Winston of the Prairie Part 14

She did his bidding, and did not shrink when she felt his arms about her, while next moment she was standing knee-deep in the snow and the man shouting something she did not catch. Team and sleigh seemed to vanish, and she saw her companion dimly for a moment before he was lost in the sliding whiteness, too. Then a horrible fear came upon her.

It seemed a very long while before he reappeared, and thrust her in through what seemed to be a door. Then there was another waiting before the light of a lamp blinked out, and she saw that she was standing in a little log-walled room with bare floor and a few trusses of straw in a comer. There was also a rusty stove, and a very small pile of billets beside it. Winston, who had closed the door, stood looking at them with a curious expression.

"Where is the team?" she gasped.

"Heading for a birch bluff or Silverdale, though I scarcely think they will get there," said the man. "I have never stopped here, and it wasn't astonishing they fancied the place a pile of snow. While I was getting the furs out, they slipped from me."

Miss Barrington now knew where they were. The shanty was used by the remoter settlers as a half-way house where they slept occasionally on their long journey to the railroad, and as there was a birch bluff not far away, it was the rule that whoever occupied it should replace the fuel he had consumed. The last man had, however, not been liberal.

"But what are we to do?" she asked, with a little gasp of dismay.

"Stay here until the morning," said Winston quietly. "Unfortunately, I can't even spare you my company. The stable has fallen in, and it would be death to stand outside, you see. In the meanwhile, pull out some of the straw and put it in the stove."

"Can you not do that?" asked Miss Barrington, feeling that she must commence at once, if she was to keep this man at a befitting distance.

Winston laughed. "Oh, yes, but you will freeze if you stand still, and these billets require splitting. Still, if you have special objections to doing what I ask you, you can walk up and down rapidly."

The girl glanced at him a moment and then lowered her eyes. "Of course I was wrong. Do you wish to hear that I am sorry?"

Winston, answering nothing, swung an ax round his head, and the girl kneeling beside the stove noticed the sinewy suppleness of his frame and the precision with which the heavy blade cleft the billets. The ax, she knew, is by no means an easy tool to handle. At last the red flame crackled, and, though she had not intended the question to be malicious, there was a faint trace of irony in her voice as she asked, "Is there any other thing you wish me to do?"

Winston flung two bundles of straw down beside the stove, and stood looking at her gravely. "Yes," he said. "I want you to sit down and let me wrap this sleigh robe about you."

The girl submitted, and did not shrink visibly from his touch, when he drew the fur robe about her shoulders and packed the end of it round her feet. Still, there was a faint warmth in her face, and she was grateful for his unconcernedness.

"Fate or fortune has placed me in charge of you until to-morrow, and if the position is distasteful to you, it is not my fault," he said.

"Still, I feel the responsibility, and it would be a little less difficult if you would accept the fact tacitly."

Maud Barrington would not have shivered if she could have avoided it, but the cold was too great for her, and she did not know whether she was vexed or pleased at the gleam of compa.s.sion in the man's gray eyes.

It was more eloquent than anything of the kind she had ever seen, but it had gone, and he was only quietly deferent, when she glanced at him again.

"I will endeavor to be good," she said, and then flushed with annoyance at the adjective. Half-dazed by the cold as she was, she could not think of a more suitable one. Winston, however, retained his gravity.

"Now, Macdonald gave you no supper, and he has dinner at noon," he said. "I brought some eatables along, and you must make the best meal you can."

He opened a packet, and laid it with a little silver flask upon her knee.

"I cannot eat all this--and it is raw spirit," said Maud Barrington.

Winston laughed. "Are you not forgetting your promise? Still, we will melt a little snow into the cup."

An icy gust swept in when he opened the door, and it was only by a strenuous effort he closed it again, while when he came back panting with the top of the flask a little color crept into Maud Barrington's face. "I am sorry," she said. "That at least is your due."

"I really don't want my due," said Winston, with a deprecatory gesture, as he laid the silver cup upon the stove. "Can't we forget we are not exactly friends, just for to-night? If so, you will drink this and commence at once on the provisions--to please me."

Maud Barrington was glad of the reviving draught, for she was very cold, but presently she held out the packet.

"One really cannot eat many crackers at once, will you help me?"

Winston laughed as he took one of the biscuits. "If I had expected any one would share my meal, I would have provided a better one. Still, I have been glad to feast upon more unappetizing things occasionally."

"When were you unfortunate?" said the girl.

Winston smiled somewhat dryly. "I was unfortunate for six years on end."

He was aware of the blunder when he had spoken, but Maud Barrington appeared to be looking at the flask thoughtfully.

"The design is very pretty," she said. "You got it in England?"

The man knew that it was the name F. Winston his companion's eyes rested on, but his face was expressionless. "Yes," he said. "It is one of the things they make for presentation in the old country."

Maud Barrington noticed the absence of any attempt at explanation, and having considerable pride of her own, was sensible of a faint approval.

"You are making slow progress," she said, with a slight but perceptible difference in her tone. "Now, you can have eaten nothing since breakfast."

Winston said nothing, but by and by poured a little of the spirit into a rusty can, and the girl, who understood why he did so, felt that it covered several of his offenses. "Now," she said graciously, "you may smoke if you wish to."

Winston pointed to the few billets left and shook his head. "I'm afraid I must get more wood."

The roar of wind almost drowned his voice, and the birch logs seemed to tremble under the impact of the blast, while Maud Barrington shivered as she asked, "Is it safe?"

"It is necessary," said Winston, with the little laugh she had already found rea.s.suring.

He had gone out in another minute, and the girl felt curiously lonely as she remembered stories of men who had left their homesteads during a blizzard to see to the safety of the horses in a neighboring stable, and were found afterwards as still as the snow that covered them. Maud Barrington was not unduly timorous, but the roar of that awful icy gale would have stricken dismay into the hearts of most men, and she found herself glancing with feverish impatience at a diminutive gold watch and wondering whether the cold had r.e.t.a.r.ded its progress. Ten minutes pa.s.sed very slowly, lengthened to twenty more slowly still, and then it flashed upon her that there was at least something she could do, and sc.r.a.ping up a little of the snow that sifted in, she melted it in the can. Then she set the flask top upon the stove, and once more listened for the man's footsteps very eagerly.

She did not hear them, but at last the door swung open, and carrying a load of birch branches Winston staggered in. He dropped them, strove to close the door and failed, then leaned against it, gasping, with a livid face, for there are few men who can withstand the cold of a snow-laden gale at forty degrees below.

How Maud Barrington closed the door she did not know, but it was with a little imperious gesture she turned to the man.

"Shake those furs at once," she said, and drawing him towards the stove held up the steaming cup. "Now sit there, and drink it."

Winston stooped and reached out for the can, but the girl swept it off the stove. "Oh, I know the silver was for me," she said. "Still, is this a time for trifles such as that?"

Worn out by a very grim struggle, Winston did as he was bidden, and looked up with a twinkle in his eyes, when with the faintest trace of color in her cheeks the girl sat down close to him and drew part of the fur robe about him.

"I really believe you were a little pleased to see me come back just now," he said.

"Was that quite necessary?" asked Maud Barrington. "Still, I was."

Winston made a little deprecatory gesture. "Of course," he said.

"Now, we can resume our former footing to-morrow, but in the meanwhile I would like to know why you are so hard upon me, Miss Barrington, because I really have not done much harm to any one at Silverdale.

Your aunt,"--and he made a little respectful inclination of his head which pleased the girl--"is at least giving me a fair trial."

"It is difficult to tell you--but it was your own doing," said Maud Barrington. "At the beginning you prejudiced us when you told us you could only play cards indifferently. It was so unnecessary, and we knew a good deal about you!"

"Well," said Winston quietly, "I have only my word to offer, and I wonder if you will believe me now, but I don't think I ever won five dollars at cards in my life."

Maud Barrington watched him closely, but his tone carried conviction, and again she was glad that he attempted no explanation. "I am quite willing to take it," she said. "Still, you can understand--"