Almost all the Police, however, in this country are straight fellows.There's Sergeant Crisp, now--there is not money enough in the Territories to buy him.Why, he was offered six hundred dollars not long ago to be busy at the other end of the town when the freighters came in one night.But not he.He was on duty, with the result that some half dozen kegs of whisky failed to reach their intended destination.But there's a bad streak in the crowd, and the mischief of it is that the Inspector and his wife set the pace for all the young fellows of the ranches about.And when whisky gets a-flowing there are things done that it is a shame to speak of.But they won't bother you much.They belong mostly to Father Mike.""Father Mike, a Roman Catholic?"
"No, Anglican.A very decent fellow.Have not seen much of him.His people doubtless regard me as a blooming dissenter, dontcherknow.
But he is no such snob.He goes in for all their fun--hunts, teas, dances, card-parties, and all the rest of it.""What, gambling?" asked Shock, aghast.
"No, no.I understand he rakes them fore and aft for their gambling and that sort of thing.But they don't mind it much.They swear by him, for he is really a fine fellow.In sickness or in trouble Father Mike is on the spot.But as to influencing their lives, Ifear Father Mike is no great force."
"Why do you have a mission there at all?" enquired Shock.
"Simply because the Superintendent considers The Fort a strong strategic point, and there are a lot of young fellows and a few families there who are not of Father Mike's flock and who could never be persuaded to attend his church.It doesn't take much you know, to keep a man from going to church in this country, so the Superintendent's policy is to remove all possible excuses and barriers and to make it easy for men to give themselves a chance.
Our principal man at The Fort is Macfarren, a kind of lawyer, land-agent, registrar, or something of that sort.Has cattle too, on a ranch.A very clever fellow, but the old story--whisky.Too bad.
He's a brother of Rev.Dr.Macfarren."
"What? Dr.Macfarren of Toronto?"
"Yes.And he might be almost anything in this country.I'll give you a letter to him.He will show you about and give you all information.""And is he in the Church?" Shock's face was a study.McIntyre laughed long and loud.
"Why, my dear fellow, we're glad to get hold of any kind of half-decent chap that is willing to help in any way.We use him as usher, manager, choir-master, sexton.In short, we put him any place where he will stick."Shock drew a long breath.The situation was becoming complicated to him.
"About Loon Lake," continued McIntyre, "I can't tell you much.By all odds the most interesting figure there is the old Prospector, as he is called.You have heard about him?"Shock bowed.
"No one knows him, though he has been there for many years.His daughter, I understand, has just come out from England to him.Then, there's Andy Hepburn, who runs a store, a shrewd, canny little Scot.
I have no doubt he will help you.But you'll know more about the place in a week than I could tell you if I talked all night, and that I must not do, for you must be tired."When he finished Shock sat silent with his eyes upon the map.He was once more conscious of a kind of terror of these unknown places and people.How could he get at them? What place was there for him and his mission in that wild, reckless life of theirs? What had he to bring them.Only a Tale? In the face of that vigorous, strenuous life it seemed at that moment to Shock almost ridiculous in its inadequacy.Against him and his Story were arraigned the great human passions--greed of gold, lust of pleasure in its most sensuous forms, and that wild spirit of independence of all restraint by law of Good or man.He was still looking at the map when Mr.McIntyre said:
"We will take the books, as they say in my country.""Ay, and in mine," said Shock, coming out of his dream with a start.
Mrs.McIntyre laid the Bible on the table.Her husband opened the Book and read that great Psalm of the wilderness, "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place," and so on to the last cry of frail and fading humanity after the enduring and imperishable, "Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us: yea, the work of our hands establish thou it."As he listened to the vivid words that carried with them the very scent and silence of the hungry wilderness, there fell upon Shock's ears the long howl and staccato bark of the prairie wolf.That lonely voice of the wild West round them struck Shock's heart with a chill of fear, but following hard upon the fear came the memory of the abiding dwelling place for all desert pilgrims, and in place of his terror a great quietness fell upon his spirit.The gaunt spectre of the hungry wilderness vanished before the kindly presence of a great Companionship that made even the unknown West seem safe and familiar as one's own home.The quick change of feeling filled Shock's heart to overflowing, so that when Mr.McIntyre, closing the Book, said, "You will lead us in prayer, Mr.Macgregor," Shock could only shake his head in voiceless refusal.
"You go on, David," said his wife, who had been watching Shock's face.
As Shock lay that night upon his bed of buffalo skins in the corner, listening to the weird sounds of the night without, he knew that for the present at least that haunting terror of the unknown and that disturbing sense of his own insufficiency would not trouble him.
That dwelling place, quiet and secure, of the McIntyres' home in the midst of the wide waste about was to him for many a day a symbol of that other safe dwelling place for all pilgrims through earth's wilderness.
"Poor chap," said McIntyre to his wife when they had retired for the night, "I'm afraid he'll find it hard work, especially at The Fort.
He is rather in the rough, you know."
"He has beautiful honest eyes," said his wife, "and I like him.""Do you?"
"Yes, I do," she replied emphatically.
"Then," said her husband, "in spite of all appearances he's all right."
