Part 10 (1/2)

With the help of men from the railroad settlement Harding finished his house and made it weather-proof before the frost struck deep into the soil. Plowing was now impossible, but there was much to be done. The inside of the dwelling had to be fitted up, and logs were needed for the stables he must build in the spring. Trees large enough for the purpose were scarce; and where coal is un.o.btainable, cutting wood for fuel keeps the settler busy during the rigorous winter. Harding might have simplified his task by buying sawed lumber, but the long railroad haulage made it expensive, and he never shrank from labor which led to economy. He was not a n.i.g.g.ard, but he had ambitions and he saw that his money must be made productive if those ambitions were to be gratified.

He was coming home one evening with Devine, bringing a load of wood on his jumper-sled. It had been a bitter day, and the cold got keener as a leaden haze crept up across the plain. There was still a curious gray light, and objects in the immediate foreground stood out with harsh distinctness. The naked branches of the poplars on the edge of the ravine they skirted cut sharply against the sky, and the trail, which ran straight across the thin snow, was marked by a streak of dingy blue.

The wind was fitful, but when it gathered strength the men bent their heads and s.h.i.+vered in their old deerskin jackets.

As the oxen plodded on, Devine looked round at the sled rather anxiously.

”Hadn't you better throw some of these logs off, Craig?” he suggested.

”It's a heavy load, and I'm afraid there's a blizzard working up. We want to get home before it breaks.”

”The oxen can haul them,” Harding replied. ”We'll get nothing done for the next few days, and we have our hands plumb full this winter.”

”I used to think I was a bit of a hustler,” Devine said, ”but you sure have me beat.”

”If I'm not mistaken, we'll get a lie-off to-morrow.” Harding struck one of the oxen with his mittened hand. ”Pull out, Bright, before you freeze!”

The big animals moved faster, and the tired men plodded on silently.

There is no easy road to wealth on the wheatlands of the West; indeed, it is only by patient labor and stoic endurance that a competence can be attained. Devine and his comrade knew this by stern experience, and, half frozen as they were, they braced themselves for the effort of reaching home. They must adapt their pace to the oxen's, and it was not quick enough to keep them warm.

As they approached a bluff, Harding looked up.

”Somebody riding pretty fast!” he said.

A beat of hoofs, partly m.u.f.fled by the snow, came down the bitter wind, and a few moments later a horseman appeared from behind the trees. He was indistinct in the gathering gloom, but seemed to be riding furiously, and Harding drew the oxen out of the trail.

”One of the Allenwood boys. Young Mowbray, isn't it?” said Devine.

The next moment Lance Mowbray dashed past them, scattering the snow. The horse was going at a frantic gallop, the rider's fur coat had blown open, his arms were tense, and his hands clenched on the bridle. His face was set, and he gazed fixedly ahead as if he did not see the men and the sledge.

”It's that wild brute of a range horse,” Harding remarked. ”Nearly bucked the boy off the last time he pa.s.sed my place. Something in the bluff must have scared him; he has the bit in his teeth.”

”Looks like it,” Devine agreed. ”Young Mowbray can ride, but I'm expecting trouble when he makes the timber.”

They turned and stopped to watch, for the Allenwood trail ran down the side of the ravine among the trees not far away. Horse and rider rapidly grew indistinct and vanished over the edge of the hollow. Then there was a dull thud and the beat of hoofs suddenly broke off. The deep silence that followed was ominous.

”Throw the load off, and bring the oxen!” cried Harding as he started to run along the trail.

He was breathless when he reached the edge of the declivity; but he saw nothing when he looked down. A blurred network of trunks and branches rose from the shadowy depths with a pale glimmer of snow beneath; that was all, and there was no sound except the wail of the rising wind.

Plunging straight down through the timber, Harding made for a bend of the trail where there was a precipitous bank, and on reaching it he saw a big, dark object lying in the snow some distance beneath him. This was the horse; its rider could not be far away. When he scrambled down he found the boy lying limp and still, his fur cap fallen off and his coat torn away from his body. His face looked very white, his eyes were closed, and he did not answer when Harding spoke. Kneeling down, he saw that the lad was alive but unconscious. Nothing could be done until Devine arrived.

It was a relief when he heard the oxen stumbling through the brush.

Presently Devine came running up, and after a glance at the boy turned and felt the horse.

”Stone dead! What's the matter with Mowbray?”

”Some ribs broken, I suspect,” said Harding. ”Bring the sled close up.

We've got to take him home.”

They laid Lance on the jumper, and Harding stripped off his own skin coat and wrapped it round the boy.