Chapter XVII: Land Hunting

At this period in Canada's political history, the government was lucky enough to possess the allegiance of large numbers of faithful followers. From among these loyal disciples, several men were nominated to administrative positions at Barr Colony Headquarters. One big, fat, short-necked man had been picked for the rather important post of agricultural adviser. Several men were deputed to teach the famous Barr Colonists the secrets of farming. This person was one of them. His grandfather, and father, together with many uncles and cousins, had all been staunch supporters of the only true political faith. With these unique qualifications to recommend him, he easily secured one of the coveted positions.

It is difficult to imagine what would have been the plight of the tenderfoot colonists had they been deprived of the services of this great man, who, in ordinary life, before the extremely efficient Canadian patronage system miraculously perceived in him the germs of a future farm genius, had been employed by various companies "down east" as an itinerant night watchman.

He resided in a tent which was situated next to that occupied by Sam and Bert. In order to accomplish something, so that he might be able to report the miracle in his official diary, this singularly-gifted farming expert suggested accompanying the Trailey party on a trip to find and inspect their land. Time was hanging very loosely on his hands.

After, with delightful tact, persuading a colonist who was located near Headquarters Camp that his plough handles weren't meant to be used as shafts, he had settled back to enjoy a well-merited interval of leisure, and had made himself thoroughly comfortable in his wedge-shaped tent. He hobbled his horses and turned them loose; built himself a permanent bedstead; gave a hard-up settler a dollar to dig a trench round his tent; made himself a mosquito veil--which also served to strain the bugs out of his drinking water--and altogether conducted himself like a very wise man. But even political heelers sometimes crave a change from doing nothing. Running into Bert one evening, he said:

"We'll hunt your land in the morning, if you like. Empty one of your wagons, and we'll go in that. Take the cover off, though." This political prodigy had no intention of allowing himself to be branded as a greenhorn, which travelling with a schooner-top might have done.

Bert agreed enthusiastically and said he would tell the others.

A careful examination of the map showed that the "bit of land" allotted to Sam and Bert by Barr aboard the S.S. _Lake Manitoba_ was about ten miles due north of camp. The Barr Colony Headquarters Camp was located on a south-west quarter of the school section--one-half mile north from where the Lloydminster post-office now stands.

Trailey had often said he should "take up" one of the farms adjoining Sam's and Bert's. Upon learning of the proposed land-hunt, he reiterated his intention. There was already an improvised land office at the camp, doing a brisk trade.

"You 'old on a bit, guv'ner," advised Sam. "Don't be in such an 'urry. 'Ow d'we know all this land ain't at the bottom of a blinkin' lake?"

"Very true, Sam," observed Trailey, who had never before been accused of being in a hurry, and was so overcome by the novel sensation that he retired to his tent and fell fast asleep.

The Barr Colonists were traversing the empty country in all directions, searching for their homesteads. Some hired land guides; others went alone. In their wanderings, some found good farms, and stuck to them, afraid to do otherwise; in some instances, fearful of losing themselves, besides the land.

Excellent homesteads were quite plentiful, yet some men decided on the other kind. A glittering duckpond, fringed with unburned aspens, created a much more favourable impression with some of the Englishmen than did open, level prairie. Thus it was that settlers coming to the district years later picked up better farms than the original colonists themselves secured.

The politico-watchman-agriculturist, now turned incipient land guide, travelled by compass; but, neglecting to take into account its variation, and excessive cheapness, he promptly lost himself. No one can know everything, of course. The ladies had come along to see the sights.

"You're not going to leave me, William," Mrs. Trailey had said when her husband suggested that she stay at the camp and rest. "I want to see where I'm going to spend the balance of my days," and she glanced comprehensively about her, smiling sardonically.

About four or five hours of meandering in a more or less northerly direction, the guide, who was driving the team, in endeavouring to discover his whereabouts, accidentally ran across a survey mound with an iron stake in it. He jumped down to inspect it.

"Fine hay!" he exclaimed, as he read the identification marks on the little tin plate and compared them with his map; "we're only eleven miles from your land," and he was so overjoyed, presumably to find himself still in Canada, that he suggested they should stay where they were for dinner.

Trailey always anticipated his meals rather longingly. He said he thought the suggestion was a very clever one, but upon Martha Trailey informing them that no provisions had been brought along, the guide was so disappointed that he spat out his chew of tobacco in mistake for the juice.

"Wot abaht it nah?" questioned Sam, who wanted to be moving.

The ex-watchman ignored the remark. "Don't Englishmen never eat?" he asked, helping himself to a fresh chew.

Looking very pathetic, Trailey was apparently too broken-hearted to say anything. The loss of a meal was the very worst catastrophe that could happen to him. Martha flashed a withering glance at her husband and said in what she probably thought was a whisper:

"So he thinks this is a picnic, does he? Why don't you speak up like a man and tell him we aren't trapesing all over this wilderness for the joy of it? We've come to see our land, not to get lost. You could have lost us, without bringing him along. We're a pack of fools to come out with a man who can't find his way in his own country. Why, even the rats are laughing at us"--Mrs. Trailey indicated a gopher which sat up cheekily and squeaked at them; then, with an indescribably contemptuous gesture, she regarded the lost guide, who stood at the corner post, a few yards away, and said: "God help Canada if there are many men like him working for it." With this heart-felt invocation on behalf of a heeler-ridden country, she picked one of her husband's loose hairs from off the sleeve of her black coat and threw it to the bottom of the wagon box with great force.

"Hush, Martha!" whispered Trailey, who stood beside his wife in the wagon; "he will hear you."

"Yes, that's always your cry," retorted Mrs. Trailey, raising her voice. "Anything for peace and quietness. If you had a family of squalling children, and a wife that gabbled like two monkeys in a cage turned upside down, I could understand it. All you think about is to be quiet, and sigh, and sleep. You mark my words, you'll die in your sleep one of these afternoons. Men with short, thick necks like you've got always do; at any rate, they generally go off sudden instead of----"

"_He_ may die of shortness of breath, lydy," Sam broke in facetiously, "but you never will"--then, addressing the guide, who was still standing at the corner post very much perplexed, he said: "Come on, driver; tyke us 'ome aht of this."

Everyone was hungry and tired, and sickened with the jolting of the wagon. The guide clambered aboard. Just as he set the horses in motion, Mrs. Trailey opened her mouth to utter some new profundity or other, when the wagon rather opportunely bumped over a couple or so of very large badger holes, the consequent shaking causing her words of wisdom to be reserved for a future occasion.

"We'll come an' find our land ourselves, termorrer," said Sam to Bert, who was blissfully unconscious of everything except the nearness of Esther, with whom he had been exchanging some exquisite silences.

Although they knew their exact whereabouts on the map, finding their way about proved anything but easy. Sam was for travelling back along their own wheel marks, but the guide, who on his step-mother's side must have been one of jolly old Euclid's direct descendants, said he could hit camp in a straight line, and thus save several miles.

Presently they stopped again to check up their position.

"Anyway, there's the sun," said the vocational contortionist, squinting upwards. He became frightfully meditative, first consulting his watch, then the synthetic compass.

"Yus, that's the sun," agreed Sam, cocking an eye at the dazzling orb.

"And it's three-thirty, ain't it?" added the guide, pulling his watch out again and surveying it abstractedly.

"No, it ain't; it's six o'clock," Sam contradicted, and he showed the other a large, handsome chronometer enclosed in a dust-proof celluloid case which any near-sighted person might excusably have taken to be an old-fashioned warming-pan. To settle the dispute, they appealed to Trailey, who withdrew a beautiful gold timepiece from his waistcoat-pocket.

"Ten o'clock," said he; then, holding the watch to his ear, with a sceptical look on his face, and a distrustful feeling in his stomach, he added: "Ah! wait a minute. I forgot. My watch has never gone since I fell into the slough."

"Wot's yourn say?" asked Sam, this time appealing to Bert, who was engrossed with Esther at the rear of the wagon. Breaking off in the middle of a sweet nothing, that young gentleman replied:

"Mine's no use. It only boasts one hand--the big one."

"Anyway," observed the farming instructor, pointing with a fingernail, which was in deep mourning, to a place on the map, "here's where we are now--fifteen miles north-west of camp. And the sun sets in the west, don't it?" He looked at Sam, who nodded with mock attention. "And rises in the east?"--Sam again nodded. "So at noon, it's due south, ain't it?" Sam ran his eyes up and down the guide's massive figure.

"Wot's due south?"

Slightly exhausted by the effort of making so extremely abstruse a deduction, the guide replied weariedly: "The sun."

"I thought it was the camp you was findin'," said Sam innocently.

"My God!" muttered the government astronomer; "don't you see what I'm a-tryin' to get at?"

"Tryin' ter get us 'ome, aren't yer?"

"Yes."

"Well, do it then; an' don't 'ammergag abaht so damn much."

The guide was shocked. He glanced furtively at the ladies, then back at Sam, and seemed so upset about something that he permitted a trickle of dark-coloured saliva to escape from the corner of his mouth and mingle with his stubbly black whiskers.

"Do you Englishmen swear in front of your women?" he asked in an awed whisper.

Sam laughed flippantly at the terrible accusation. How was he to know that his remark would offend the delicate susceptibility of the guide, who in his youth had received a very strict religious training? It wasn't Sam's fault that Bermondsey happened to be a hundred years ahead of Eastern Canada in the drift to Naturalism.

"Only when we come 'ome arfter midnight," Sam replied, "an' find dinner ain't ready"--then, noticing a look settling on the other face expressive of blank amazement at the awful degradation of Englishmen, he said: "But don't bovver abaht that, my son. Wipe yer mouf, an' don't ferget we want ter get back ter camp."

"Sure," remarked the perfectly disgusted heeler, unconsciously scratching that part of himself where thought is supposed to be generated; "I ain't forgot. I'm kind of figuring things up in my head." He concentrated desperately for a minute or two.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed suddenly, as an inspiration struck him. "I see, now. If that there hill over there is south at twelve o'clock, it must be over there at three-thirty. That's right, ain't it? And if south is there"--pointing a pulpy finger more or less in that direction--"that willow there must be south-east, eh?" and he indicated a clump of willow which looked very much like thousands more round about. "Keep your eye on them willows, young fellow, while I handle the team."

Sam did as he was told, till a gnat or something flew into one of his eyes, distracting his attention.

"We can't go wrong, now," the guide continued confidently. "By gosh! it's a good thing I remembered that trick with a watch--Giddap there!--ain't it?"

"I wouldn't care if we 'ad some grub," said Sam--"would you? If I was in yore place an' 'ad ter find me way abaht this blinkin' country, I'd ullus tyke plenty of grub along--bacon, an' cawffee, an' tinned 'am, an' pickled warnuts, an' things like that----"

"Get up ter hell out of here, you dod-gasted, flea-bitten ----, where d'you reckon you are taking us to?" muttered the driving prodigy below his breath. These gentle words were intended for one of the antiques in harness in front of him, the remarkable refinement of sentiment being made doubly commendable through being accompanied by a smart flip of the lines, administered with great dexterity and feeling. To Sam he made no reply, but he looked spiteful.

"Look! There's a tent!" shouted Mrs. Trailey presently. Pitched by the side of a "duckpond" was a lone, bell-shaped tent. It came into view over the top of a gently-rolling hill. The guide at once steered the team towards it.

"They're sure to have a wagon-track leading to camp," he said; "we can follow that. My compass ain't no good."

Sam appreciated the sense of the statement, especially as he had long since lost sight of the bunch of willow, or rather had exchanged it for another one, which to him looked much prettier.

"Yes, this is my land," said the owner of the tent proudly, replying to a question from the government man. "What d'you think of it?" Judged by his accent, the colonist was evidently an educated man. He unfastened his eyes from the surrounding wilderness and fixed them upon the face of first one and then another of the wagon's occupants. His well-cut clothes were on their last legs, but he seemed as happy and as contented as though he were on the beach at Bournemouth. His wife stood in the entrance to the tent. She was very pretty, with big, brown, jolly eyes. No children were visible. They both appeared to be as unconscious of their isolation as a pair of gulls might be in the middle of the Atlantic.

"Nice place," said the guide tactfully--"especially when you get it broke. First-class soil round them willows," and he nodded towards several thousand clumps of this hardy shrub, each of them with a root-crown as big as a dining-table.

"We think it is an awfully pretty place," said the settler.

The astronomical genius in the wagon swept with appraising eyes the acres of brush and slough which garnished the dismal vicinity. Very discreetly he remained silent.

The sun was luxuriously warm; frogs shrilled in the sloughs, which were thickly scattered about the district; crows swore hoarsely; numerous gophers scampered back and forth between the little piles of soil marking the entrances to their burrows; a delicate tinge of green was everywhere hiding the brownish earth, now washed clean by recent rains.

Sam looked round him interestedly. "Where are yer thinkin' of buildin' the 'ouse?" He knew this question would be well received. It was. Nothing was of more interest to the Barr Colonists. Happy hours were spent in choosing sites for humble, log shacks.

"My wife says she should like to be on that ridge." The colonist cast enthusiastic eyes towards a distant hogback. "It certainly is a magnificent view from there. We can see camp quite plainly."

"Andsome plyce," commented Sam; "an' very easy ter find if you 'appen ter lose yerself." The man smiled, a little wanly.

"Fine hay!" ejaculated the driver. "I knew I was heading right." He was enormously tickled, and grew quite jocose. So, after finding the trail, they wished the settler "Good-day" and set off again.

Three hours later camp was reached. They were desperately hungry; dead tired; slightly peeved and disappointed at having seen all the land in the country except their very own piece; much disgusted with amateur land guides, but nevertheless incurably hopeful.

After a good meal, which he had to cook himself, followed by a cigar, the ex-night-watchman felt very expansive. "Damn green Englishmen, anyway!" he muttered, as he opened his official diary and spread the report of his trip over four days' space. Then, remembering that he was a very patriotic man, and working for the good of his country, he made a rough note of his expenses, not omitting to charge for a dinner of which he had not partaken. To compensate himself for the great damage the abstinence had inflicted on his constitution, he modestly doubled the amount.