Part 18 (1/2)

A cold wind swept the prairie, and it was very dark; but, when we had covered a league or so, and the exercise had warmed me, a dull red glare appeared on the horizon. A gra.s.s fire was out of the question at that season, and it was evident that somebody's homestead was burning. I was in the saddle the next moment and riding fast towards the distant blaze.

The frozen sod was rough, the night very black, and haste distinctly imprudent; but I pressed on recklessly, haunted by a fear that the scene of the conflagration was Bonaventure. Reaching the edge of a rise, I pulled the horse up with a sense of vast relief, for a struggling birch bluff gave me my bearings and made it plain that neither Haldane's homestead nor his daughter could be in peril.

Then it dawned on me that the fire was at Gaspard's Trail and I sat still a minute, irresolute. I had no doubt that the recent purchaser was merely acting for Lane, and I felt tempted to resume my journey; but curiosity, or the instinct which calls out each prairie settler when his neighbor's possessions are in jeopardy, was too strong for me, and I rode towards the blaze, but much more slowly. It was one thing to risk a broken limb when danger appeared to threaten Bonaventure, but quite another to do so for the sake of an unscrupulous adversary. It would have been well for me had I obeyed the first impulse which prompted me--and turned my back upon the fire.

An hour had pa.s.sed before I reached the house which had once been mine, and, after tethering the horse in shelter of an unthreatened granary, I proceeded to look about me. Gaspard's Trail was clearly doomed. One end of the dwelling had fallen in. The logs, dried by the fierce summer, were blazing like a furnace, and a column of fire roared aloft into the blackness of the night. Showers of sparks drove down-wind, barns and stables were wrapped in smoke; but, although the blaze lighted up the s.p.a.ce about them, there was n.o.body visible. This was in one respect not surprising, because the nearest homestead stood a long distance away, but, as the new owner had an a.s.sistant living with him, I wondered what had become of them. From the position of the doors and windows they could have had no difficulty in escaping, so, deciding that if the ostensible proprietor had deserted his property I was not called on to burn myself, I proceeded to prowl about the buildings in case he should be sheltering inside one of them.

Finally I ran up against him carrying an armful of tools out of a shed, and he dropped them at sight of me. ”Hallo! Where did you spring from?

Blamed hard luck, isn't it?” said he.

Niven, for that was his name, did not appear greatly disconcerted, or was able to face his loss with enviable tranquillity. He was a lanky, thin-faced man, with cunning eyes, and I did not like the way he looked at me.

”I was out on the prairie and saw the blaze. Where's your hired man; and is there nothing better worth saving than these?” I asked.

”I haven't seen Wilkins since he woke me up,” was the answer. ”He shouted that the place was burning, and he'd run the horses out of the stable and on to the prairie, while I hunted up odd valuables and dressed myself. He must have done it and ridden off to the nearest ranch for help, for I haven't seen him since. The fire had got too good a hold for us to put it out.”

If I had hitherto entertained any doubts as to the owners.h.i.+p of Gaspard's Trail, the speaker's manner would have dissipated them. No man would, in the circ.u.mstances, have wasted time in speech had his own property been in danger; and the sight of the homestead, which I had spent the best years of my life in building, now burning without an effort being made to save it, filled me with indignation.

”You're the man who used to own this place, aren't you?” asked Niven, with a sidelong glance. ”Should have thought you would have had enough of it; but you might as well help heave these things out, now you're here.”

The question was innocent, if unnecessary, for I had spoken to him at the sale; but the manner in which he put it made me long to a.s.sault him, and I answered wrathfully: ”I'll see you and your master burned before I move a hand!”

”I'm my own master, worse luck!” said the other coolly, before he commenced to gather up his load; and then turned again as another man came up breathless.

”Is that you, Ormesby. Come to see the last of it?” he said; and I saw that the newcomer was Boone, or Adams, the photographer.

”I don't quite know what I came for,” I answered. ”Probably out of curiosity. It's too late to save anything, even if there were more water in the well than there used to be.”

Boone nodded as he glanced towards the house. It was burning more fiercely than ever. The straw roof of the stable, which stood not far away, was also well alight, and we could scarcely hear each other's voices through the crackling of blazing logs and the roaring of the flame. It was moodily I watched it toss and tower, now straight aloft, now hurled earthwards by the wind in bewildering magnificence. After many a hard day's toil I had robbed myself of much needed sleep to fas.h.i.+on what the pitiless fire devoured, and it seemed as though I had given my blood to feed the flame, and that the hopes which had nerved me had dissipated like its smoke. ”I can guess what you're feeling, but a bad failure is sometimes the best way to success. You will get over it,”

said Boone.

I was grateful, but I did not answer him, for just then a rattle of wheels broke through the roar of the conflagration, and two jolting wagons lurched into the glare. Black figures on horseback followed, and a breathless man ran up. ”Trooper came round and warned us, and there's more behind. Looks as if we'd come too late,” he said.

We formed the center of an excited group in a few more minutes, for Niven had joined us, and, when he had answered some of the many questions, he asked one in turn. ”It was my man Wilkins warned you?”

”I guess not,” was the answer. ”Trooper Chapleau saw the blaze on his rounds”; and, when the others had stated how the news had been pa.s.sed on to them, the new owner said: ”Then where in the name of thunder has the fool gone?”

A swift suspicion flashed upon me, and I glanced at Adams; but his face was serene enough, and, when the question remained unanswered, another thought struck me. ”Did you see him lead the horses out?” I asked.

”No,” was the answer. ”He was good at handling beasts, and I was way too busy to worry about him. Must have done it long ago. I made sure he'd lit out to ask for a.s.sistance, when I saw the door had swung to.”

I twisted round on my heel. ”Who's coming with me to the stable, boys?”

I asked.

The men looked at me and then at the fire. The stable was built of the stoutest logs obtainable, packed with sod, and its roof of branches, sod, and straw piled several feet thick to keep out the frost. A wind-driven blaze eddied about one end of it, but the rest of the low edifice appeared uninjured as far as we could see it through the smoke.

The glare beat upon the weather-darkened faces of the spectators, which glowed like burnished copper under it; but, if devoid of malicious satisfaction, I thought I could read a resolve not to interfere stamped on most of them.

”There's nothing of yours inside, and this fellow says the teams are clear,” said one. ”A bigger fire wouldn't stop us if the place was Ormesby's; but when the man who allows he owns it does nothing I'll not stir a finger to pull out a few forks and pails for that black thief Lane.”

His comrades nodded, and another man said: ”It's justice. Boys, you'll remember the night we brought Redmond home?”