The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 2

The new-comer, Dr. Abbot, smiled at his wife's terrified look, but, as he turned to urge Bill to hurry, there was a slightly anxious look on his face.

"Hurry up, old man. I'll go and see about our sleigh." Then in an undertone, "You can exaggerate a little to persuade them, for the storm _is_ coming on and we must get away at once."

A moment or two later "Lord" Bill and Jacky were making their way to the smoking-room. On the stairs they met "Poker" John. He was returning to the ballroom.

"We were just coming to look for you, uncle," exclaimed Jacky. "They tell us it is blowing outside."

"Just what I was coming to tell you, my dear. We must be going. Where are the doctor and Aunt Margaret?"

"Getting ready," said Bill, quietly. "Have a good game?"

The old man smiled. His bronzed face indicated extreme satisfaction.

"Not half bad, boy--not half bad. Relieved Lablache of five hundred dollars in the last jackpot. Held four deuces. He opened with full on aces."

"Poker" John seemed to have forgotten the past heavy losses, and spoke gleefully of the paltry five hundred he had just scooped in.

The girl looked relieved, and even the undemonstrative "Lord" Bill allowed a scarcely audible sigh to escape him. Jacky returned at once to the exigencies of the moment.

"Then, uncle, dear, let us hurry up. I guess none of us want to be caught in a blizzard. Say, Bill, take me to the cloak-room, right away."

CHAPTER II

THE BLIZZARD: ITS CONSEQUENCES

On the whole, Canada can boast of one of the most perfect health-giving climates in the world, despite the two extremes of heat and cold of which it is composed. But even so, the Canadian climate is cursed by an evil which every now and again breaks loose from the bonds which fetter it, and rages from east to west, carrying death and destruction in its wake. I speak of the terrible--the raging Blizzard!

To appreciate the panic-like haste with which the Foss River Settlement party left the ballroom, one must have lived a winter in the west of Canada. The reader who sits snugly by his or her fireside, and who has never experienced a Canadian winter, can have no conception of one of those dread storms, the very name of which had drawn words of terror from one who had lived the greater part of her life in the eastern shadow of the Rockies. Hers was no timid, womanly fear for ordinary inclemency of weather, but a deep-rooted dread of a life-and-death struggle in a merciless storm, than which, in no part of the world, can there be found a more fearful. Whence it comes--and why, surely no one may say. A meteorological expert may endeavor to account for it, but his argument is unconvincing and gains no credence from the dweller on the prairies. And why? Because the storm does not come from above--neither does it come from a specified direction. And only in the winter does such a wind blow. The wind buffets from every direction at once. No snow falls from above and yet a blinding gray wall of snow, swept up from the white-clothed ground, encompa.s.ses the dazed traveller. His arm outstretched in daylight and he cannot see the tips of his heavy fur mitts. Bitter cold, a hundred times intensified by the merciless force of the wind, and he is lost and freezing--slowly freezing to death.

As the sleigh dashed through the outskirts of Calford, on its way to the south, there was not much doubt in the minds of any of its occupants as to the prospects of the storm. The gusty, patchy wind, the sudden sweeps of hissing, cutting snow, as it slithered up in a gray dust in the moonlight, and lashed, with stinging force, into their faces, was a sure herald of the coming "blizzard."

Bunning-Ford and Jacky occupied the front seat of the sleigh. The former was driving the spanking team of blacks of which old "Poker" John was justly proud. The sleigh was open, as in Canada all such sleighs are.

Mrs. Abbot and the doctor sat in a seat with their backs to Jacky and her companion, and old John Allandale faced the wind in the back seat, alone. Thirty-five miles the horses had to cover before the storm thoroughly established itself, and "Lord" Bill was not a slow driver.

The figures of the travellers were hardly distinguishable so enwrapped were they in beaver caps, buffalo coats and robes. Jacky, as she sat silently beside her companion, might have been taken for an inanimate bundle of furs, so lost was she within the ample folds of her buffalo.

But for the occasional turn of her head, as she measured with her eyes the rising of the storm, she gave no sign of life.

"Lord" Bill seemed indifferent. His eyes were fixed upon the road ahead and his hands, encased in fur mitts, were on the "lines" with a tenacious grip. The horses needed no urging. They were high-mettled and cold. The gushing quiver of their nostrils, as they drank in the crisp, night air, had a comforting sound for the occupants of the sleigh.

Weather permitting, those beautiful "blacks" would do the distance in under three hours.

The sleigh bells jangled musically in response to the high steps of the horses as they sped over the hard, snow-covered trail. They were climbing the long slope which was to take them out of the valley wherein was Calford situate. Presently Jack's face appeared from amidst the folds of the m.u.f.fler which kept her storm collar fast round her neck and ears.

"It's gaining on us, Billy."

"Yes, I know."

He understood her remark. He knew she referred to the storm. His lips were curiously pursed. A knack he had when stirred out of himself.

"We shan't do it."

The girl spoke with conviction.

"No."

"Guess we'd better hit the trail for Norton's. Soldier Joe'll be glad to welcome us."

"Lord" Bill did not answer. He merely chirruped at the horses. The willing beasts increased their pace and the sleigh sped along with that intoxicating smoothness only to be felt when travelling with double "bobs" on a perfect trail.

The gray wind of the approaching blizzard was becoming fiercer. The moon was already enveloped in a dense haze. The snow was driving like fine sand in the faces of the travellers.

"I think we'll give it an hour, Bill. After that I guess it'll be too thick," pursued the girl. "What d'you think, can we make Norton's in that time--it's a good sixteen miles?"

"I'll put 'em at it," was her companion's curt response.

Neither spoke for a minute. Then "Lord" Bill bent his head suddenly forward. The night was getting blacker and it was with difficulty that he could keep his eyes from blinking under the lash of the whipping snow.

"What is it?" asked Jacky, ever on the alert with the instinct of the prairie.

"Some one just ahead of us. The track is badly broken in places. Sit tight, I'm going to touch 'em up."

He flicked the whip over the horses' backs, and, a moment later, the sleigh was flying along at a dangerous pace. The horses had broken into a gallop.

"Lord" Bill seemed to liven up under the influence of speed. The wind was howling now, and conversation was impossible, except in short, jerky sentences. They were on the high level of the prairie and were getting the full benefit of the open sweep of country.

"Cold?" Bill almost shouted.

"No," came the quiet response.

"Straight, down-hill trail. I'm going to let 'em have their heads."

Both of these people knew every inch of the road they were travelling.

There was no fear in their hearts.

"Put 'em along, then."

The horses raced along. The deadly gray wind had obscured all light. The lights of the sleigh alone showed the tracks. It was a wild night and every moment it seemed to become worse. Suddenly the man spoke again.

"I wish we hadn't got the others with us, Jacky."

"Why?"

"Because I could put 'em along faster, as it is--" His sentence remained unfinished, the sleigh b.u.mped and lifted on to one runner. It was within an ace of overturning. There was no need to finish his sentence.

"Yes, I understand, Bill. Don't take too many chances. Ease 'em up--some. They're not as young as we are--not the horses. The others."