Ranching for Sylvia Part 11

"Well," she said, "he's sometimes called hard, and he's a little prejudiced on certain points, but he can be very staunch to those he takes a liking to."

"I believe," Edgar rejoined, "that also applies to you; I don't mean the first of it."

Flora changed the subject.

"I gather that you're not favorably impressed with the place."

"I'm not. If I had to farm it, I'd feel scared; and I don't think George is happy. It's hard to understand how Marston let it get into such a state."

"He was unfitted for the work, and he was further handicapped."

"How?" Edgar asked.

"You may have noticed that while economy ruled outside, the house is remarkably well furnished. The money Marston spent in Winnipeg stores should have gone into the land."

Edgar nodded; he did not agree with George's opinion of Sylvia.

"You don't seem to approve of the way Mrs. Marston managed things.

It's rather curious. I always thought her pretty capable in some respects."

"That's very possible," said Flora with a hint of dryness.

"After all, it may not have been her fault," Edgar suggested. "Marston was a generous fellow; he may have insisted on thinking first of her comfort."

"Then she ought to have stopped him," said Flora firmly. "Do you think a woman should let a man spoil his one chance of success in order to surround her with luxury?"

"The answer's obvious."

A dazzling flash of lightning leaped from the ma.s.s of somber cloud overhead, and they turned back toward the house, which George and Grant reached soon afterward. Grant said that he must get home before the storm broke, and Grierson brought out his spirited team. It had grown nearly dark; a curious leaden haze obscured the prairie; and when the man was getting into his light, spring-seated wagon, a jagged streak of lightning suddenly reft the gloom and there was a deafening roll of thunder. The horses started. Grant fell backward from the step, dropping the reins; and while the others stood dazzled by the flash, the terrified animals backed the vehicle with a crash against the stable. Then they plunged madly forward toward the fence, with the reins trailing along the ground. Flora had got in before her father, and she was now helpless.

It was too late when Grant got up; Grierson and Edgar were too far away, and the latter stood still, wondering with a thrill of horror what the end would be; he did not think the horses saw the thin wire fence, and the gap in it was narrow. If they struck a post in going through, the vehicle would overturn. Then George, running furiously, sprang at the horses' heads, and went down, still holding on. He was dragged along a few yards, but the pace slackened, and Edgar ran forward with Grierson behind him. For a few moments there was a savage struggle, but they stopped and held the team, until Grant coolly cleared the reins and flung them to his daughter.

"Stick tight while I get up, and then watch out," he said to the others.

He was seated in another moment, the girl quietly making room for him; then, to Edgar's astonishment, he lashed the frantic horses with the whip, and, plunging forward, they swept madly through the opening in the fence, with the wagon jolting from rut to rut. A minute or two afterward they had vanished into the thick obscurity that veiled the waste of gra.s.s, and there was a dazzling flash and a stunning roll of thunder. George, flushed and breathless, looked around with a soft laugh.

"Grant has pretty good nerve," he said.

"That's so, sir," Grierson agreed. "Strikes me he'll take some of the wickedness out of his team before he gets them home. I noticed that Miss Grant didn't look the least bit afraid."

Then a deluge of rain drove them into the house, where Edgar sat smoking thoughtfully; for what Flora Grant had said about Sylvia had a disturbing effect on him. It looked as if her selfish regard for her comfort had hampered Marston in his struggle; and though Edgar had never had much faith in Sylvia, this was painful to contemplate.

Moreover, George cherished a steadfast regard for her, which complicated things; but Edgar prudently decided that the matter was a delicate one and must be left to the people most concerned. After all, Miss Grant might be mistaken.

CHAPTER VII

A CATTLE DRIVE

George was summer fallowing, sitting in the iron saddle of a plow which a heavy Clydesdale team hauled through the stubble. The work should have been done earlier, for the soil on the Marston farm was very light, and, as it had already grown several crops of cereals, George was anxious to expose it to the influence of sun and wind as soon as possible. It was about the middle of the afternoon and very hot.

Rounded cloud-ma.s.ses overhung the plain, but dazzling sunshine fell on gra.s.s and stubble, and a haze of dust surrounded the team, while now and then the fine soil and sand, blown from the rest of the fallow by the fresh breeze, swept by in streams. George wore motor-goggles to protect his eyes, but his face and hands felt scorched and sore.

Farther back, Edgar plodded behind a lighter team, making very poor progress.

Presently George looked up and saw Flora Grant riding toward him. She sat astride, but her skirt fell in becoming lines, and he thought the gray blouse and wide Stetson hat, with a red band round it, most effective. She reined up her horse near the plow, and George got down.

"I was pa.s.sing--going on to Forsyth's place--and my father asked me to call," she said. "You were talking about buying cattle, and a man at Dunblane has some good Herefords to sell. Father thinks they would suit you."

"His recommendation carries weight," said George.

"I'll go and see them. I must thank you for bringing me word."

"I've another message. It's this--when you're buying stock, be cautious how you bid."

"As I'm not well up in local prices, I wish Mr. Grant had been a little plainer."

"He went farther than I expected. You see, as a friend of the seller, he's awkwardly fixed."

"Just so," said George. "But, if you're not in the same position, you might give me a hint. How much is the value of Canadian cattle usually below the price likely to be asked of a new arrival?"

"In this case, I should say about fifty per cent," Flora answered, with a laugh.

"Thank you," responded George. "I am sure your opinion's to be relied on."

Edgar stopped his team near by, and Flora regarded him with amus.e.m.e.nt as he came toward them, his red face streaked with dust.

"You look a good deal more like a western farmer than you did when I saw you last," she laughed.

Edgar removed his goggles and surveyed his working attire somewhat disgustedly.

"I wonder whether that's a compliment; but now that I've made the first plunge, I'd better go through with it--get a flappy hat and a black shirt, or one of those brilliant orange ones."

"The latter are more decorative. But, as you are going on a two days'

journey to drive some cattle, I'll tell you how to find the way."

"You had better tell George. I can only remember the things that interest me."

Flora gave them clear instructions, and when she rode away George turned to Edgar.

"You'll have to come, and we'll start at once. Grierson can go on plowing with the Clydesdales, which is more than you could do."

"I'm afraid I must admit it," said Edgar, glancing at his ragged furrow. "But I'm going to have my supper and put up some provisions before I leave the place."

They set out an hour later, and safely reached their destination, where George purchased a dozen cattle. They were big, red and white, long-horned animals, accustomed to freedom, for fences are still scarce on tracts of the prairie, and they ranged about the corral in a restless manner. Edgar, leaning on the rails, watched them dubiously.

"They look unusually active," he remarked. "I'm not an expert at cattle-driving, but I suppose two of us ought to take them home."

The rancher laughed.