Chapter II: Part 2

A traveller who visited the city fifty years ago described it as being "one of the oldest settlements on the North American Continent." It stands upon the site of an ancient Indian settlement, all traces of which were soon obliterated by the progressive action of the pale-faces. At first named Mount Royal, in honour of the King of France, after sixty or seventy years' usage it appears to have been corrupted, or changed, to Montreal, but by whom and under what circumstances is not apparent. The town extends along the border of the St. Lawrence for some miles, nearly midway between Quebec and Ottawa, and the principal streets run almost parallel with the river. The older parts of the town forcibly remind one of some of the oldest cities in France, and are as ill-conceived and badly arranged as many of the worst streets of old London. The more modern parts are designed and built in the best of style, justifying its being described as "a noble city of stone edifices, rising from a crowded harbour to its mountain park." This mountain park is an adjunct such as no other city on the Continent can boast of, "whilst its shipping and business quarters give evidence of wealth and commercial activity, which invest it with more than a passing interest."

The two Bartons spent a good deal of time inspecting the chief attractions of the city, until, tired with their wanderings, as they passed through Notre Dame Street they came to a narrow turning, down which they were induced to venture on seeing a small crowd about the centre. On making their way through, they found it to be one of those brawls common enough in their own land, and which they soon learned was not regarded as a strange thing in these parts. It was a fight between two men, with an excited crowd of partisans egging them on. Presently the police arrived on the scene, when an end was quickly put to the combative feelings of the crowd, which was dispersed in very much the fashion that similar crowds are dispersed in the Old Country.

Retracing their steps, their attention was arrested by an ordinary but respectable-looking refreshment bar, which they entered.

A seafaring man was seated at one of the tables, drinking whisky, and loudly declaiming against some injustice--real or imaginary--he wanted his hearers to believe he had suffered at the hands of the Customs' authorities. A group of interested listeners was gathered about him, which our friends joined; but after a while, not feeling interested in the subject he was dilating upon, they separated themselves from the group, and, selecting a table which was unoccupied, ordered a modest meal, such as they believed their means would admit of.

When the time to settle up arrived, what was their dismay and horror to find that their pockets had been emptied of all the money they possessed.

Calling the proprietor, they made known to him their dilemma; but he refused to admit that they had been robbed in his house, and as they could not declare with any certainty that this was the case, they were required to pay; but how to do this was not so easy to determine.

A grinning crowd soon surrounded them, expressing considerable doubts about the _bona fides_ of their representations. They, however, succeeded in convincing the landlord that they were what they represented themselves to be by producing the railway tickets, which they had fortunately taken for their forward journey; and he, relying upon their promise to forward the sum due out of the first money they made, allowed them to depart after some little haggling.

Their difficulties, however, were not yet over. It had been their intention to stay a few days longer in Montreal, and they had accordingly engaged their lodgings with that object in view. This was now rendered impossible. They had left a deposit with the lodging-house keeper, so that the only plan they could think of was to interview her, make a clean breast of their position, and, in the event of finding her incredulous, forfeit the money in hand and start at once to the West.

The day being well advanced, they returned to the lodging-house where they had intended staying, which was situate in one of the streets contiguous to the harbour.

The landlady, a sharp-looking little woman, incredulous at first as to the truth of their story, explained that she had so frequently been done by similar representations that they must not feel surprised at her hesitating to accept their statement as true. Convinced at length, she agreed to allow them to remain the night in return for the deposit, so that they might be able to depart by the morning train, outward bound at nine-five a.m. This difficulty overcome, it was not so clear to our two friends how they were to subsist during the long journey which lay before them.

From the police they obtained very little that could be considered satisfactory. The street they described had an indifferent reputation, and the restaurant at which they had stopped was frequently being brought under their notice. But the fact of their having mingled in the row in the street rendered it so extremely probable that the robbery took place there, that they held out no hopes of their loss being recovered. Acting upon police advice, they resolved to call upon the British Consul and acquaint him with the destitute position in which this event had placed them, in the hope that he might be willing to render them a little assistance.

They had not far to go to reach that useful official, into whose presence they were readily admitted.

He was a tall, handsome-looking man, with a fine military bearing, who had well passed the meridian of life. His face was a study which Lavater would have revelled over; it had all the expression of good-humour and a kindly disposition, so delightful to meet with, yet accompanied with a pair of expressive blue eyes which seemed to pierce the person they were looking at. He was certainly not the man to be imposed upon, yet he was quite prepared to listen and weigh a fairly good tale of trouble.

The story of the Bartons was very simple. After taking their tickets at Liverpool, they had the balance out of one hundred pounds left. They had not spent much since reaching Montreal beyond the price of their railway tickets, which had been taken to San Francisco. They had therefore more than half the money they had begun with intact, when so unfortunately deprived of the balance.

Their papers and railway tickets tended to confirm these statements, whilst their manners and appearance were sufficient to convince His Majesty's representative their story was a true one.

"I believe all you tell me," said his Excellency, "and am afraid the treatment you have received from our countrymen will not lead you to form a too favourable impression of them."

"On the contrary," spoke up the elder of the two men, "we feel that there was a great want of thought on our part in the matter, and the kindness we have already met with convinces us that in this country, as in England, the bad are always to be found mixed up with the good."

"I am glad you take that sensible view of the affair; and at the same time, whilst regretting that I cannot make up your loss, which it would perhaps not be wise for me to do, yet to convince you that, as a people, we are not indisposed to extend a helping hand to those who stand in need of it, I shall be quite willing to make you a present of ten pounds, trusting you will guard it with more care than that which has gone."

"Your Excellency's offer is far more than we had any right to anticipate, and overwhelms us with gratitude. It is a noble and generous act, for which we cannot find words adequately to express our feelings."

"Good day," added the Consul, as they were leaving; "in the land you are going to I hope you will find what you are in search of."

"And be assured, sir, you will have no reason to regret your confidence in us, for the very first moneys we succeed in making will be devoted to the return of what we prefer to regard as a loan."

And it was with a feeling of proud satisfaction that, in less than six months, the elder Barton found himself in a position to remit the amount to his Excellency, in a letter which expressed the gratitude felt for the timely help so kindly and generously afforded.

*CHAPTER IX*

*RANGER'S RANCH.*

"Thou, like a kind fellow, gave thyself away; and I thank thee."
_Henry IV._, Part II. Act IV. sc. iii.

Guide-books tell us that "the Dominion of Canada is the largest of the British possessions," and it is difficult to form a true conception of the vast area comprised within the limits of our North American Provinces.

No country has such grand possibilities before it, and its progress of recent years has been remarkable. All Canadians are proud of their country, and believe in it.

But we are not at present concerned so much about Canada in general, or as a whole, as we are with that section which lies some few hundred miles west of Winnipeg, in the district of Assiniboia.

It was here, in the lovely valley of the Qu'Appelle River, that we left our weary traveller at Ranger's Ranch, with a prospect of provisional entertainment, until something suitable could be decided upon for his future.

Having, as he explained, no definite plan of action before him, he very readily fell in with a proposal Ranger made, in the course of a few days, to stay and assist on the farm, so as to ascertain to what extent he was adapted for agricultural pursuits, and whether it was a life he would be willing to settle down to.

"What sort of climate have you here?" was one of the earliest questions asked by Fellows, the name he had expressed a wish to be known by.

"Much the same as prevails in the neighbouring province of Manitoba," was Ranger's reply. "The summer months usually bright, clear, and very warm, but nights cool."

"How is it later on?"

"The autumn months are the finest of the year."

"No rain?"

"Frequently the atmosphere is dry and free from moisture for several weeks."

"Is your winter exceptionally hard?"

"For the matter of that," replied Ranger, "much depends upon constitution. Without doubt it is cold, but there is usually very little wind, and almost constant sunshine; there is no snowfall to any great depth, and traffic is but slightly impeded. In fact, the general dryness of the air causes it to be exceedingly bracing and healthy."

"I suppose you consider it superior to that of the Old Country?"

"Decidedly I do! Experience would tell me that, but the testimony of our Officer of Health goes to confirm it. Listen to what he says," added Ranger, as he took down a little book from the slender stock on the shelf by his side: "'We are absolutely protected by our climatic conditions from several of the most dangerous and fatal diseases, whilst others, which are common to all peoples on the face of the earth, are comparatively rare.'"

"Your favourable description, added to my own brief experience, so charms me, that I feel very much like staying where I am," said Fellows.

"Well, friend, if you are really so minded I daresay we can manage to fix you," was Ranger's rejoinder.

"I am extremely grateful for your kind reception, and courteous treatment, of a perfect stranger, as well as for your further promise and all that it implies; but unless I can be made of some use by you I shall certainly object to becoming a burden here."

"We shall not let you be that," said Ranger. "To-morrow morning I am going to drive into the railway station, which is some fifteen miles out, on the branch line of the C.P.R. running through the valley. You can go with me, as it will give you a good opportunity of seeing a little more of the surroundings, and perhaps enable you to judge of what there is to be done."

Left to himself, with the afternoon before him, Fellows strolled away to the top of a hill which commanded an extensive view over the prairie-land surrounding him on all sides, and there, seating himself beneath a sheltering tree, his thoughts wandered away to a distant home, where in imagination he saw the features of those he loved, and who were seldom absent from his mind. A stranger might not have been able to tell the current of thought engaging his attention, but it would have been apparent to the most casual observer, by the contracted brow and the gloom on his countenance, that his reflections were none of the pleasantest.

After a considerable lapse of time, his attention was diverted by hearing distant sounds of voices borne upon the still air, apparently proceeding from a rough-looking timber construction, the abode of some one of the many farm-hands engaged upon the Ranch.

Built upon a spur of the hill, in a somewhat deep indentation, it was a little distant from where he was seated, but he soon became an attentive observer of all that was passing.

A labouring-looking man came from the house with a pail, and ran with all haste to a pond at a short distance and commenced filling it, but before he could return loud screams proceeded from the interior, which caused Fellows to hasten down the hill in order to ascertain the cause of the commotion.

Reaching the dwelling at the same time as did the other with his pail of water, he found the living-room in a blaze of fire, whilst screams were proceeding from a room beyond, all communication with which appeared to be cut off by the trend of the flames. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he hastily dipped it in the pail the man was carrying, wrung it out, tied it round his mouth, and then rushed swiftly through the flames into the room where the sounds of distress were to be heard.

On reaching the room, a task which was only successfully accomplished with much difficulty, and considerable painful cost, he beheld a female form sink fainting to the ground, overcome, apparently, by the heat and smoke, of which latter the apartment was full.

To raise her from the floor was the work of an instant; his next proceeding was to place her upon a bed in the room, roll a blanket round her, and rush through the smoke and flame to the outer room with as much speed as the weight of the burden he bore would permit.

The fiery marks on face and hands, which were subsequently to be seen, bore eloquent testimony to the severity of the ordeal he had passed through in accomplishing the dangerous and difficult task so bravely and fearlessly undertaken.

When the outbreak was observed from the other stations on the Ranch, a number of willing hands began to congregate with all haste, and with the assistance of such appliances as were most readily available a united effort was made to stem the progress of the flames. These, however, had by this time obtained so firm a hold, that it was evident the building, with its contents, was doomed. In a short while nothing remained of the humble dwelling but a blackened and smouldering ruin.

The inanimate form of his daughter occupied all the attention of Russell, the late occupier of the hut, who, as soon as she could be restored to consciousness, was found not to have suffered much harm, thanks to the brave and timely efforts of Fellows on her behalf.

He, however, had not escaped so freely, having suffered considerably about the hands and face, which had been exposed to the full force of the flames as he twice made his way through them.

A cart was procured, in which he was at once placed and driven back to Ranger's dwelling, to be doctored with such native measures as Mrs. Ranger was able hastily to command.

The cause of the fire, as the girl explained when she was sufficiently recovered to do so, was one of common occurrence. Some light articles of clothing had been hung in front of the fire to air, and whilst Russell sat enjoying his after-dinner nap, she had gone into the other room to attend to certain domestic duties, and during this temporary absence a spark must have set the things on fire, which was only discovered when the outer room was in a blaze.

As the few things which Russell possessed were all destroyed, arrangements had to be temporarily made for the accommodation of himself and his daughter in two of the other huts on the Ranch, until his own could again be rebuilt.

Leaving instructions for all hands to turn to in the morning, and help put up another dwelling for the two who had been thus suddenly left houseless, Ranger, who, as soon as informed of what was happening, had lost no time in proceeding to the scene of the fire, returned home to see how it fared with Fellows, and to make preparations for his journey in the morning, which would now have to be undertaken without his companionship.

Fellows was in a high state of fever; whilst many of the burns he had sustained were seen to be of such a serious character that it was felt more skilled assistance would have to be procured. A messenger was at once despatched into the town--distant some fifteen miles--for the only medical man in the neighbourhood.

It was shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon, that, mounted on a good horse, the messenger set out for M'Lean Station, in hopes of finding the doctor and returning with him. His way for the most part was over rolling prairie, relieved by clumps of trees, which are to be found on the borders of such lakes and streams as are constantly to be met with; or down amid the hollows, where grow the heavy luxuriant grasses from which the farmer obtains his supply of winter hay.

As the slanting rays of the westering sun were sending up their brilliant points into the clear blue vault above, Ranger's messenger drew rein before the door of the doctor's dwelling, a very unpretentious, one-storeyed detached villa--one of some half-dozen--standing upon a hillside leading up to the station.

Dr. Fisherton was not at home; he had left in the early morning for the Pleasant Hills, in response to an imperative request from a Nat Langham, who kept a store, and farmed a small holding at the foot of the hills, and was not expected back till late. There was no help for it but to wait. So, stabling his horse, he accompanied his negro attendant into the servants' quarters, determined to make himself as comfortable as possible for the time being.

After doing full justice to the meal which was presently spread out before him, and which his long ride had well prepared him for, he lighted his pipe and seated himself at the window to wait for the doctor's return.

Slowly the hours seemed to pass, until eleven o'clock struck, without any signs of the doctor's appearance. At length the sound of a horse's feet were heard approaching, and soon all doubt was put at rest with the entry of the man so long expected.

The appearance of the doctor was that of a man in the prime of life; tall, and with a good physique, and a countenance calculated to impart confidence almost at a glance.

On learning that a messenger was in waiting for him, he, without standing on ceremony, immediately made his way to where he was sitting and inquired the nature of his business.

"There's been a fire, sir, this afternoon, at Farmer Ranger's, and one of his men is very seriously injured; in fact, when I left home he was in a high state of fever, so that it was thought advisable to send me, in order, if possible, to take you back at once to him."

"Well, you see I was out and in the saddle early this morning, and have only just returned after a hard day's work. What do you say to staying the night, so that we may start together soon after daylight in the morning?"

"It may sound a little inconsiderate, sir," responded the man, "but if you could manage to come now, we shall be able to reach the Ranch about two o'clock; and my own opinion is, that it is a case where every hour may be a matter of importance."

After reflecting for a few moments, during which time he seemed to be turning the matter well over in his mind, he announced his decision in a manner which admitted of no appeal.

"I think it would be very unwise to start at such an hour. It is late; there is no moon; the track is very uneven; and in the darkness it would not be difficult to miss one's way. Besides, the ground is not free from loafers and tramps--to give them no more desperate title--whom it would be dangerous to meet at such a time. We will bed you up for the night, and start in the morning soon after the dawn; and instead of reaching the farm at the unearthly hour of two, get there between six and seven, a delay of four or five hours, which, on the whole, I think will be a far preferable arrangement."

The wisdom of the course recommended was too evident to admit of dispute; therefore, after giving orders for the morning, the doctor retired, and the man was shown at once to his sleeping apartment, and for a few brief hours sought a welcome rest.

The grey light of dawn was stealing rapidly up from the east when the messenger, Burt, was awakened by the negro attendant and told that it was time to be up. To arise and dress, for a man of his habits, was not a work occupying much time; in less than ten minutes he was seated in the kitchen, doing ample justice to the well-spread table before him. And by the time the doctor was ready to depart, Burt was in the saddle by his side, and together they started on their ride to the Ranch.

The atmosphere being clear, the view up the valley along which they journeyed was uninterrupted. Where the river ran there was a thick and tangled line of vegetation, but the absence of rain had reduced it to the proportions of a very modest stream, flowing sluggishly within narrow limits. As they reached higher ground they found it everywhere thickly covered with the short crisp variety of grass known as "buffalo grass," forming excellent pasture both in winter and summer.

Familiarity may not always breed contempt, because of the beauty of things with which long association has rendered one familiar, nevertheless it induces indifference. And in the case of our two friends--Fisherton and Burt--the scenes through which they were passing had been so frequently viewed by them, that it was with a species of indifference they rapidly pushed on, intent upon accomplishing their journey with as little delay as possible.

Reaching the farm just as Ranger and his household were about to sit down to breakfast, they were fully prepared, after rising so early and their long and rather exhausting ride, to join him at the morning meal.

When seated at the breakfast-table, the doctor inquired about the patient he had come to see, and was informed that he had passed a very restless night, with fitful intervals of sleep, and seemed to be in great pain.

"When your messenger arrived, it happened, unfortunately," said Dr. Fisherton, "that I was out. A mounted messenger from the Pleasant Hills had that morning arrived to say I was wanted at Nat Langham's Store, where a free fight had resulted in one man being shot dead and two others severely wounded, and I was unable to get back until eleven at night, when I found him waiting to bring me here."

"Ah, I see!" added Ranger; "and of course you naturally felt it was too late to start out then to come here."

"That is just it, my friend. Your man wanted me to do so; but I decided that, rather than arrive here in the middle of the night, it would be better to take a few hours' rest, start with the dawn, and get here, as we have done, in broad daylight."

"Quite right, doctor; and when you have finished breakfast, I will take you to the patient, and let you see for yourself if you think the delay has done him any harm."

"I trust not," was the doctor's only comment.

Breakfast over, the "gudewife" conducted the doctor to the bedroom of the invalid, whilst Ranger set about preparing for his journey into town.

After a careful examination of the injuries he had received, the doctor pronounced them to be in no sense dangerous, although serious. The measures which had been adopted to allay irritation and heal the burns were highly approved; and, having dressed the wounded parts and administered a cooling draught, he took his departure, giving strict instructions as to the course to be followed, with a view to reduce the fever, and promising to return in three days unless previously sent for, which he did not apprehend would be necessary.

*CHAPTER X.*

*THE MISSING LINK.*

"'There is no God,' the foolish saith,-- But none, 'There is no sorrow.'"--E. B. BROWNING.

On returning to the Hall, after her purposeless journey to the railway-station to meet her son Ralph, Mrs. Sinclair waited the whole of that day, anxiously hoping that some intelligence would be received to account for his non-arrival, but neither letter nor message of any kind arrived.

After spending a restless night, and the morning post bringing nothing to relieve the oppression which was weighing upon her mind, she told her daughter of her intention to drive into town and make inquiry at the offices of the agents, to see if anything could be learned about the passengers by the _Kestrel_.

There she was informed of the vessel's safe arrival; but that during the voyage, a passenger--supposed to be Ralph Sinclair, from papers discovered in the pocket of a coat believed to be his, as no one could be found to claim it--had been lost in mid-ocean, and that, although every effort was made at the time, they had been unsuccessful in recovering the body.

The grief of both mother and daughter at this intelligence was heartrending to witness, and may be better imagined than described.

They returned home in a state well-nigh bordering upon distraction, and for some hours were hopelessly helpless with grief. The news, brief though it was, seemed too circumstantial to be doubted.

Later in the day, when slightly recovered from the shock which the first intelligence of her loss had caused, she resolved to write to the firm in whose employ he was engaged, in the all but vain hope they might know something with regard to his movements which would throw doubt upon the report to hand. Having done this, it remained only to wait two weary days before a reply could be received.

Ralph had for some years been in the service of H. & E. Quinion, at Broadstone, and held a responsible position, which took him frequently to the Continent and other parts in executing the orders of the firm.

Early the next morning a telegram came to hand, sent by the firm in question, saying, "Nothing known of R. S. beyond what the papers say to-day. Letter follows." The letter, which was received the next morning, added little to what was already known, and only contained the firm's expression of regret if the news should turn out to be true.

Acting under advice, Mrs. Sinclair wrote the owners of the _Kestrel_, asking them to forward her such effects as were found upon their vessel which were believed to belong to her son; and in the course of a few days she received a parcel containing an overcoat, with his pocket-book,--sad memorials of one fondly loved but now lost for ever.

Some months later, she was rather astonished to receive a visit from one of the members of the firm who happened to be away up North on a holiday tour; and to learn from him that it had been discovered that the financial relations of her son with them were anything but what they should be. That, from inquiries they had felt it necessary to make, he had not only been mixed up with a very questionable class of companions, but had made free use of the moneys of the firm which had passed through his hands. At cards, it would seem, he had lost heavily, and had paid his debts with gold that was not his own.

It may well be supposed this in no way tended to lessen the grief experienced at the loss she had sustained. The thought that her son, whom she had doted upon, and hoped would have been a comfort in her declining years, should have disgraced his own and his father's good name, was madness to her, and for a time seemed likely to deprive her of her reason.

Her daughter Jennie was most assiduous in attending on her mother during this trying period; and her youth, coupled with a robust constitution, peculiarly fitted her for this task. For although feeling keenly the disgrace which her brother's conduct had brought upon the family, and the untimely end which had apparently overtaken him, she did not give way or break down after the manner of her mother, on whom the infirmities of advancing years were beginning to leave their mark.

By slow degrees she rallied, and was able again to resume her place in the household, but the old spirit had left her, so that she never seemed able to hold herself up as in former days.

Her neighbours and friends evinced much sympathy with her at her loss,--the true cause of the deep-seated grief they witnessed they were kept in ignorance of. The nights of agony spent in mourning over the frailties and faults of her boy--her darling boy!--not even her daughter knew anything about. She could not but note, however, how prematurely her mother was ageing, and it was with a painful sense of what might be before her that she contemplated, day after day, the tottering form, which seemed as if bowed down with the weight of years.

At Broadstone, the feeling of regret which at first prevailed when the tidings of young Sinclair's drowning was made known, had gradually given place to anger and resentment, when it ultimately became the topic of conversation that he had defrauded the firm of between four and five thousand pounds.

True, they scarcely felt the loss of that sum, since the amounts, as they were discovered, were simply made a matter of bookkeeping, for which a few entries in day book and ledger sufficed to transfer them to profit and loss account, and the thing was done with, so far as the business was concerned. Nevertheless the members of the firm had been disappointed by one on whom they had implicitly relied, and whom they had looked upon as the soul of honour. And, as time progressed, the reflex influence of this one man's actions was seen and felt by all, in the inauguration of a stricter discipline amongst the employes, and a more elaborate and, as it was regarded, a better system of account keeping being introduced, in order to maintain a closer check upon those who had the receiving and paying of money.

To the older men this was galling; but as younger men entered upon their duties, with little if any knowledge of what had preceded, they readily accommodated themselves to what was to them the natural order of things.

Perhaps it ought not to be wondered at if the firm should endeavour to find reasons for dispensing with the services of these older ones; and it might be that some such influence had been working to cause the changes which had been taking place of late. Firms do but consist of human beings, after all, although they often seem to forget that those who serve them are human beings likewise.

If the same even-handed justice prevailed when no cloud flecked the horizon, as is meted out when turmoil reigns, there might be less cause of complaint. But with the cause the complaint must not be audible, as that would be to still further wreck the position and prospects of the unfortunate employe.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*MANITOBA.*

"I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents... Of hair-breadth scapes."--_Othello_, Act. I. sc. iii.

After their unfortunate experience in the city of Montreal, the Bartons lost no more time in looking about, but proceeded by the first outgoing train to the great North-West. Finding, however, before starting, that the money they now possessed would not be sufficient to carry them through and leave any cash in hand, they determined to break their journey somewhere beyond Winnipeg, and see if work could be found which would enable them to replenish their exchequer before venturing farther. Fortunately succeeding in effecting a change in their through tickets for the less distant city of Regina, they prepared to face a long day's ride. Travelling on the Canadian Pacific Railway is a luxurious procedure compared with that experienced on English lines and in many Continental cities, whilst the second-class corresponds with English first-class, with the advantage of being transformable into sleeping-cars at night.

The scenery from Montreal to the Pacific is some of the noblest and most varied the traveller can anywhere behold.

As he passes through the lovely Ottawa Valley, Toronto, which is the capital city of the Dominion, will be sure to attract attention; and, as he advances, the interest will deepen as he passes through the primeval forest, or past the primitive homes of frontier settlers.

The rail carries him along the shore of Lake Superior, the greatest fresh-water lake on the face of the globe. And, until Fort William is reached, some very grand scenery is beheld.

Rock, stream, and lake succeed, or mingle with, each other for the next three or four hundred miles, and receives an added interest from the fact that, besides being the route of the old fur-traders, it was also that by which our "One General" conducted the Red River Expedition of 1870.

The Red River Valley is now a populous settlement; crossing which, Winnipeg is entered, and the capital reached of the "world's great wheatfields of the future."

The province of Manitoba "is the most eastern division of the great prairie country," and its valleys are everywhere famous for the quality of its wheat. It is the older settled division of what was formerly known as Rupert's Land; its climate is extremely healthy, and is, in fact, looked upon as a health-resort in other parts of Canada.

Important and attractive as Winnipeg undoubtedly was, and influential as being the capital of the province, it was not considered by the Bartons to be the place most likely to meet their wants; hence their determination to travel on in order to reach a more agricultural station of the rural type, where they hoped there might be a possibility of obtaining work.

Passing a number of small towns and thriving settlements, where here and there might be found traces of the all but extinct buffalo, and occasionally catching a glimpse of an antelope, they had commenced the descent into the valley of the Qu'Appelle, and were rounding a rather sharp curve, when there burst on the engine-driver's view a heavily laden goods-train, in process of shunting, standing right across the path of the on-coming train. To shut off steam and reverse the brakes was the work of a few seconds; nevertheless the crash came, and at once a scene of dire confusion ensued. The driver lay dead beneath his overturned engine; the stoker had jumped off, and almost miraculously escaped with only a severe shaking and some few bruises. Two of the forward carriages were telescoped; others were heaped end-on companion carriages; two had been thrown over.

As soon as the uninjured portion of the passengers could free themselves from the carriages which had kept the rails, they set to work to rescue those who were screaming for succour, or moaning with pain, amidst the wreckage which plentifully bestrewed the lines.

In the course of a little less than an hour fourteen dead bodies were laid on the bank-side, and between fifty and sixty more or less fearfully injured passengers were extricated, of whom several, it was at once seen, were fatally injured.

Wolseley Station was within about one hundred yards of the accident, and thither the wounded were conveyed with all speed, whilst telegraphic messages were being rapidly sent up and down the line for every available medical man to be despatched on pilot engines, local trains, or in every possible way, to meet the urgent need.

The Bartons, fortunately, were in the hinder part of the train, and, with other passengers similarly circumstanced, with the exception of a good shaking were comparatively uninjured. These proved most indefatigable in helping the injured.

When tidings of the accident was wired to M'Lean Station, it happened to be the day that Ranger had gone over on business, and hearing the sad news he, without loss of time, drove down the line to Wolseley to see if he could be of any assistance; for, wherever the news had spread, the farmers and labourers were hastening in with all speed, knowing well that in such a district, and at such a time, all the help obtainable would be valuable. On his arrival he found the little station still in the greatest confusion, there not having yet been sufficient time to obtain the help needful to attend to the sufferers, let alone clear the line.

The less seriously injured were being conveyed to the nearest homesteads; whilst broken or damaged limbs were receiving such "first aid" as the appliances at hand and the intelligence of the rough but kind-hearted on-lookers suggested best to be done, until the surgeons summoned should arrive.

The dead had been carried into the goods-shed at the station, and reverently laid out to await the coroner's order for removal.

Presently, coming across the Bartons, he found them endeavouring to restore to consciousness a young woman apparently not more than twenty-five years of age, who had both legs broken.

By this time several medical men had arrived, including Dr. Fisherton, whom we last saw at Ranger's Ranch; and these were speedily fully occupied. When his attention could be arrested, Ranger secured his services for the young woman the Bartons were attending, and in the course of a short while they had the satisfaction of seeing her restored to consciousness, her limbs set and bandaged, and ready to be conveyed to some place for proper nursing.

In a number of cases this proved to be no easy task, since it involved being carried back to the hospital at Winnipeg; Portage, and other smaller towns, affording nothing like adequate accommodation for the many sufferers.

Ranger's trap being a commodious one, he expressed himself willing to take the young woman with the broken limbs to be nursed at his homestead, if the Bartons would ride with him and take all possible care to keep her from being jolted; providing Dr. Fisherton did not consider the journey too long and dangerous. Having given his consent to this arrangement, they all four started for his home. They necessarily had to proceed slowly, so that consequently the Ranch was not reached until late in the evening.

As soon as Mrs. Ranger learned what had happened, and the fresh demand that was to be made upon her domestic resources, she readily accommodated herself to the situation, and had the patient put in a comfortable bed. The Bartons were provided with a shake-down on the floor, after first being supplied with a good supper.

Fellows, who when we last left him was in a state of delirium from the effects of the fire, had not yet returned to consciousness, although the virulence of the fever had somewhat abated.

There seemed, therefore, little prospect of much sleep for Mrs. Ranger that night, as the two alternately required much of her attention.

In the course of the next day Dr. Fisherton rode over to see the two patients, and to attend to their dressings; and from him they learned that four more of the injured had died, bringing up the number dead to eighteen; and that the coroner had arranged to hold his Court at M'Lean Station on the following day, a jury having been summoned for that purpose.

The inquiry, which was held in the goods-shed,--a sufficiently capacious building at M'Lean Station,--was chiefly devoted to a formal identification of the bodies, so as to render burial possible.

This, in all cases, was not an easy matter, but with the assistance afforded from papers found upon the deceased, and in one or two cases by the aid of relations travelling with them who had been saved, it was at length accomplished, and the coroner's order issued, permitting the funerals to take place.

As to the cause of the mischief, the testimony was not quite so clear; but the general opinion seemed to be that it was due to an error of judgment on the part of the signalman, in allowing the luggage train to be shunting at a time when the passenger train was so near due.

Eventually the Court stood adjourned for a week to admit of further evidence being adduced.

At the end of that period, when the jury reassembled, very little fresh light was thrown upon the case by the additional evidence produced; and the jury, whilst strongly condemning the carelessness of the signalman, which had undoubtedly been the cause of all the mischief, returned a verdict of accidental death.

Subsequently, an official inquiry was held by the C.P.R. Company, which ended in the signalman, who was deemed to blame, being dismissed the service.

A heavy bill of indemnity ultimately had to be faced, which the Company on the whole met and liquidated in a fairly generous spirit.

Whilst the inquest was pending, the Bartons found it impossible to leave the neighbourhood, as they were required to give evidence.

During their enforced stay at Farmer Ranger's, they had had frequent opportunities of canvassing their plans for the future with him.

His opinion coincided with their own, that it would be folly to attempt to penetrate into the Yukon with no better provision for their needs than what they at present possessed.

He therefore arranged to give them work in the harvest-field at one dollar per day each, and their board, until means could be found for procuring them a small holding of their own, whilst acquiring the means for their journey, if so desired, into the Yukon.

Their next proceeding was to write home and inform Arnold of what had happened, and how they were at present circumstanced; the conclusion at which they had arrived being, that for the present they must give up all thoughts of going farther, and the realisation of their golden dreams would have to be indefinitely postponed.

This decision, as may well be imagined, was not arrived at without much discussion; and it was only after long reflection that they came to the conclusion to abandon the prospects they had in view.

It was a great blow to the sanguine hopes and expectations they had been indulging; but it was a condition of things they had been preparing themselves for since leaving Montreal, the scene of their misfortunes, which their own carelessness or thoughtlessness had so largely, if not entirely, contributed to.

Charles, the younger of the two, did suggest the thought of asking Arnold to advance them the money needed for the completion of their journey as originally mapped out; but the notion was one so repugnant to the feelings of the elder brother, and so stoutly resisted by him, that it was not pressed, and no hint was given in the letter subsequently written that any such desire prevailed.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*A DREAM OF GOLD.*

"...thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee."
_Merchant of Venice_, Act III. sc. ii.

Arnold's position was not one to be envied. For a flagrant misdemeanour he had been dismissed from Messrs. Quinion's London establishment, where he had been employed for many years. But with a display of energy, for the possession of which few had given him credit, he at once commenced business on his own account as an agent.

The letter which came to hand from his cousin Jack Barton, told of their adventures in Montreal, their narrow escape from death at Manitoba, and their determination for the present to make their stay there, being under the necessity, through want of means, to abandon for a time their journey to the Klondyke.

Coming, as this letter did, at a time when his mind was so much exercised by events at home and his uncertain prospects for the future, it is not surprising if it revived thoughts, and imparted some life and vigour to aspirations and secretly cherished desires for a participation in some of those visions of wealth which from day to day the papers were revealing as amongst the things possible to men of energy and resource.

So much has been said and written, of late, as to the enormous riches of such regions as the Kootney, Cariboo, and the Klondyke, that, without disparaging in the least other regions of the Dominion, it is not surprising to find the eyes of thousands turned wistfully in their direction.

It was only a few days prior to the receipt of his cousin's letter that he had read in one of the papers a statement made by an ex-Mayor of Ottawa, to the effect "that the new Yukon goldfields were the richest the world has ever seen."

True, that which followed was calculated somewhat to damp the ardent enthusiast.

It was not pleasant to be told that "hundreds of the people who are now going there will be starved and frozen to death."

Some, however, would win success, and why not he?

What if he were to join his two cousins already on the way, help them to complete their arrested journey, and, by making one common cause, unite their forces, and perhaps succeed in winning a success eclipsing the dreams of the most avaricious!

It was a subject which he felt was one to be thought over, and not hastily decided upon.

The next letter to his cousin was one in which, with some amount of detail, he described the position in which he had unexpectedly found himself placed, and the thoughts, not yet matured, which he entertained of joining them. He closed his letter with the expression of a desire to hear from them on the subject.

The lapse of a month brought the expected reply, strongly advising him to join them, and proposing that if he did so, and found the means for all to go forward, they would consent to his receiving a half share of whatever was realised, they taking the remaining half between them.

The proposal seemed eminently fair, so that it only remained for him to well consider the situation before him, and whether the ways and means could be procured for the undertaking.

His wife, who had not been informed of the plan lie was contemplating, had yet to be won over to his views. This proved not so easy a matter as he had dared to hope.

To the woman's mind the journey was fraught with risks and dangers which far outweighed whatever possibility might exist of realising the golden dreams, which at present, at all events, were too far distant for serious contemplation.

Furthermore, to say nothing of the toils and hardships he would have to face, and which she was fain to believe he was not man enough to endure, she wanted to know how long he expected to be away, and what he proposed for her and the children to do until his return.

So far as his own powers of endurance were concerned, he told her, he had no fears; and was prepared to face all the terrors and hardships of the journey, as well as the risks and dangers, in the search for gold.

The question of her own and the children's subsistence during his absence he confessed he had not carefully gone into, as he first wanted to get at a general expression of her views before considering what really was the most difficult aspect of the subject.

"I understand your mother is coming this afternoon; so suppose we leave the matter as it stands at present, that you may talk it over with her, hear what she has to say, and then when I come home we can go more fully into it together."

On his return in the evening, he was quickly informed that the two women regarded the scheme as being altogether a mad and impracticable proposal; one which no sensible married man ought for a moment to entertain.

Nor, if the truth were told, did Arnold himself quite see how the thing could be accomplished.

The main difficulty was how to provide for his family during an almost two years necessary absence. His wife's mother could have rendered this part of the task easy enough, had she been so disposed; but since no such proposal came from her, he himself was not willing to suggest it.

For the present, therefore, the idea was abandoned, and in the course of a week or two he wrote his cousins, stating fully the difficulties as they had presented themselves, and explaining that the financial bogey alone rendered it impossible for him to undertake the exploit, and that it was with infinite regret he had been compelled to that conclusion.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*BROADSTONE LIBERALS.*

"Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne."
_Richard II._, Act II. sc. i.

A parliamentary election was pending at Broadstone, through the decease of one of its sitting members.

The several election agents were busy marshalling their forces, in readiness for what it was believed would be a sharp contest. Party clubs were rallying their members, so that each club might bring forward the strongest possible candidate it could find. The local press were putting out feelers as to this man and that man's suitability, evidently with no very definite notion as to which of those named the choice was likely to fall upon.

Energetic correspondents were at work detailing to an open-mouthed clientele that So-and-so was being approached with a view to stand, only to furnish a paragraph for the next day's issue to the effect that the intelligence so reported was premature or unfounded.

The Radical caucus at length brought out their man in the person of Mr. E. Quinion, who was declared to be the "Working-Man's Friend," the foe to all tyranny and oppression, the advocate of Home Rule, and the extension of the popular vote. The Conservative party showed themselves equally eager for the political fray, declaring that their man was a staunch supporter of the rights of labour, but a determined opponent of Home Rule.

Canvassers began to be busy, meetings were arranged for, and the leading men from the London clubs were sent down to aid the cause of the candidates by their floods of eloquence.

As much of the rank and file of each party as could be usefully and judiciously employed was freely pressed into service. The Conservative agent having by some means got wind of Roberts and his grievance, invited him down to a meeting at Broadstone of the working-men, where, with several others, he was announced as a former employe of the great house of H. & E. Quinion.

Not being a trained speaker, but a man nervous as to his own capabilities, and without experience of an election audience, he felt that he had undertaken a risky business, and therefore it was with considerable apprehension he ventured to face a somewhat noisy assemblage, in a crowded hall, in a quarter of the city tenanted chiefly by the working classes.

Commencing in a low key at first, he was very soon met with exclamations from various parts of the hall of "What is thee afraid of?" "Speak up, mon!" "Hold thy head up!" which, instead of disconcerting, seemed to kindle what little fire there was in him, so that, in a voice which was heard at the other end of the hall, he cried out--