The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [55]
thing, there chawnced to be behind my stable a few bunches, and I was awfully glad to tu'n them ovah, and this--eh--pehson-- most extraordinary chap I assuah you--got 'em down somehow."
"Who was it inquired?" asked Cameron.
"Don't naow him in the least. But it's the chap that seems to be bossing the job."
"Oh, that's Smith," said Cochrane.
"Smith!" said Cameron, in great surprise. "I don't even know the man. He was good enough to help my wife to beat back the fire. I don't believe I even spoke to him. Who is he anyway?"
"Oh, he's Thatcher's man."
"Yes, but--"
"Come away, Mr. Cameron," cried Mrs. Cochrane from the door of the new house. "Come away in and look at the result of our bee."
"This beats me," said Cameron, obeying the invitation, "but, say, Dickson, it is mighty good of all these men. I have no claim--"
"Claim?" said Mr. Cochrane. "It might have been any of us. We must stand together in this country, and especially these days, eh, Inspector? Things are gettin' serious."
The Inspector nodded his head gravely.
"Yes," he said. "But, Mr. Cochrane," he added in a low voice, "it is very necessary that as little as possible should be said about these things just now. No occasion for any excitement or fuss. The quieter things are kept the better."
"All right, Inspector, I understand, but--"
"What do you think of your new house, Mr. Cameron?" cried Mrs. Cochrane. "Come in. Now what do you think of this for three days' work?"
"Oh, Allan, I have been all through it and it's perfectly wonderful," said his wife.
"Oh nothing very wonderful, Mrs. Cameron," said Cochrane, "but it will do for a while."
"Perfectly wonderful in its whole plan, and beautifully complete," insisted Mandy. "See, a living-room, a lovely large one, two bedrooms off it, and, look here, cupboards and closets, and a pantry, and--" here she opened the door in the corner--"a perfectly lovely up-stairs! Not to speak of the cook-house out at the back."
"Wonderful is the word," said Cameron, "for why in all the world should these people--?"
"And look, Allan, at Moira! She's just lost in rapture over that fireplace."
"And I don't wonder," said her husband. "It is really fine. Whose idea was it?" he continued, moving toward Moira's side, who was standing before a large fireplace of beautiful masonry set in between the two doors that led to the bedrooms at the far end of the living-room.
"It was Andy Hepburn from Loon Lake that built it," said Mr. Cochrane.
"I wish I could thank him," said Moira fervently.
"Well, there he is outside the window, Miss Moira," said a young fellow who was supposed to be busy putting up a molding round the wainscoting, but who was in reality devoting himself to the young lady at the present moment with open admiration. "Here, Andy," he cried through the window, "you're wanted. Hurry up."
"Oh, don't, Mr. Dent. What will he think?"
A hairy little man, with a face dour and unmistakably Scotch, came in.
"What's want-it, then?" he asked, with a deliberate sort of gruffness.
"It's yourself, Andy, me boy," said young Dent, who, though Canadian born, needed no announcement of his Irish ancestry. "It is yourself, Andy, and this young lady, Miss Moira Cameron--Mr. Hepburn--" Andy made reluctant acknowledgment of her smile and bow--"wants to thank you for this fireplace."
"It is very beautiful indeed, Mr. Hepburn, and very thankful I am to you for building it."
"Aw, it's no that bad," admitted Andy. "But ye need not thank me."
"But you built it?"
"Aye did I. But no o' ma ain wull. A fireplace is a feckless thing in this country an' I think little o't."
"Whose idea was it then?"
"It was yon Smith buddie. He juist keepit dingin' awa' till A promised if he got the lime--A kent o' nane in the country--A wud build the thing."
"And he got the lime, eh, Andy?" said Dent.
"Aye, he got it," said Andy sourly. "Diel kens whaur."
"But I am sure you did it beautifully, Mr. Hepburn," said Moira, moving closer to him, "and it will
"Who was it inquired?" asked Cameron.
"Don't naow him in the least. But it's the chap that seems to be bossing the job."
"Oh, that's Smith," said Cochrane.
"Smith!" said Cameron, in great surprise. "I don't even know the man. He was good enough to help my wife to beat back the fire. I don't believe I even spoke to him. Who is he anyway?"
"Oh, he's Thatcher's man."
"Yes, but--"
"Come away, Mr. Cameron," cried Mrs. Cochrane from the door of the new house. "Come away in and look at the result of our bee."
"This beats me," said Cameron, obeying the invitation, "but, say, Dickson, it is mighty good of all these men. I have no claim--"
"Claim?" said Mr. Cochrane. "It might have been any of us. We must stand together in this country, and especially these days, eh, Inspector? Things are gettin' serious."
The Inspector nodded his head gravely.
"Yes," he said. "But, Mr. Cochrane," he added in a low voice, "it is very necessary that as little as possible should be said about these things just now. No occasion for any excitement or fuss. The quieter things are kept the better."
"All right, Inspector, I understand, but--"
"What do you think of your new house, Mr. Cameron?" cried Mrs. Cochrane. "Come in. Now what do you think of this for three days' work?"
"Oh, Allan, I have been all through it and it's perfectly wonderful," said his wife.
"Oh nothing very wonderful, Mrs. Cameron," said Cochrane, "but it will do for a while."
"Perfectly wonderful in its whole plan, and beautifully complete," insisted Mandy. "See, a living-room, a lovely large one, two bedrooms off it, and, look here, cupboards and closets, and a pantry, and--" here she opened the door in the corner--"a perfectly lovely up-stairs! Not to speak of the cook-house out at the back."
"Wonderful is the word," said Cameron, "for why in all the world should these people--?"
"And look, Allan, at Moira! She's just lost in rapture over that fireplace."
"And I don't wonder," said her husband. "It is really fine. Whose idea was it?" he continued, moving toward Moira's side, who was standing before a large fireplace of beautiful masonry set in between the two doors that led to the bedrooms at the far end of the living-room.
"It was Andy Hepburn from Loon Lake that built it," said Mr. Cochrane.
"I wish I could thank him," said Moira fervently.
"Well, there he is outside the window, Miss Moira," said a young fellow who was supposed to be busy putting up a molding round the wainscoting, but who was in reality devoting himself to the young lady at the present moment with open admiration. "Here, Andy," he cried through the window, "you're wanted. Hurry up."
"Oh, don't, Mr. Dent. What will he think?"
A hairy little man, with a face dour and unmistakably Scotch, came in.
"What's want-it, then?" he asked, with a deliberate sort of gruffness.
"It's yourself, Andy, me boy," said young Dent, who, though Canadian born, needed no announcement of his Irish ancestry. "It is yourself, Andy, and this young lady, Miss Moira Cameron--Mr. Hepburn--" Andy made reluctant acknowledgment of her smile and bow--"wants to thank you for this fireplace."
"It is very beautiful indeed, Mr. Hepburn, and very thankful I am to you for building it."
"Aw, it's no that bad," admitted Andy. "But ye need not thank me."
"But you built it?"
"Aye did I. But no o' ma ain wull. A fireplace is a feckless thing in this country an' I think little o't."
"Whose idea was it then?"
"It was yon Smith buddie. He juist keepit dingin' awa' till A promised if he got the lime--A kent o' nane in the country--A wud build the thing."
"And he got the lime, eh, Andy?" said Dent.
"Aye, he got it," said Andy sourly. "Diel kens whaur."
"But I am sure you did it beautifully, Mr. Hepburn," said Moira, moving closer to him, "and it will