Part 17 (1/2)

Trotting down the slope of the next rise, they came upon him, as he stood by a great breaker plow with very little sign of dissolute living upon him. In front of him, the quarter-mile furrow led on beyond the tall sighting poles on the crest of the next rise, and four splendid horses, of a kind not very usual on the prairie, were stamping the steaming clods at his side. Bronzed by frost and sun, with his brick-red neck and arch of chest revealed by the coa.r.s.e blue s.h.i.+rt that, belted at the waist, enhanced his slenderness, the repentant prodigal was at least a pa.s.sable specimen of the animal man, but it was the strength and patience in his face that struck the girl, as he turned towards her, bareheaded, with a little smile in his eyes. She also noticed the difference he presented with his ingrained hands and the stain of the soil upon him, to her uncle, who sat his horse, immaculate as usual, with gloved hand on the bridle, for the Englishmen at Silverdale usually hired other men to do their coa.r.s.er work for them.

”So you are commencing in earnest in face of my opinion?” said Barrington. ”Of course, I wish you success, but that consummation appears distinctly doubtful.”

Winston laughed as he pointed to a great machine which, hauled by four horses, rolled towards them, scattering the black clods in its wake.

”I'm doing what I can to achieve it, sir,” he said. ”In fact, I'm staking somewhat heavily. That team with the gang plows and cultivators cost me more dollars than I care to remember.”

”No doubt,” said Barrington dryly. ”Still, we have always considered oxen good enough for breaking prairie at Silverdale.”

Winston nodded. ”I used to do so, sir, when I could get nothing better, but after driving oxen for eight years one finds out their disadvantages.”

Barrington's face grew a trifle stern. ”There are times when you tax our patience, Lance,” he said. ”Still, there is nothing to be gained by questioning your a.s.sertion. What I fail to see, is where your reward for all this will come from, because I am still convinced that the soil will, so to speak, give you back eighty cents for every dollar you put into it. I would, however, like to look at those implements.

I have never seen better ones.”

He dismounted and helped his companion down, for Winston made no answer. The farmer was never sure what actuated him, but, save in an occasional fit of irony, he had not attempted by any reference to make his past fall into line with Courthorne's since he had first been accepted as the latter at Silverdale. He had taken the dead man's inheritance for a while, but he would stoop no further, and to speak the truth, which he saw was not credited, brought him a grim amus.e.m.e.nt and also flung a sop to his pride. Presently, however, Miss Barrington turned to him, and there was a kindly gleam in her eyes as she glanced at the splendid horses and widening strip of plowing.

”You have the hope of youth, Lance, to make this venture when all looks black--and it pleases me,” she said. ”Sometimes I fancy that men had braver hearts than they have now, when I was young.”

Winston flushed a trifle, and stretching out an arm swept his hand round the horizon. ”All that looked dead a very little while ago, and now you can see the creeping greenness in the sod,” he said. ”The lean years cannot last forever, and, even if one is beaten again, there is a consolation in knowing that one has made a struggle. Now, I am quite aware that you are fancying a speech of this kind does not come well from me.”

Maud Barrington had seen his gesture, and something in the thought that impelled it, as well as the almost statuesque pose of his thinly-clad figure, appealed to her. Courthorne as farmer, with the damp of clean effort on his forehead and the stain of the good soil that would faithfully repay it on his garments, had very little in common with the profligate and gambler. Vaguely she wondered whether he was not working out his own redemption by every wheat furrow torn from the virgin prairie, and then again the doubt crept in. Could this man have ever found pleasure in the mire?

”You will plow your holding, Lance?” asked the elder lady, who had not answered his last speech yet, but meant to later.

”Yes,” said the man. ”All I can. It's a big venture, and, if it fails, will cripple me, but I seem to feel, apart from any reason I can discern, that wheat is going up again, and I must go through with this plowing. Of course, it does not sound very sensible.”

Miss Barrington looked at him gravely, for there was a curious and steadily-tightening bond between the two. ”It depends upon what you mean by sense. Can we reason out all we feel, and is there nothing, intangible but real, behind the impulses which may be sent to us?”

”Well,” said Winston, with a little smile, ”that is a trifle too deep for me, and it's difficult to think of anything but the work I have to do. But you were the first at Silverdale to hold out a hand to me--and I have a feeling that your good wishes would go a long way now. Is it altogether fantastic to believe that the good-will of my first friend would help to bring me prosperity?”

The white-haired lady's eyes grew momentarily soft, and, with a gravity that did not seem out of place, she moved forward and laid her hand on a big horse's neck, and smiled when the dumb beast responded to her gentle touch.

”It is a good work,” she said. ”Lance, there is more than dollars, or the bread that somebody is needing, behind what you are doing, and because I loved your mother I know how her approval would have followed you. And now sow in hope, and G.o.d speed your plow!”

She turned away almost abruptly, and Winston stood still with one hand closed tightly and a little deeper tint in the bronze of his face, sensible at once of an unchanged resolution and a horrible degradation.

Then he saw that the Colonel had helped Miss Barrington into the saddle and her niece was speaking.

”I have something to ask Mr. Courthorne and will overtake you,” she said.

The others rode on, and the girl turned to Winston. ”I made you a promise and did my best to keep it, but I find it harder than I fancied it would be,” she said. ”I want you to release me.”

”I should like to hear your reasons,” said Winston.

The girl made a faint gesture of impatience. ”Of course, if you insist.”

”I do,” said Winston quietly.

”Then I promised you to have my holding sown this year, and I am still willing to do so, but though my uncle makes no protest, I know he feels my opposition very keenly, and it hurts me horribly. Unspoken reproaches are the worst to bear, you know, and now Dane and some of the others are following your lead, it is painful to feel that I am taking part with them against the man who has always been kind to me.”

”And you would prefer to be loyal to Colonel Barrington, even if it costs you a good deal?”