The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 3

"Lord" Bill laughed. Jacky was so cool. The word fear was not in her vocabulary. This sort of a journey was nothing new to her. She had experienced it all before. Possibly, however, her total lack of fear was due to her knowledge of the man who, to use her own way of expressing things, "was at the business end of the lines." "Lord" Bill was at once the finest and the most fearless teamster for miles around. Under the cloak of indolent indifference he concealed a spirit of fearlessness and even recklessness which few accredited to him.

For some time the two remained silent. The minutes sped rapidly and half an hour pa.s.sed. All about was pitch black now. The wind was tearing and shrieking from every direction at once. The sleigh seemed to be the center of its attack. The blinding clouds of snow, as they swept up from the ground, were becoming denser and denser and offered a fierce resistance to the racing horses. Another few minutes and the two people on the front seat knew that progress would be impossible. As it was, "Lord" Bill was driving more by instinct than by what he could see. The trail was obscured, as were all landmarks. He could no longer see the horses' heads.

"We've pa.s.sed the school-house," said Jacky, at last.

"Yes, I know."

A strange knowledge or instinct is that of the prairie man or woman.

Neither had seen the school-house or anything to indicate it. And yet they knew they had pa.s.sed it.

"Half a mile to Trout Creek. Two miles to Norton's. Can you do it, Bill?"

Quietly as the words were spoken, there was a world of meaning in the question. To lose their way now would be worse, infinitely, than to lose oneself in one of the sandy deserts of Africa. Death was in that biting wind and in the blinding snow. Once lost, and, in two or three hours, all would be over.

"Yes," came the monosyllabic reply. "Lord" Bill's lips were pursed tightly. Every now and then he dashed the snow and breath icicles from his eyelashes. The horses were almost hidden from his view.

They were descending a steep gradient and they now knew that they were upon Trout Creek. At the creek Bill pulled up. It was the first stop since leaving Calford. Jacky and he jumped down. Each knew what the other was about to do without speaking. Jacky, reins in hand, went round the horses; "Lord" Bill was searching for the trail which turned off from the main road up the creek to Norton's. Presently he came back.

"Animals all right?"

"Fit as fiddles," the girl replied.

"Right--jump up!"

There was no a.s.sisting this girl to her seat. No "by your leave" or European politeness. Simply the word of one man who knows his business to another. Both were on their "native heath."

Bill checked the horses' impetuosity and walked them slowly until he came to the turning. Once on the right road, however, he let them have their heads.

"It's all right, Jacky," as the horses bounded forward.

A few minutes later the sleigh drew up at Norton's, but so dark was it and so dense the snow fog, that only those two keen watchers on the front seat were able to discern the outline of the house.

"Poker" John and the doctor a.s.sisted the old lady to alight whilst Jacky and "Lord" Bill unhitched the horses. In spite of the cold the sweat was pouring from the animals' sides. In answer to a violent summons on the storm door a light appeared in the window and "soldier" Joe Norton opened the door.

For an instant he stood in the doorway peering doubtfully out into the storm. A goodly picture he made as he stood lantern in hand, his rugged old face gazing inquiringly at his visitors.

"Hurry up, Joe, let us in," exclaimed Allandale. "We are nearly frozen to death."

"Why, bless my soul!--bless my soul! Come in! Come in!" the old man exclaimed hastily as he recognized John Allandale's voice. "You out, and on a night like this. Bless my soul! Come in! Down, Husky, down!" to a bob-tail sheep-dog which bounded forward and barked savagely.

"Hold on, Joe," said "Poker" John. "Let the ladies go in, we must see to the horses."

"It's all right, uncle," said Jacky, "we've unhitched 'em. Bill's taken 'em right away to the stables."

The whole party pa.s.sed into Joe Norton's sitting-room, where the old farmer at once set about kindling, with the aid of some coal-oil, a fire in the great box-stove. While his host was busy John took the lantern and went to "Lord" Bill's a.s.sistance in the stables.

The stove lighted, Joe Norton turned to his guests.

"Bless me, and to think of you, Mrs. Abbot, and Miss Jacky, too. I must fetch the o'd 'ooman. Hi, Molly, Molly, bestir yourself, old girl. Come on down, an' help the ladies. They've come for shelter out o' the blizzard--good luck to it."

"Oh, no, don't disturb her, Joe," exclaimed Mrs. Abbot; "it's really too bad, at this unearthly hour. Besides, we shall be quite comfortable here by the stove."

"No doubt--no doubt," said the old man, cheerfully, "but that's not my way--not my way. Any of you froze," he went on ungrammatically, "'cause if so, out you go and thaw it out in the snow."

"I guess there's no one frozen," said Jacky, smiling into the old man's face. "We're too old birds for that. Ah, here's Mrs. Norton."

Another warm greeting and the two ladies were hustled off to the only spare bedroom the Nortons boasted. By this time "Lord" Bill and "Poker"

John had returned from the stables. While the ladies were removing their furs, which were sodden with the melting snow, the farmer's wife was preparing a rough but ample meal of warm provender in the kitchen. Such is hospitality in the Far North-West.

When the supper was prepared the travellers sat down to the substantial fare. None were hungry--be it remembered that it was three o'clock in the morning--but each felt that some pretense in that direction must be made, or the kindly couple would think their welcome was insufficient.

"An' what made you venture on the trail on such a night?" asked old Norton, as he poured out a joram of hot whiskey for each of the men. "A moral cert, you wouldn't strike Foss River in such a storm."

"We thought it would have held off longer," said Dr. Abbot. "It was no use getting cooped up in town for two or three days. You know what these blizzards are. You may have to do with us yourself during the next forty-eight hours."

"It's too sharp to last, Doc," put in Jacky, as she helped herself to some soup. Her face was glowing after her exposure to the elements. She looked very beautiful and not one whit worse for the drive.

"Sharp enough--sharp enough," murmured old Norton, as if for something to say.

"Sharp enough to bring some one else to your hospitable abode, Joe,"

interrupted "Lord" Bill, quietly; "I hear sleigh bells. The wind's howling, but their tone is familiar."

They were all listening now. "Poker" John was the first to speak.

"It's--" and he paused.

Before he could complete his sentence Jacky filled up the missing words.

"Lablache--for a dollar."

There was a moment's silence in that rough homely little kitchen. The expression of the faces of those around the board indexed a general thought.

Lablache, if it were he, would not receive the cordial welcome which had been meted out to the others. Norton broke the silence.

"Dang it! That's what I ses, dang it! You'll pardon me, ladies, but my feelings get the better of me at times. I don't like him. Lablache--I hates him," and he strode out of the room, his old face aflame with annoyance, to discharge the hospitable duties of the prairie.

As the door closed behind him Dr. Abbot laughed constrainedly.

"Lablache doesn't seem popular--here."

No one answered his remark. Then "Poker" John looked over at the other men.

"We must go and help to put his horses away."

There was no suggestion in his words, merely a statement of plain facts.

"Lord" Bill nodded and the three men rose and went to the door.

As they disappeared Jacky turned to Mrs. Norton and Aunt Margaret.