Part 5 (2/2)
The share had struck hard ground. On one side, a sinuous line of trail, rutted by wheels and beaten firm by hoofs, seamed the prairie; on the other, the furrows ran across and blotted it out. It was a road the Allenwood settlers used, and Harding knew well what he was doing when he plowed into it. Still, the land was his and must produce its proper yield of grain, while to clear the trail with his implements would entail much useless labor. He had no wish to be aggressive, but if these people took his action as a challenge, the fault would be theirs. It was with a quiet, determined smile that he called to the oxen and held down the share.
At noon he turned the animals loose, and going back to camp, felt his heart throb as he saw Beatrice Mowbray talking to Hester. A team stood near by, and the boy he had met in the bluff was stooping down beside a light four-wheeled vehicle. Beatrice gave Harding a smile of recognition and went on talking, but her brother came up to him.
”The pole came loose,” he explained; ”and I thought you might lend me something to fasten it with.”
”Certainly,” Harding said, stooping to examine the damaged pole. ”It won't fasten,” he added. ”It's broken between the iron straps, and there's not wood enough to bolt them on again.”
Lance frowned.
”That's a nuisance!”
”I will give you a pole,” Harding said. ”There is some lumber here that will do.”
He picked up a small birch log as he spoke, and, throwing it upon two trestles, set to work with an ax. When he had it about the right size, Lance interrupted him.
”That's good enough. I'll get it smoothed off when the carpenter comes out from the settlement.”
”That is not my plan,” Harding smiled. ”I like to finish a job.”
He adjusted a plane, and Beatrice watched him as he ran it along the pole. It had not struck her hitherto that one could admire the simple mechanical crafts, but she thought there was something fine in the prairie farmer's command of the tool. She noticed his easy poise as he swung to and fro, the rhythmic precision of his movements, and the accurate judgment he showed. As the thin shavings streamed across his wrist the rough log began to change its form, growing through gently tapered lines into symmetry. Though he had only his eye to guide him, Beatrice saw that he was skilfully striking the balance between strength and lightness, and it was a surprise to find elements of beauty in such a common object as a wagon-pole. She felt that Harding had taught her something when he turned to Lance, saying:
”There! I guess we can put that in.”
The irons were soon refitted, and while Lance harnessed the team, Beatrice came to Harding with a smile.
”Thank you!” she said. ”It's curious that you should help me out of a difficulty twice within a week.”
Harding flushed.
”If you should happen to meet with another, I hope I'll be near,” he returned.
”You like helping people?”
He pondered this longer than she thought it deserved.
”I believe I like straightening things out. It jars me to see any one in trouble when there's a way of getting over it; and I hate to see effort wasted and tools unfit for work.”
”Efficiency is your ideal, then?”
”Yes. I don't know that it ever struck me before, but you have hit it.
All the same, efficiency is hard to attain.”
Beatrice looked at him curiously.
”I don't believe you are really a carpenter,” she said.
”Unless you have plenty of money when you start breaking prairie, you have to be a number of things,” he answered, smiling. ”Difficulties keep cropping up, and they must be attacked.”
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