme,
ladies and gentlemen, thanks to you all, and especially to our friend
here," said Mr. Rhye, placing his hand on Larry's shoulder.

A chorus of approval greeted his remark, but Larry protested. "Not at
all. Every one was keen to help. We are all tremendous Canadians and
eager to celebrate Dominion Day."

"Well, let us go over it again," said Mr. Rhye. "The football match with
the Eagle Hill boys is all right. How about the polo match with the High
River men, Larry?"

"The captain of the High River team wrote to express regret that two
of his seniors would not be available, but that he hoped to give us a
decent game."

"There will only be one fault with the dinner and the tea, Mrs. Kemp."

"And what will that be, sir?" enquired Mrs. Kemp, who happened to be
Convener of the Refreshment Committee.

"They will receive far too much for their money," said Mr. Rhye. "How
about the evening entertainment, Larry?" he continued.

"Everything is all right, I think, sir," said Larry.

"Are the minstrels in good form?" enquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "This
is your last appearance, you know, and you must go out in a blaze of
glory."

"We hope to get through somehow," said Larry.

"And the speakers?" enquired Mr. Rhye.

"Both will be on hand. Mr. Gilchrist promises a patriotic address.
Mr. Alvin P. Jones will represent Wolf Willow in a kind of local
glorification stunt."

"This is all perfectly splendid," said Mr. Rhye, "and I cannot tell
you how grateful I am to you all. We ought to have a memorable day
to-morrow."

And a memorable day it was. The weather proved worthy of Alberta's best
traditions, for it was sunny, with a fine sweeping breeze to temper the
heat and to quicken the pulses with its life-bringing ozone fresh from
the glacier gorges and the pine forests of the Rockies.

The captain of the Wolf Willow football team was awake and afoot soon
after break of day that he might be in readiness for the Eagle Hill team
when they arrived. Sam was in his most optimistic mood. His team, he
knew, were in the finest condition and fit for their finest effort.
Everything promised victory. But alas! for Sam's hopes. At nine o'clock
a staggering blow fell when Vial, his partner on the right wing of
the forward line, rode over with the news that Coleman, their star
goal-keeper, their ultimate reliance on the defence line, had been
stepped on by a horse and rendered useless for the day. It was, indeed,
a crushing calamity. Sam spent an hour trying to dig up a substitute.
The only possible substitutes were Hepworth and Biggs, neither of them
first class men but passable, and Fatty Rose. The two former, however,
had gone for the day to Calgary, and Fatty Rose was hopelessly slow.
Sam discussed the distressing situation with such members of the team as
could be hastily got together.

"Dere's dat new feller," suggested Joe.

"That's so," said Vial, familiarly known as Bottles. "That chap Sykes,
Farwell's friend. He's a dandy dribbler. He could take Cassap's place on
left wing and let Cassap take goal."

With immense relief the team accepted this solution of the difficulty.
But gloom still covered Sam's face. "He's only been here two weeks," he
said, "and you know darn well the rule calls for four."

"Oh, hang it!" said Bottles, "he's going to be a resident all right.
He's a real resident right now, and anyway, they won't know anything
about it."

"Oh, cut it out," said Sam, suddenly flaring into wrath. "You know we
can't do that sort of thing. It ain't the game and we ain't goin' to do
it."

"What ain't the game?" enquired Larry, who had come upon the anxious and
downcast group.

Farwell told him the calamitous news and explained the problem under
discussion. "We'd play Sykes, only he hasn't been here a month yet, and
Sam won't stand for it," he said.

"Of course Sam won't stand for it, and the Captain is right," said
Larry. "Is there nobody else, Sam?" Sam shook his head despondently.
"Would I be any good, Sam? I am not keen about it, but if you think I
could take Cassap's place on left wing, he could take goal."

Sam brightened up a little. "Guess we can't do no better," he said
doubtfully. "I mean," he added in answer to the shout of laughter
from the team--"Aw, shut up, can that cackle. We know the Master hates
football an' this is goin' to be a real fightin' game. He'll get all
knocked about an' I don't want that. You know he'll be takin' all kinds
of chances."

"Oh, quit, Sam. I am in pretty good shape," said Larry. "They can't kill
me. That's the best I can do anyway, so let's get to them."

The situation was sufficiently gloomy to stir Joe to his supremest
efforts and to kindle Sam's spirit to a blazing flame. "We don't need
Sykes nor nobody else," he shouted to his men as they moved on to the
field. "They can wear their boots out on that defence line of ours an'
be derned to 'em. An', Bottles, you got to play the game of your life
to-day. None of your fancy embroidery, just plain knittin'. Every feller
on the ball an' every feller play to his man. There'll be a lot of
females hangin' around, but we don't want any frills for the girls to
admire. But all at it an' all the time." Sam's little red eyes glowed
with even a more fiery hue than usual; his rat-like face assumed its
most belligerent aspect.

Before the match Larry took the Eagle Hill captain, a young Englishman
who had been trying for ten years to make a living on a ranch far up
among the foothills and was only beginning to succeed, to his mother,
who had been persuaded to witness the game. They found her in Kathleen's
care and under instruction from young Farwell as to the fundamental
principles of the game. Near them a group of men were standing,
among whom were Switzer, Waring-Gaunt, and Jack Romayne, listening to
Farwell's dissertation.

"You see, Mrs. Gwynne," he said, "no one may handle the ball--head,
feet, body, may be used, but not the hands."

"But I understand they sometimes hurt each other, Mr. Farwell."

"Oh, accidents will happen even on the farm, Mrs. Gwynne. For instance,
Coleman this morning had a horse step on his foot, necessitating Larry's
going on."

"Is Lawrence going to play?" said Mrs. Gwynne. "Ah, here he is.
Lawrence, are you in good condition? You have not been playing."

"I am not really very fit, Mother, not very hard, but I have been
running a good deal. I don't expect I shall be much use. Sam is quite
dubious about it."

"He will be all right, Mrs. Gwynne," said Farwell confidently. "He is
the fastest runner in the team. If he were only twenty pounds heavier
and if he were a bit more keen about the game he would be a star."

"Why don't they play Sykes?" inquired Kathleen. "I heard some of
the boys say this morning that Sykes was going to play. He is quite
wonderful, I believe."

"He is," replied Larry, "quite wonderful, but unfortunately he is not
eligible. But let me introduce Mr. Duckworth, Captain of our enemy."

Mrs. Gwynne received the young man with a bright smile. "I am sorry I
cannot wish you victory, and all the more now that my own son is to be
engaged. But I don't understand, Larry," she continued, "why Mr. Sykes
cannot play."

"Why, because there's a League regulation, Mother, that makes a
month's residence in the district necessary to a place on the team.
Unfortunately Sykes has been here only two weeks, and so we are
unwilling to put one over on our gallant foe. Got to play the game, eh,
Duckworth?"

Duckworth's face grew fiery red. "Yes, certainly," he said. "Rather an
awkward rule but--"

"You see, Mother, we want to eliminate every sign of professionalism,"
said Larry, "and emphasise the principle of local material for clubs."

"Ah, I see, and a very good idea, I should say," said his mother. "The
Eagle Hill team, for instance, will be made up of Eagle Hill men only.
That is really much better for the game because you get behind your team
all the local pride and enthusiasm."

"A foolish rule, I call it," said Switzer abruptly to Kathleen, "and
you can't enforce it anyway. Who can tell the personality of a team ten,
twenty or fifty miles away?"

"I fancy they can tell themselves," said Jack Romayne. "Their Captain
can certify to his men."

"Aha!" laughed Switzer. "That's good. The Captain, I suppose, is keen
to win. Do you think he would keep a man off his team who is his best
player, and who may bring him the game?" Switzer's face was full of
scorn.

"I take it they are gentlemen," was Romayne's quiet rejoinder.

"Of course, Mr. Romayne," said Mrs. Gwynne. "That gets rid of all the
difficulty. Otherwise it seems to me that all the pleasure would be gone
from the contest, the essential condition of which is keeping to the
rules."

"Good for you, Mother. You're a real sport," said Larry.

"Besides," replied his mother, "we have Scripture for it. You remember
what it says? 'If a man strive for masteries yet is he not crowned
except he strive lawfully.' 'Except he strive lawfully,' you see. The
crown he might otherwise win would bring neither honour nor pleasure."

"Good again, Mother. You ought to have a place on the League committee.
We shall have that Scripture entered on the rules. But I must run and
dress. Farwell, you can take charge of Duckworth."

But Duckworth was uneasy to be gone. "If you will excuse me, Mrs.
Gwynne, I must get my men together."

"Well, Mr. Duckworth," said Mrs. Gwynne, smiling on him as she gave him
her hand, "I am sorry we cannot wish you a victory, but we can wish you
your very best game and an honourable defeat."

"Thank you," said Duckworth. "I feel you have done your best."

"Come and see us afterward, Mr. Duckworth. What a splendid young man,"
she continued, as Duckworth left the party and set off to get his men
together with the words "except he strive lawfully" ringing in his ears.

"She's a wonder," he said to himself. "I wonder how it is she got to me
as she has. I know. She makes me think--" But Duckworth refused even to
himself to say of whom she made him think. "Except he strive lawfully"
the crown would bring "neither honour nor pleasure." Those words,
and the face which had suddenly been recalled to Duckworth's memory
reconstructed his whole scheme of football diplomacy. "By George, we
cannot play Liebold; we can't do it. The boys will kick like steers, but
how can we? I'm up against a fierce proposition, all right."

And so he found when he called his men together and put to them the
problem before him. "It seems a rotten time to bring this matter up
just when we are going on to the ground, but I never really thought much
about it till that little lady put it to me as I told you. And, fellows,
I have felt as if it were really up to me to put it before you. They
have lost their goal man, Coleman--there's no better in the League--and
because of this infernal rule they decline to put on a cracking good
player. They are playing the game on honour, and they are expecting
us to do the same, and as that English chap says, they expect us to be
gentlemen. I apologise to you all, and if you say go on as we are, I
will go on because I feel I ought to have kicked before. But I do so
under protest and feeling like a thief. I suggest that Harremann take
Liebold's place. Awfully sorry about it, Liebold, and I apologise to
you. I can't tell you how sorry I am, boys, but that's how it is with
me."

There was no time for discussion, and strangely enough there was little
desire for it, the Captain's personality and the action of the Wolf
Willow team carrying the proposition through. Harremann took his place
on the team, and Liebold made his contribution that day from the side
lines. But the team went on to the field with a sense that whatever
might be the outcome of the match they had begun the day with victory.

The match was contested with the utmost vigour, not to say violence; but
there was a absence of the rancour which had too often characterised
the clashing of these teams on previous occasions, the Eagle Hill team
carrying on to the field a new respect for their opponents as men who
had shown a true sporting spirit. And by the time the first quarter was
over their action in substituting an inferior player for Liebold for
honour's sake was known to all the members of the Wolf Willow team, and
awakened in them and in their friends among the spectators a new respect
for their enemy. The match resulted in a victory for the home team, but
the generous applause which followed the Eagle Hill team from the field
and which greeted them afterward at the dinner where they occupied an
honoured place at the table set apart for distinguished guests, and
the excellent dinner provided by the thrifty Ladies' Aid of All Saints
Church went far to soothe their wounded spirits and to atone for their
defeat.

"Awfully fine of you, Duckworth," said Larry, as they left the table
together. "That's the sort of thing that makes for clean sport."

"I promised to see your mother after the match," said Duckworth. "Can we
find her now?"

"Sure thing," said Larry.

Mrs. Gwynne received the young man with hand stretched far out to meet
him.

"You made us lose the game, Mrs. Gwynne," said Duckworth in a
half-shamed manner, "and that is one reason why I came to see you
again."

"I?" exclaimed Mrs. Gwynne.

"Well, you quoted Scripture against us, and you know you can't stand
up against Scripture and hope to win, can you?" said Duckworth with a
laugh.

"Sit down here beside me, Mr. Duckworth," she said, her eyes shining.
"I won't pretend not to understand you;" she continued when he had taken
his place beside her. "I can't tell you how proud I am of you."

"Thank you," said Duckworth. "I like to hear that. You see I never
thought about it very much. I am not excusing myself."

"No, I know you are not, but I heard about it, Mr. Duckworth. We all
think so much of you. I am sure your mother is proud of you."

Young Duckworth sat silent, his eyes fastened upon the ground.

"Please forgive me. Perhaps she is--no longer with you," said Mrs.
Gwynne softly, laying her hand upon his. Duckworth nodded, refusing to
look at her and keeping his lips firmly pressed together. "I was wrong
in what I said just now," she continued. "She is with you still; she
knows and follows all your doings, and I believe she is proud of you."

Duckworth cleared his throat and said with an evident effort, "You made
me think of her to-day, and I simply had to play up. I must go now. I
must see the fellows." He rose quickly to his feet.

"Come and see us, won't you?" said Mrs. Gwynne.

"Won't I just," replied Duckworth, holding her hand a moment or two. "I
can't tell you how glad I am that I met you to-day."

"Oh, wait, Mr. Duckworth. Nora, come here. I want you to meet my second
daughter. Nora, this is Mr. Duckworth, the Captain."

"Oh, I know him, the Captain of the enemy," cried Nora.

"Of our friends, Nora," said her mother.

"All right, of our friends, now that we have beaten you, but I want to
tell you, Mr. Duckworth, that I could gladly have slain you many times
to-day."

"And why, pray?"

"Oh, you were so terribly dangerous, and as for Larry, why you just
played with him. It was perfectly maddening to me."

"All the same your brother got away from me and shot the winning goal.
He's fearfully fast."

"A mere fluke, I tell him."

"Don't you think it for one little minute. It was a neat bit of work."



CHAPTER X

THE SPIRIT Of CANADA


Whatever it was that rendered it necessary for Duckworth to "see the
fellows," that necessity vanished in the presence of Nora.

"Are you going to take in the polo?" he asked.

"Am I? Am I going to continue breathing?" cried Nora. "Come along,
Mother, we must go if we are to get a good place."

"May I find one for you," said Mr. Duckworth, quite forgetting that he
"must see the fellows," and thinking only of his good luck in falling
in with such a "stunning-looking girl." He himself had changed into
flannels, and with his athletic figure, his brown, healthy face, brown
eyes and hair, was a thoroughly presentable young man. He found a place
with ease for his party, a dozen people offering to make room for them.
As Mr. Duckworth let his eyes rest upon the young lady at his side his
sense of good-fortune grew upon him, for Nora in white pique skirt and
batiste blouse smartly girdled with a scarlet patent leather belt, in
white canvas shoes and sailor hat, made a picture good to look at. Her
dark olive brown skin, with rich warm colour showing through the sunburn
of her cheeks, her dark eyes, and her hair for once "done up in style"
under Kathleen's supervision, against the white of her costume made
her indeed what her escort thought, "a stunning-looking girl." Usually
careless as to her appearance, she had yielded to Kathleen's persuasion
and had "gotten herself up to kill." No wonder her friends of both sexes
followed her with eyes of admiration, for no one envied Nora, her frank
manner, her generous nature, her open scorn at all attempts to win
admiration, made her only friends.

"Bring your mother over here," cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, who rejoiced
exceedingly in the girl's beauty. "Why, how splendidly you are looking
to-day," she continued in a more confidential tone as the party grouped
themselves about her. "What have you been doing to yourself? You are
looking awfully fine."

"Am I?" said Nora, exceedingly pleased with herself. "I am awfully glad.
It is all Kathleen's doing. I got me the belt and the hat new for this
show."

"Very smart, that belt, my dear," said her friend.

"I rather fancy it myself, and Kathleen would do up my hair in this new
way," said Nora, removing her hat that the full glory of her coiffure
might appear. "Do you like it?"

"Perfectly spiffing!" ejaculated Mr. Duckworth, who had taken a seat
just behind her chair.

Nora threw him a challenging glance that made that young man's heart
skip a beat or two as all the excitements of the match had not.

"Are you a judge?" said the girl, tipping her saucy chin at him.

"Am I? With four sisters and dozens of cousins to practise on, I fancy I
might claim to be a regular bench show expert."

"Then," cried Nora with sudden animation, "you are the very man I want."

"Thank you so much," replied Mr. Duckworth fervently.

"I mean, perhaps you can advise me. Now as you look at me--" The young
man's eyes burned into hers so that with all her audacity Nora felt the
colour rising in her face. "Which would you suggest as the most suitable
style for me, the psyche knot or the neck roll?"

"I beg your pardon? I rather--"

"Or would you say the French twist?"

"Ah, the French twist--"

"Or simply marcelled and pomped?"

"I am afraid--"

"Or perhaps the pancake or the coronet?"

"Well," said the young man, desperately plunging, "the coronet I should
say would certainly not be inappropriate. It goes with princesses,
duchesses and that sort of thing. Don't you think so, Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt?" said Duckworth, hoping to be extricated. That lady,
however, gave him no assistance but continued to smile affectionately at
the girl beside her. "What style is this that you have now adopted, may
I ask?" inquired Mr. Duckworth cautiously.

"Oh, that's a combination of several. It's a creation of Kathleen's
which as yet has received no name."

"Then it should be named at once," said Duckworth with great emphasis.
"May I suggest the Thunderbolt? You see, of course--so stunning."

"They are coming on," cried Nora, turning her shoulder in disdain upon
the young man. "Look, there's your brother, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. I think
he is perfectly splendid."

"Which is he?" said Mr. Duckworth, acutely interested.

"That tall, fine-looking man on the brown pony."

"Oh, yes, I see. Met him this morning. By Jove, he is some looker too,"
replied Mr. Duckworth with reluctant enthusiasm.

"And there is the High River Captain," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "on the
grey."

"Oh, yes, Monteith, he played for All Canada last year, didn't he?" said
Nora with immense enthusiasm. "He is perfectly splendid."

"I hear the High River club has really sent only its second team, or at
least two of them," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "Certainly Tremaine is not
with them."

"I hope they get properly trimmed for it," said Nora, indignantly. "Such
cheek!"

The result of the match quite exceeded Nora's fondest hopes, for the
High River team, having made the fatal error of despising the enemy,
suffered the penalty of their mistake in a crushing defeat. It was
certainly a memorable day for Wolf Willow, whose inhabitants were
exalted to a height of glory as they never experienced in all their
history.

"Serves us right," said Monteith, the High River Captain, apologising
for his team's poor display to his friend, Hec Ross, who had commanded
the Wolf Willow team. "We deserved to be jolly well licked, and we got
what was coming to us."

"Oh, we're not worrying," replied the Wolf Willow Captain, himself a
sturdy horseman and one of the most famous stick handlers in the West.
"Of course, we know that if Murray and Knight had been with you the
result would have been different."

"I am not at all sure about that," replied Monteith. "That new man of
yours, Romayne, is a wonder. Army man, isn't he?"

"Yes, played in India, I believe."

"Oh, no wonder he's such a don at it. You ought to get together a great
team here, Ross, and I should like to bring our team down again to give
you a real game."

"When?"

"Say two weeks. No. That throws it a little late for the harvest. Say a
week from to-day."

"I shall let you know to-night," said Ross. "You are staying for the
spellbinding fest and entertainment, are you not?"

"Sure thing; we are out for the whole day. Who are on for the speaking?"

"Gilchrist for one, our Member for the Dominion, you know."

"Oh, yes, strong man, I believe. He's a Liberal, of Course."

"Yes," replied Ross, "he's a Grit all right, hide-bound too--"

"Which you are not, I take it," replied Monteith with a laugh.

"Traditionally I am a Conservative," said Ross, "but last election I
voted Liberal. I don't know how you were but I was keen on Reciprocity."

"The contrary with me," replied Monteith. "Traditionally I am a Liberal,
but I voted Conservative."

"You voted against Reciprocity, you a western man voted against a better
market for our wheat and stuff, and against cheaper machinery?"

"Yes, I knew quite well it would give us a better market for our grain
here, and it would give us cheaper machinery too, but--do you really
care to know why I switched?"

"Sure thing; I'd like awfully to hear if you don't mind. We are not
discussing politics, you understand."