The Mistress of Bonaventure Part 18

A cold wind swept the prairie, and it was very dark; but, when we had covered a league or so, and the exercise had warmed me, a dull red glare appeared on the horizon. A gra.s.s fire was out of the question at that season, and it was evident that somebody's homestead was burning. I was in the saddle the next moment and riding fast towards the distant blaze.

The frozen sod was rough, the night very black, and haste distinctly imprudent; but I pressed on recklessly, haunted by a fear that the scene of the conflagration was Bonaventure. Reaching the edge of a rise, I pulled the horse up with a sense of vast relief, for a struggling birch bluff gave me my bearings and made it plain that neither Haldane's homestead nor his daughter could be in peril.

Then it dawned on me that the fire was at Gaspard's Trail and I sat still a minute, irresolute. I had no doubt that the recent purchaser was merely acting for Lane, and I felt tempted to resume my journey; but curiosity, or the instinct which calls out each prairie settler when his neighbor's possessions are in jeopardy, was too strong for me, and I rode towards the blaze, but much more slowly. It was one thing to risk a broken limb when danger appeared to threaten Bonaventure, but quite another to do so for the sake of an unscrupulous adversary. It would have been well for me had I obeyed the first impulse which prompted me--and turned my back upon the fire.

An hour had pa.s.sed before I reached the house which had once been mine, and, after tethering the horse in shelter of an unthreatened granary, I proceeded to look about me. Gaspard's Trail was clearly doomed. One end of the dwelling had fallen in. The logs, dried by the fierce summer, were blazing like a furnace, and a column of fire roared aloft into the blackness of the night. Showers of sparks drove down-wind, barns and stables were wrapped in smoke; but, although the blaze lighted up the s.p.a.ce about them, there was n.o.body visible. This was in one respect not surprising, because the nearest homestead stood a long distance away, but, as the new owner had an a.s.sistant living with him, I wondered what had become of them. From the position of the doors and windows they could have had no difficulty in escaping, so, deciding that if the ostensible proprietor had deserted his property I was not called on to burn myself, I proceeded to prowl about the buildings in case he should be sheltering inside one of them.

Finally I ran up against him carrying an armful of tools out of a shed, and he dropped them at sight of me. "Hallo! Where did you spring from?

Blamed hard luck, isn't it?" said he.

Niven, for that was his name, did not appear greatly disconcerted, or was able to face his loss with enviable tranquillity. He was a lanky, thin-faced man, with cunning eyes, and I did not like the way he looked at me.

"I was out on the prairie and saw the blaze. Where's your hired man; and is there nothing better worth saving than these?" I asked.

"I haven't seen Wilkins since he woke me up," was the answer. "He shouted that the place was burning, and he'd run the horses out of the stable and on to the prairie, while I hunted up odd valuables and dressed myself. He must have done it and ridden off to the nearest ranch for help, for I haven't seen him since. The fire had got too good a hold for us to put it out."

If I had hitherto entertained any doubts as to the ownership of Gaspard's Trail, the speaker's manner would have dissipated them. No man would, in the circ.u.mstances, have wasted time in speech had his own property been in danger; and the sight of the homestead, which I had spent the best years of my life in building, now burning without an effort being made to save it, filled me with indignation.

"You're the man who used to own this place, aren't you?" asked Niven, with a sidelong glance. "Should have thought you would have had enough of it; but you might as well help heave these things out, now you're here."

The question was innocent, if unnecessary, for I had spoken to him at the sale; but the manner in which he put it made me long to a.s.sault him, and I answered wrathfully: "I'll see you and your master burned before I move a hand!"

"I'm my own master, worse luck!" said the other coolly, before he commenced to gather up his load; and then turned again as another man came up breathless.

"Is that you, Ormesby. Come to see the last of it?" he said; and I saw that the newcomer was Boone, or Adams, the photographer.

"I don't quite know what I came for," I answered. "Probably out of curiosity. It's too late to save anything, even if there were more water in the well than there used to be."

Boone nodded as he glanced towards the house. It was burning more fiercely than ever. The straw roof of the stable, which stood not far away, was also well alight, and we could scarcely hear each other's voices through the crackling of blazing logs and the roaring of the flame. It was moodily I watched it toss and tower, now straight aloft, now hurled earthwards by the wind in bewildering magnificence. After many a hard day's toil I had robbed myself of much needed sleep to fashion what the pitiless fire devoured, and it seemed as though I had given my blood to feed the flame, and that the hopes which had nerved me had dissipated like its smoke. "I can guess what you're feeling, but a bad failure is sometimes the best way to success. You will get over it,"

said Boone.

I was grateful, but I did not answer him, for just then a rattle of wheels broke through the roar of the conflagration, and two jolting wagons lurched into the glare. Black figures on horseback followed, and a breathless man ran up. "Trooper came round and warned us, and there's more behind. Looks as if we'd come too late," he said.

We formed the center of an excited group in a few more minutes, for Niven had joined us, and, when he had answered some of the many questions, he asked one in turn. "It was my man Wilkins warned you?"

"I guess not," was the answer. "Trooper Chapleau saw the blaze on his rounds"; and, when the others had stated how the news had been pa.s.sed on to them, the new owner said: "Then where in the name of thunder has the fool gone?"

A swift suspicion flashed upon me, and I glanced at Adams; but his face was serene enough, and, when the question remained unanswered, another thought struck me. "Did you see him lead the horses out?" I asked.

"No," was the answer. "He was good at handling beasts, and I was way too busy to worry about him. Must have done it long ago. I made sure he'd lit out to ask for a.s.sistance, when I saw the door had swung to."

I twisted round on my heel. "Who's coming with me to the stable, boys?"

I asked.

The men looked at me and then at the fire. The stable was built of the stoutest logs obtainable, packed with sod, and its roof of branches, sod, and straw piled several feet thick to keep out the frost. A wind-driven blaze eddied about one end of it, but the rest of the low edifice appeared uninjured as far as we could see it through the smoke.

The glare beat upon the weather-darkened faces of the spectators, which glowed like burnished copper under it; but, if devoid of malicious satisfaction, I thought I could read a resolve not to interfere stamped on most of them.

"There's nothing of yours inside, and this fellow says the teams are clear," said one. "A bigger fire wouldn't stop us if the place was Ormesby's; but when the man who allows he owns it does nothing I'll not stir a finger to pull out a few forks and pails for that black thief Lane."

His comrades nodded, and another man said: "It's justice. Boys, you'll remember the night we brought Redmond home?"

I knew the first speaker's statement was true enough. One and all would have freely risked their lives to a.s.sist even a stranger who had dealt fairly with them; but they were stubborn men, unused to oppression, and recent events had roused all the slow vindictiveness that lurked within them. I felt very much as they did; but, remembering something, I was not quite certain that the teams were out of the stable, and the dumb beasts had served me well. Before I could speak a police trooper came up at a gallop. "Hallo! What are you gaping at? Can't you stir around and pull anything clear of harm's way, boys?" he shouted.

"We're not a Montreal fire brigade, and I forgot my big helmet," said one.

"Not a stir," interjected another.

"We'd pull the very sod up off the corral if you'd run Lane in for wholesale robbery," added a third; and it was not until the hoa.r.s.e laugh which followed died away that I found my opportunity.

"I'm afraid the horses are inside there, boys," I said. "It's not their fault they belong to Lane, and whether you come along or not, I'm going to liberate them."

There was a change in a moment. I never saw even the most unfortunate settler ill-use his beast, though all young plow oxen and half-broken broncos, besides a good many old ones, are sufficiently exasperating.

"Ormesby's talking now," said somebody; and there was an approving chorus. "Get the poor brutes clear, anyway. Coming right along!" Then I started for the stable at a run, with the rest of the company hard behind me.

Thick smoke rolled between us and the door, and when we halted just clear of the worst of it a bright blaze shot up from the thatch. The heat scorched our faces, and one or two fell back with heads averted; but the sound of a confused trampling reached us from the building.

"We've got to get in before the poor brutes are roasted, and do it mighty smartly," said somebody.

That at least was evident; but the question how it was to be accomplished remained, for I recoiled, blinded and choking, at the first attempt, before I even reached the door. I had framed it, with my own hands, of stout tenoned logs, so that it would fit tightly to keep out the frost. One of the posts loosened by the fire had settled, apparently since the last person entered the building. Another man went with me the second time, but though we managed to reach the handle the door remained immovable, and once more we reeled back beaten, when a strip of blazing thatch fell almost on our heads. Because the roof fed it, the fire was mostly on the outside of the building.

"Solid as a rock," gasped my companion. "Say, somebody find a lariat and we'll heave her out by the roots."

A rope was found and with difficulty hitched about the handle, after which a dozen strong men grasped the slack of it. A glance at their faces, illumined by the glare, showed that the thought of the suffering beasts had roused them, and they were in earnest now. There was a heave of brawny shoulders, a straining of sinewy limbs, and the line of bodies swayed backwards as one, when a voice rose: "All together! Heave your best!"

I felt the straining hemp contract within my grasp. Trampling feet clawed for a firmer hold on the frozen sod, and I could hear the men behind me panting heavily. The door remained fast, however, and again a breathless voice encouraged us: "This time does it! Out she comes!"

The rope creaked, the trampling increased, and a man behind kicked me cruelly on the ankle during his efforts; but instead of the jammed door, its handle came out, and the next moment we went down together in one struggling heap. "There was a good birch log by the granary. We'll use it for a ram," I gasped.

Two men brought the log, which was unusually long and heavy for that region, where the stoutest trees are small, and Boone and I staggered with the b.u.t.t of it into the smoke. The rest grasped the thinner end, swung it back, and drove the other forward with all the impetus they could furnish. The door creaked, but the most manifest result was the fall of a further strip of burning thatch on us.

"We must manage this time," spluttered Boone. "If we once let go it will be too late before anyone else takes hold again."

Once more the door defied us. The heat was almost stifling, the smoke thicker than ever; but, choking, panting, and dripping with perspiration, we managed to swing and guide the end of the log until the battered frame went down with a crash, and we two reeled over it into the building. The fire which traveled along the roof had eaten a portion out, but though one strip of the interior was flooded with lurid light, the smoke of a burning hay pile rolled about the rest. A horse was squealing in agony; one stall part.i.tion had been wrenched away, and another kicked to pieces; while two panic-stricken brutes blundered about the building. The rest were plunging and straining at their tethers, and there was a curious look in Boone's face as he turned to me.

"Somebody will risk being kicked to death before we get them out. I wish we could give their owner the first chance," he said.

Several of the agonized beasts had been in times of loneliness almost as human friends to me. Others had, in their own dumb faithful way, helped me to realize my first ambitions, and the sight of their suffering turned me savage. "Do you know anything of this?" I asked.

Boone wheeled around on me with a menace in his eyes, but apparently mastering his temper with an effort, laughed unpleasantly. "No. Take care you are not asked the same question. Are you disposed to let the horses roast while we quarrel?"

The latter, at least, was out of the question, and I had only paused to gather breath and consider a plan of operations, for it is by no means easy to extricate frantic beasts from a burning building. The others in the meantime were gathering around, and we set about it as best we could. At times thick smoke wreaths blew into our eyes, the heat grew insupportable, and the first horse I freed would have seized me with its teeth but that I smote it hard upon the nostrils. Two men were knocked down and trampled on, another badly kicked, but amid an indescribable confusion the task was accomplished, until only one badly burned horse, and another with a broken leg, remained inside the building.

"We can't leave them to grill," I said. "Thorn used to keep an old shotgun inside the chop-chest lid."

It was Boone who brought me the weapon, and the burned horse was quickly put out of its misery; but a portion of the roof fell in as I ran towards the other. This one lay still, and, I saw, recognized me. It had carried me gallantly on many a weary ride, and was the one on which Lucille Haldane had leaped across the fence. I felt like a murderer when it turned its eyes on me with an almost human appeal, for all that I could do was to press the deadly muzzle against its head. The shock of the detonation shook down a shower of blazing fragments, and I had turned away with a horrible sense of guilt, when somebody shouted, "There's a man in the end stall!"

The stall was hidden by the smoke, but, now that the emptied stable was quieter, a voice reached us faintly through the vapor: "Won't anyone take me out of this?"

Several of us made a rush in that direction; but, so far as memory serves, only Boone and I reached the stall, and, groping around it blindly, came upon something which resembled a human form. We lifted it between us, and the man both groaned and swore; then, staggering through the vapor, we came, blackened, burned a little, and half-asphyxiated, into the open. The rest were already outside, and, when we laid down our burden, they stood about him, panting.

"You've nearly killed me between you, boys, but it wasn't your fault,"