Harding of Allenwood Part 19

"It's a sensible att.i.tude. Fight against a thing you don't like, but make the best of it when it's an accomplished fact."

"I don't like steam-plows at Allenwood," said Beatrice with a flush of color.

"Allenwood is hifalutin," Mrs. Broadwood put in. "They're trying to run it on ideals."

"Is it necessary to separate ideals from practical efficiency?" Harding asked.

"They don't often go together," Beatrice answered scornfully.

"There's some truth in that. But it's the fault of human nature; you can't blame the machines."

"The machines are to be admired," the girl returned. "One blames the men who use them with the wrong object."

Harding smiled; but before he could answer, Broadwood came up with Kenwyne to announce that everything was ready.

"You'll have to be careful," he warned Harding. "We'll lock the back wheels before we hook on the tackles. Will you let the front team loose?"

"No; I may want them to swing me round the bends. First of all, I'll take a look at what you've done."

He walked down the trail with them and examined the fastenings of a big iron block through which ran a wire rope with a tackle at one end.

"The clevis is rather small, but it's the strongest I could find,"

Kenwyne said.

A little farther on they stopped where the bank fell nearly perpendicularly for some distance below the outer edge of the road.

"We banked the snow up here and beat it firm," he pointed out. "For all that, it would be wise to keep well to the inside."

"We'll shift the tackle when I get to the bend above," Harding replied, and went down to the bridge. It was rudely built of logs and had no parapet.

"I found the turn awkward the last time, but I see you have made it a bit easier," he said. "Well, we'd better make a start."

Lance and one or two others joined them when they reached the top.

Harding examined the wagon and harness, and Beatrice watched him with interest. He certainly lived up to his belief in efficiency, because she did not think he omitted any precaution he could have taken. There was something to admire in him as he quietly moved about beside the horses and the ponderous ma.s.s of iron. It would not be an easy matter to transport the load to the bottom of the gorge, but Beatrice felt that he was at his best when confronting a difficulty.

"The locked wheels won't hold her if anything goes wrong," he said.

"Keep all the strain you can upon the rope."

They hooked it to the back axle, and Harding cautiously led the team down the incline while Devine went to the leading horses' heads, and the others checked the wagon with the tackle. The teams were obviously nervous, and the pole-horses now and then lifted their haunches to hold back the load, although they did not feel much of its weight. After some trouble Harding got the wagon round the first turning, taking the leaders up the side of the ravine in order to do so; but the trail ahead was steeper, and the big drop not far below. They chocked the wheels with logs while they moved the tackle, and Harding stood for a few moments, breathing heavily, as he looked down into the gorge. He could see the snowy trail wind for a short distance among the trees, and then it dipped out of sight beyond a turn. It was beaten hard, and here and there its surface caught a ray of light and flashed with an icy gleam.

They were half-way down; but the worst was to come.

"It's an ugly bit," he cautioned Devine. "Hold the leaders in to the side of the hill."

They started, and as the weight came upon them the blocks screamed, and the men began to strain against the drag of the rope. Foot by foot they let it slip round the smooth trunk of a tree, while the women stood watching the tall figure at the pole-horses' heads. The powerful animals braced themselves back, slipping a yard or two now and then, while Harding broke into a run. The cloud of steam that hung over them grew thicker as the trees closed in; the tackle was running out and those who held it were panting hard, but they had rope enough to reach the next bend.

Then there was a crash and Kenwyne, reeling backward with those behind him, fell heavily into the snow while the broken wire struck the trees.

A shout from Devine came up the hollow, and Hester clenched her hand as she saw him flung off by a plunging horse and roll down the trail. He dropped over the edge, but the wagon, lurching violently, went on, and for a few moments Harding, running fast, clung to the near horse's head.

Then he let go; but instead of jumping clear, as the watchers had expected, he grasped the side of the wagon as it pa.s.sed and swung himself up. They saw him seize the reins, standing upright behind the driving-seat; and then the wagon plunged out of sight among the trees.

Devine, scrambling to his feet, ran madly after it and vanished; and the men who had held the tackle picked themselves up and looked down in dismay. There was nothing they could do. The disaster must happen before they could possibly reach the scene. It seemed impossible that Harding could get round the next turn.

Beatrice cast a quick glance at Hester, and felt braced by her att.i.tude.

They were not emotional at Allenwood; but the prairie girl bore herself with a stoic calm which Beatrice had never seen equaled there. Her fiance had narrowly escaped with his life, her brother was in imminent peril, yet her eyes were steady and her pose was firm. His danger could not be made light of, but the girl evidently had confidence in him.

Beatrice imagined that Hester had her brother's swiftness of action, nevertheless she could wait and suffer calmly when there was nothing else to be done. After all, stern courage was part of the girl's birthright, for she was a daughter of the pioneers.

Beatrice did not know that her own face was tense and white. The accident had been unexpected and unnerving. She was shaken by its suddenness and by a dread she could not explain: it was no time for a.n.a.lysis of feelings. She was watching the trail with desperate concentration, wondering whether the wagon and its reckless driver would break out from the trees. In a moment they did appear--the team going downhill at a mad gallop, Harding lashing them with a loop of the reins.

There is not often a brake on a prairie wagon, and as the chain that locked the wheels had obviously broken, Harding's intention was plain.

He meant to keep the horses ahead of the iron load that would overturn the wagon and mangle the animals if it overtook them. This warranted his furious speed. But the trail was narrow and tortuous, and with the heavy weight spread over a long wheel-base, the wagon was hard to steer.

Beatrice realized this, but in spite of her horror she felt a thrill of fierce approval.

The man was standing upright now; he looked strangely unmoved. Beatrice supposed this was a delusion; but she could see the nerve and judgment with which he guided the team. They were pa.s.sing the spot where the bank fell away. The wheels on one side were on its edge. Beatrice turned dizzy. She felt that they must go over, and man and horses and wagon be crushed to pulp beneath the heavy load. They pa.s.sed; but there was a turn not far off, and room was needed to take the curve. As they rushed on, half hidden by the trees, she felt her breath come hard and a contraction in her throat as she wondered whether he could get round. If not, the load of iron would rush headlong over the fallen horses, leaving in its path a ma.s.s of mangled flesh and pools of blood. To her excited imagination, the boiler was no longer a senseless thing. It seemed filled with malevolent, destructive power; she felt she hated it.

There was a tense moment; then the leading horses plunged from the trees with the pole-team behind them, all still on their feet. Harding had somehow steered them round. But the danger was not yet over, for the trail shelved to one side and there was an awkward curve near the bridge. The wagon seemed to Beatrice to be going like the toboggans she had seen on the long slide at Montreal. It was more difficult to see as it got farther off and the trees were thicker. Her eyes filled with water from the intensity of her gaze, and she feared to waste a moment in wiping them. Something terrible might happen before she could see again. She wanted to shriek; and she might have done so only that, even in such a moment, she remembered what was expected of the Mowbray strain. Horses and wagon were still rushing on. Then there was a thud and a harsh rattle: Harding was on the bridge. Another moment and the mad beat of hoofs slackened and stopped.

Lance, waving his fur cap, broke into a harsh, triumphant yell, and the rest of the Allenwood men set up a cheer. In the midst of it Devine appeared, scrambling up the hill through the brush.

"He's done it! He's done it!" he cried excitedly, running up to Hester.

"It's great! She was going like an express freight on a downgrade when he jumped up."

Hester smiled at him proudly, and he turned and started off at top speed down the trail. They all followed, and, crossing the bridge, found Harding standing by his blowing team. The horses' coats were foul with sweat, and Harding's face was badly scratched, but he did not seem to know it, and except that he was breathless he looked much as usual.

"This is quite ridiculous!" Mrs. Broadwood panted, with a keen glance at Beatrice. "There's some excuse for Hester, but I can't see why you and I should go running after a man who doesn't belong to either of us and seems to feel a good deal cooler than we do!"

Beatrice flushed, but she did not answer.

"You were lucky in getting down," Kenwyne said to Harding. "We thought you were going over the bank."

"So did I, at first," Harding answered.

Broadwood and Lance made some remarks about the accident, and Hester watched them with a smile. There was a hint of strain in their voices, but their manner was very matter-of-fact. She surmised that they wished to forget their relapse into emotional excitement. She contented herself with giving her brother a quick, expressive look.

Harding unhooked the broken wire from the back of the wagon.

"Well," he said, "we must set about getting up."

The ascending trail had a gentler slope, and there was not much risk in climbing it; though it cost them heavy labor. With the help of a yoke of oxen, they got the wagon up, and when the top was reached Kenwyne came up to Harding.

"You and Devine have done enough," he said. "There should be no trouble now. We'll lead the teams home while you take it easy."

Harding was glad to comply. He followed with Hester and Mrs. Broadwood, because Beatrice seemed so evidently trying to avoid him.

The girl felt disturbed. When she thought that Harding could not escape, a curious sense of personal loss had intensified her alarm. Terror, of course, was natural; the other feeling was not to be explained so readily. Although she disliked some of his opinions, she knew that he attracted her. His was a magnetic nature: he exerted a strong influence over every one; but she would not admit that she was in love with him.

That would be absurd. And yet she had been deeply stirred by his danger.

Lance and Devine had lingered in the rear, and the little group stopped in the middle of the trail and waited for them. Then, when they moved forward again, Beatrice and Harding were somehow thrown together, and she checked the impulse to overtake the others when she saw that she and the prairie man were falling behind. To avoid being alone with him would exaggerate his importance.

"You must have known you were doing a dangerous thing when you got up on the wagon," she said.

"I suppose I did," he replied. "But I saw that I might lose the boiler if it went down the bank. The thing cost a good deal of money."