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Chapter I Only A Missionary High upon a rock, poised like a bird for flight, stark naked, his satin skin shining like gold and silver in the rising sun, stood a youth, tall, slim of body, not fully developed but with muscles promising, in their faultless, gently swelling outline, strength and suppleness to an unusual degree. Gazing down into the pool formed by an eddy of the river twenty feet below him, he stood as if calculating the distance, his profile turned toward the man who had just emerged from the bushes and was standing on the sandy strand of the river, paddle in hand, looking up at him with an expression of wonder and delight in his eyes. "Ye gods, what a picture!" said the man to himself. Noiselessly, as if fearing to send the youth off in flight, he laid his paddle on the sand, hurriedly felt in his pockets, and swore to himself vigorously when he could find no sketch book there. "What a pose! What an Apollo!" he muttered. The sunlight glistening on the beautiful white ski
Chapter II On The Red Pine Trail On the Red Pine trail two men were driving in a buckboard drawn by a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos. The outfit was a rather ramshackle affair, and the driver was like his outfit. Stewart Duff was a rancher, once a "remittance man," but since his marriage three years ago he had learned self-reliance and was disciplining himself in self-restraint. A big, lean man he was, his thick shoulders and large, hairy muscular hands suggesting great physical strength, his swarthy face, heavy features, coarse black hair, keen dark eyes, deepset under shaggy brows, suggesting force of character with a possibility of brutality in passion. Yet when he smiled his heavy face was not unkindly, indeed the smile gave it a kind of rugged attractiveness. He was past his first youth, and on his face were the marks of the stormy way by which he had come. He drove his jibing bronchos with steady hands. No light touch was his upon the reins, and the bronchos' wild plunging me
Chapter III A Question Of Conscience The Dunbars lived in a cottage on a back street, which had the distinction of being the only home on the street which possessed the adornment of a garden. A unique garden it was, too. Indeed, with the single exception of Judge Hepburn's garden, which was quite an elaborate affair, and which was said to have cost the Judge a "pile of money," there was none to compare with it in the village of Wapiti. Any garden on that bare, wind-swept prairie meant toil and infinite pains, but a garden like that of the Dunbars represented in addition something of genius. In conception, in design, and in execution the Dunbars' garden was something apart. Visitors were taken 'round to the back street to get a glimpse of the Dunbars' cottage and garden. The garden was in two sections. That at the back of the cottage, sheltered by a high, close board fence covered with Virginia creeper, was given over to vegetables, and it was quite marvellous how, under Richard Dunbar'
Chapter IV Rejected The hour for the church service had not quite arrived, but already a number of wagons, buckboards and buggies had driven up and deposited their loads at the church door. The women had passed into the church, where the Sunday School was already in session; the men waited outside, driven by the heat of the July sun and the hotter July wind into the shade of the church building. Through the church windows came the droning of voices, with now and then a staccato rapping out of commands heard above the droning. "That's Hayes," said a sturdy young chap, brown as an Indian, lolling upon the grass. "He likes to be bossing something." "That's so, Ewen," replied a smaller man, with a fish-like face, his mouth and nose running into a single feature. "I guess he's doin' his best, Nathan Pilley," answered another man, stout and stocky, with bushy side whiskers flanking around a rubicund face, out of which stared two prominent blue eyes. "Oh, I reckon he is, Mr. Boggs. I have no
Chapter V The War Drum Calls "Well, dad," said Barry next evening as they were sitting in the garden after tea, "I feel something like Mohammed's coffin, detached from earth but not yet ascended into heaven. It's unpleasant to be out of a job. I confess I shall always cherish a more intelligent sympathy henceforth for the great unemployed. But cheer up, dad! You are taking this thing much too seriously. The world is wide, and there is something waiting me that I can do better than any one else." But the father had little to say. He felt bitterly the humiliation to which his son had been subjected. Barry refused to see the humiliation. "Why should I not resign if I decide it is my duty so to do? And why, on the other hand, should not they have the right to terminate my engagement with them when they so desire? That's democratic government." "But good Lord, Barry!" burst out his father, with quite an unusual display of feeling; "to think that a gentleman should hold his position at the w
Chapter VI The Men Of The North "Fifty miles -- not too bad, boy, not too bad for a one day's go. We'll camp right here at the portage. How is it, Knight?" "Good place, Duff, right on that point. Good wood, good landing. Besides there's a deuce of a portage beyond, which we can do after supper to-night. How do you feel, Barry?" asked Knight. "Hard day, eh?" "Feeling fit, a little tired, of course, but good for another ten miles," answered Barry. "That's the stuff," replied Knight, looking at him keenly, "but, see here, you must ease up on the carrying. You haven't quite got over that ducking of yours." "I'm fit enough," answered Barry, rather more curtly than his wont. They brought the canoes up to the landing, and with the speed of long practice unloaded them, and drew them upon the shore. Knight approached Duff, and, pointing toward Barry, said quietly: "I guess we'll have to ease him up a bit. That fight, you know, took it out of him, and he always jumps for the biggest pack. We'd b
Chapter VII Barricades And Bayonets The city of Edmonton was in an uproar, its streets thronged with excited men, ranchers and cowboys from the ranches, lumberjacks from the foothill camps, men from the mines, trappers with lean, hard faces, in weird garb, from the north. The news from the front was ominous. Belgium was a smoking waste. Her skies were black with the burning of her towns, villages and homesteads, her soil red with the blood of her old men, her women and children. The French armies, driven back in rout from the Belgian frontier, were being pounded to death by the German hordes. Fortresses hitherto considered impregnable were tumbling like ninepins before the terrible smashing of Austrian and German sixteen-inch guns. Already von Kluck with his four hundred thousand of conquering warriors was at the gates of Paris. Most ominous of all, the British army, that gallant, little sacrificial army, of a scant seventy-five thousand men, holding like a bulldog to the flank of von
Chapter VIII A Question Of Nerve "Gentlemen, may I introduce Captain Dunbar, your sky-pilot, padre, chaplain, anything you like? They say he's a devil of a good preacher. The Lord knows you need one." So Barry's commanding officer introduced him to the mess. He bowed in different directions to the group of officers who, in the ante-room of the mess, were having a pre-prandial cocktail. Barry found a place near the foot of the table and for a few minutes sat silent, getting his bearings. Some of the officers were known to him. He had met the commanding officer, Colonel Leighton, a typical, burly Englishman, the owner of an Alberta horse ranch, who, well to do to begin with, had made money during his five years in the country. He had the reputation of being a sporting man, of easy morality, fond of his glass and of good living. He owed his present position, partly to political influence, and partly to his previous military experience in the South African war. His popularity with his offi
Chapter IX Submarines, Bullpups, And Other Things A long, weird blast from the fog horn, followed by two short, sharp toots, recalled Barry from his morning dream. "Fog," he grumbled, and turned over to re-capture the enchantment of the Athabasca rapids, and his dancing canoe. Overhead there sounded the trampling of feet. "Submarines, doc," he shouted and leaped to the floor broad awake. "What's the row?" murmured the M. O., who was a heavy sleeper. For answer, Barry ripped the clothes from the doctor's bed. "Submarines, doc," he shouted again, and buckling on his Sam Brown, and seizing his lifebelt, he stood ready to go. "What! your boots off, doc?" In the orders of the day before had been an announcement that officers and men were to sleep fully dressed. "Oh, the devil!" exclaimed the doctor, hunting through his bedclothes in desperation. "I can't sleep in my boots. Where's my tunic? Go on, old fellow, I'll follow you." Barry held his tunic for him. "Here you are! Wake up, doc! And h
Chapter X France "France, sunny France!" The tone carried concentrated bitterness and disgust. "One cursed fraud after another in this war." "Cheer up!" said Barry. "There's worse to come -- perhaps better. This rain is beastly, but the clouds will pass, and the sun will shine again, for in spite of the rain this IS 'sunny France.' There's a little homily for you," said Barry, "and for myself as well, for I assure you this combination of mal de mer and sleet makes one feel rotten." "Everything is rotten," grumbled Duff, gazing gloomily through the drizzling rain at the rugged outline of wharves that marked the Boulogne docks. "Look at this," cried Duff, sweeping his hand toward the deck. "You would think this stuff was shot out of the blower of a threshing machine -- soldier's baggage, kits, quartermaster's stores -- and this is a military organisation. Good Lord!" "Lieutenant Duff! Is Lieutenant Duff here?" It was the O. C.'s voice. "Yes, sir," said Duff, going forward and saluting. "
Chapter XI The New Message "I think," said Barry, to the M. O., "I really ought to ride down to the R. A. M. C. hospital, and tell them how the boys enjoyed the coffee last night." His face was slightly flushed, but the flush might have been due to the fact that he had been busily engaged in tying up the thongs of his bed-roll, an awkward job at times. "Sure thing," agreed the M. O. heartily. "Indeed it's absolutely essential, and say, old chap, you might tell her how I enjoyed my coffee. She will be glad to hear about me." Barry heaved his bed-roll at the doctor and departed. At the R. A. M. C. Hospital the Officer Commanding, to whom he had sent in his card, gave him a cordial greeting. "I am glad to know you, sir. We have quite a lot of your chaps here now and then, and fine fellows they seem to be. We expect a hospital train this morning, and I understand there are some Canadians among them. Rather a bad go a few days ago at St. Eloi. Heavy casualty list. Clearing stations all crow
Chapter XII A Man Of God Barry was standing beside his father's grave, in a little plot in the Boulogne cemetery set apart for British officers. They had, one by one, gone away and left him until, alone, he stood looking down on the simple wooden cross on which were recorded the name, age, and unit of the soldier with the date of his death, and underneath the simple legend, eloquent of heroic sacrifice, "Died of wounds received in action." Throughout the simple, beautiful burial service he had not been acutely conscious of grief. Even now he wondered that he could shed no tears. Rather did an exultant emotion fill his soul as he looked around upon the little British plot, with its rows of crosses, and he was chiefly conscious of a solemn, tender pride that he was permitted to share that glorious offering which his Empire was making for the saving of the world. But, in this moment, as he stood there alone close to his father's grave, and surrounded by those examples of high courage and
Chapter XIII Intensive Training Barry's return to the battalion was like a coming home. In the mess there was no demonstration of sympathy with him in his loss, but the officers took occasion to drop in casually with an interesting bit of news, seeking to express, more or less awkwardly, by their presence what they found it impossible to express in actual words. It was to Barry an experience as new as it was delightful. Hitherto, as far as any real fellowship was concerned he had lived a life of comparative isolation among his fellow officers, and while they were careful to preserve the conventions and courtesies imposed by their mutual relations, he had ever been made to feel that in that circle he was an outsider. Among the officers who came to call upon him, none surprised him more than did Major Bayne. While that officer had always been careful to maintain an attitude toward him, at once correct and civil, there had never been any approach to friendliness. As a matter of fact, Majo
Chapter XIV A Touch Of War The period of intensive training was drawing to a close. The finishing touches in the various departments that had come to be considered necessary in modern warfare had been given. With the "putting on the lacquer" the fighting spirit of the men had been sharpened to its keenest edge. They were all waiting impatiently for the order to "go up." The motives underlying that ardour of spirit varied with the temperament, disposition and education of the soldier. There were those who were eager to "go up" to prove themselves in that deadly struggle where their fellow Canadians had already won their right to stand as comrades in arms with the most famous fighting battalions of the British army. Others, again, there were in whose heart burned a deep passion to get into grips with those hellish fiends whose cruelties, practised upon defenceless women and children in that very district where they were camped, and upon wounded Canadians, had stirred Canada from Vancouve
Chapter XV Thinning Ranks "Three months in that hell-hole of the salient have made their mark on this battalion," said Transport Sergeant Mackay. "Yes, there's quite a lot of these round the first line and back about here," replied the pioneer sergeant, who was putting the finishing touches upon some crosses, that were to be sent up the line that night. "That's so, Fatty. Whose is that cross you are finishing?" "That's Lieutenant Salford's, a fine young officer he was, too. Always had a smile. The deeper the mud the more Sally smiled. And this here is Lieutenant Booth's. There's a chap now that picked up wonderful. Two months ago everybody thought he was a big soft slob, and those bombers say that he was all, right. And here's the M. O.'s. Poor old doc! There was a man, now, if there ever was one. He wasn't afraid of nothing. He would go walking about with a smile when a bombardment was on, and in that last big show the other day, they say him and the chaplain -- there's another peach
Chapter XVI The Passing Of Mccuaig At Poperinghe the leave train was waiting in the station, and a little company of officers and men were having their papers examined preparatory to their securing transportation. Some of the officers were from his own brigade and were known to Barry. "A big push on at the front, I hear," said one of them to a friend. "Yes, major," said his friend. "They have been having a perfect hell of a time." "By the way, your men are going in to-morrow, I understand," said the major, turning to Barry. "I don't think so, major," replied Barry. "We have just come out." "Oh, well, I had it from fairly good authority that they were going in to-morrow night." Barry hunted up Monroe, whom he found talking to a signaller of the battalion. "Did you boys hear anything about the battalion going up to-morrow?" "Yes, sir," said the signaller promptly. "We had it over the wires. They are going in, all right, to-morrow night." Monroe kicked the signaller on the ankle. "Did you
Chapter XVII London Leave And Phyllis The leave train pulled into the Boulogne station exactly twenty-six hours late. As Barry stepped off the train he was met by the R. T. O., an old Imperial officer with a brisk and important military manner. "You are the O. C. train, sir?" he inquired. "I am, sir," replied Barry, saluting. "You have had a hard time, I understand," said the R. T. O., drawing him off to one side and speaking in a low tone. "Yes sir, we HAVE had a hard time," replied Barry, "at least the men have. This is my report, sir." The R. T. O. took the document, opened it, glanced hurriedly through it. "Ah," he said, "ninety-seven casualties, thirteen fatal. Very bad. Six burned. This is truly terrible." "There were only two soldiers burned, sir," replied Barry, "but it IS terrible, especially when you think that the men were going on leave and were supposed to have got quit of the danger zone." "Very, very terrible," said the officer. "You ran off the track, I understand." "No
Chapter XVIII A Wedding Journey "Just a moment, if you please, Paula. I should like to get down a few notes of this bit. Oh, what a view! Lake, moor, hills, mountains, village!" Mr. Howland sprang from the car, sketchbook in hand, and ran forward to a jutting rock that commanded the wide valley, flanked by hills, in whose bosom lay a loch, shimmering in the morning light. The car drew up on the brow of a long and gently sloping incline, which the road followed until it disappeared in a turn at the village at the loch's end. "Get the little church tower in, father, and a bit of the castle. I can see it from here," said Paula, standing upon the motor seat. "I shall try this further rock," said her father. "Ah, here it is. Do come, all of you, and get this. Oh, what a perfectly glorious view!" The little group gathered about him in silence, upon a little headland that overlooked the valley, and feasted upon the beauty that spread itself out before them, the undulating slope and shimmering
Chapter XIX The Pilot's Last Port The little Canadian army was done with The Salient. The British tradition established in the third month of the war, in that first terrific twenty-two days' fight by Ypres, that that deadly convex should be no thoroughfare to Calais for the Hun, was passed on with The Salient into Canadian hands in the early months of 1915. How the little Canadian army preserved the tradition and barred "the road-hog of Europe" from the channel coast for seventeen months, let history tell, and at what cost let the dead declare who lie in unmarked graves which, following the curving line of trenches from Langemarck through Hooge and Sanctuary Wood over Observation Ridge to St. Eloi, and the dead under those little crosses that crowd the cemeteries of The Salient and of the clearing stations in the rear, and the living as well, who through life will carry the burden of enfeebled and mutilated bodies. For seventeen months the Canadians in shallow dugouts and behind flimsy
Chapter XX "Carry On" The next day but one they carried the Pilot to his grave in the little plot outside the walled cemetery on the outskirts of the city of Albert. It had been arranged that only a small guard should follow to the grave. But this plan was changed. Sergeant Mackay, who was the only sergeant left after consulting "the boys," came to Major Bayne. "The boys feel bad, sir," he said, "that they can't go with the Pilot, excuse me, sir, the chaplain." "Do they?" said the major. "We want to avoid congestion in the streets, and besides we don't want to expose the men. They are still shelling the city, you know." "I know, sir," replied the sergeant. "The boys have heard the shells before, sir. And there's not so many of them that they will crowd the streets much." "Let them go, sergeant," said the major, and Sergeant Mackay went back with the word to the men. "And I want you to look like soldiers," said the sergeant, "for remember we are following a soldier to his grave." And lo
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