THE STEAM PLOW
The winter passed quickly. Harding was kept fully occupied; for there
was cordwood to be cut, there were building logs to be got ready, and
the fitting up of the new house kept him busy at his carpenter's bench.
He was used to the prairie climate, and he set off cheerfully at dawn to
work in the snow all day, returning at dark, half-frozen and stiff from
swinging the heavy ax. Now and then he drove Hester to Mrs. Broadwood's,
or spent an evening with one or two others of the Allenwood settlers. He
went partly for his sister's sake, but also because he sometimes met
Beatrice at his new friends' houses, and since Lance had recovered he no
longer had an excuse for visiting the Grange. Mrs. Mowbray had always
been gracious, but he knew that the Colonel now regarded him as a
dangerous person.
Beatrice's manner puzzled him. As a rule, she was friendly, yet he could
not flatter himself that he was making much progress, and sometimes she
was distinctly aloof. He might have placed a favorable interpretation
upon her reserve, but unfortunately it was tinged with what looked very
much like hostility. Harding imagined that she was influenced by her
father; and he was troubled.
There were, however, days when his homestead rocked beneath the icy
blast, while the snow lashed the ship-lap walls, and to venture out
involved serious risk. The blizzards were often followed by bitter
evenings when the prairie lay white and silent in the Arctic frost, and
no furs would protect one against the cold. At such times, Harding sat
quietly by the red-hot stove, sometimes with a notebook in his hand, and
sometimes merely thinking hard. Many barriers stood between him and the
girl he loved, and, being essentially practical, he considered how he
could remove the worst. Beatrice had been luxuriously brought up, and he
must have material advantages to offer her; although if she were what he
believed, she would not attach undue importance to them. He was
ambitious and generally ready to take a risk, but now he was staking his
all on an abundant crop. It could not be done rashly. Adverse
contingencies must be foreseen and guarded against; all the precautions
that experience dictated must be taken. He would be ruined if he lost.
The days were lengthening, though the frost still held, when his
steam-plow arrived at the railroad settlement. No one seemed willing to
undertake its transport to Allenwood; and when a thing was extremely
difficult Harding believed in doing it himself. The machine had been
dismantled, but some of the engine-castings were massive, and the
boiler, with its large, wood-burning firebox was of considerable weight.
It must, however, be moved at once, because the frost might break, and
the prairie is impassable by loaded vehicles for a few weeks after the
thaw. As a rule, the snowfall is light on the Western plains, and
jumper-sleds are not in general use. In this instance Harding found the
long, high-wheeled wagon suit his purpose best, and he carefully
strengthened one before he set off to bring home the plow.
It was not an easy task. The high plain sloped to the railroad in
wave-like undulations, with sandy crests and timber in the hollows. In
summer, it would hardly have been possible to haul the plow across this
belt of broken country, but the few inches of beaten snow on the trail
simplified the task. For all that, Harding spent several days on the
road, moving the machine in detachments, until he came to the boiler,
which must be handled in one piece. When, with the help of several
train-men, he got it into his wagon, he knew his troubles had begun.
Leaving the settlement at dawn with Devine, they camped at sunset by a
frozen creek and got a few hours' sleep beside a fire until the cold
awakened them. After this, Harding lay thinking over the next day's work
until the sky began to whiten in the east, and it was time to get
breakfast.
They set off in the stinging cold while the crimson sunrise glared
across the snow, but it was afternoon and the teams were worn out when
they approached the ravine a few miles from home. This, they knew,
presented their greatest obstacle. The frost held, sky and air were
clear, and a nipping wind had risen. As they drew near the wavy line of
trees that marked the edge of the dip, Harding was not pleased to notice
a group of people. He had arranged for two of the Allenwood men to meet
him with some tackle, but he saw that Hester, Beatrice, Mrs. Broadwood,
and several more had accompanied them. He was not often self-conscious,
but when he had anything difficult to do he did not like onlookers. They
embarrassed him.
For all that, he felt a keen thrill of pleasure when Beatrice, with Mrs.
Broadwood, came toward him when he stopped his team on the edge of the
hollow. The sides of the ravine were clothed with leafless poplars, and
the snow shone a soft gray-blue in their shadow. In places, the slope
was very steep, and the trail, with several awkward bends, ran down
diagonally to the bridge at the bottom, shut in by rows of slender
trunks except where the ground fell away on its outer edge. A thin cloud
of steam hung over the jaded horses. Except for the sparkle in his eyes,
Harding had a very tired look when Beatrice stopped beside him.
"It will not be easy getting down," she said.
Harding smiled.
"I suppose I deserve some trouble?"
"I really think you do," Beatrice answered with a laugh. "I would have
stopped you if I could; but now the plow's here, it's too late to be
disagreeable about it--so I don't wish you any difficulty in getting
down!"
"It's a sensible attitude. Fight against a thing you don't like, but
make the best of it when it's an accomplished fact."
"I don't like steam-plows at Allenwood," said Beatrice with a flush of
color.
"Allenwood is hifalutin," Mrs. Broadwood put in. "They're trying to run
it on ideals."
"Is it necessary to separate ideals from practical efficiency?" Harding
asked.
"They don't often go together," Beatrice answered scornfully.
"There's some truth in that. But it's the fault of human nature; you
can't blame the machines."
"The machines are to be admired," the girl returned. "One blames the men
who use them with the wrong object."
Harding smiled; but before he could answer, Broadwood came up with
Kenwyne to announce that everything was ready.
"You'll have to be careful," he warned Harding. "We'll lock the back
wheels before we hook on the tackles. Will you let the front team
loose?"
"No; I may want them to swing me round the bends. First of all, I'll
take a look at what you've done."
He walked down the trail with them and examined the fastenings of a big
iron block through which ran a wire rope with a tackle at one end.
"The clevis is rather small, but it's the strongest I could find,"
Kenwyne said.
A little farther on they stopped where the bank fell nearly
perpendicularly for some distance below the outer edge of the road.
"We banked the snow up here and beat it firm," he pointed out. "For all
that, it would be wise to keep well to the inside."
"We'll shift the tackle when I get to the bend above," Harding replied,
and went down to the bridge. It was rudely built of logs and had no
parapet.
"I found the turn awkward the last time, but I see you have made it a
bit easier," he said. "Well, we'd better make a start."
Lance and one or two others joined them when they reached the top.
Harding examined the wagon and harness, and Beatrice watched him with
interest. He certainly lived up to his belief in efficiency, because she
did not think he omitted any precaution he could have taken. There was
something to admire in him as he quietly moved about beside the horses
and the ponderous mass of iron. It would not be an easy matter to
transport the load to the bottom of the gorge, but Beatrice felt that he
was at his best when confronting a difficulty.
"The locked wheels won't hold her if anything goes wrong," he said.
"Keep all the strain you can upon the rope."
They hooked it to the back axle, and Harding cautiously led the team
down the incline while Devine went to the leading horses' heads, and the
others checked the wagon with the tackle. The teams were obviously
nervous, and the pole-horses now and then lifted their haunches to hold
back the load, although they did not feel much of its weight. After some
trouble Harding got the wagon round the first turning, taking the
leaders up the side of the ravine in order to do so; but the trail ahead
was steeper, and the big drop not far below. They chocked the wheels
with logs while they moved the tackle, and Harding stood for a few
moments, breathing heavily, as he looked down into the gorge. He could
see the snowy trail wind for a short distance among the trees, and then
it dipped out of sight beyond a turn. It was beaten hard, and here and
there its surface caught a ray of light and flashed with an icy gleam.
They were half-way down; but the worst was to come.
"It's an ugly bit," he cautioned Devine. "Hold the leaders in to the
side of the hill."
They started, and as the weight came upon them the blocks screamed, and
the men began to strain against the drag of the rope. Foot by foot they
let it slip round the smooth trunk of a tree, while the women stood
watching the tall figure at the pole-horses' heads. The powerful animals
braced themselves back, slipping a yard or two now and then, while
Harding broke into a run. The cloud of steam that hung over them grew
thicker as the trees closed in; the tackle was running out and those who
held it were panting hard, but they had rope enough to reach the next
bend.
Then there was a crash and Kenwyne, reeling backward with those behind
him, fell heavily into the snow while the broken wire struck the trees.
A shout from Devine came up the hollow, and Hester clenched her hand as
she saw him flung off by a plunging horse and roll down the trail. He
dropped over the edge, but the wagon, lurching violently, went on, and
for a few moments Harding, running fast, clung to the near horse's head.
Then he let go; but instead of jumping clear, as the watchers had
expected, he grasped the side of the wagon as it passed and swung
himself up. They saw him seize the reins, standing upright behind the
driving-seat; and then the wagon plunged out of sight among the trees.
Devine, scrambling to his feet, ran madly after it and vanished; and the
men who had held the tackle picked themselves up and looked down in
dismay. There was nothing they could do. The disaster must happen before
they could possibly reach the scene. It seemed impossible that Harding
could get round the next turn.
Beatrice cast a quick glance at Hester, and felt braced by her attitude.
They were not emotional at Allenwood; but the prairie girl bore herself
with a stoic calm which Beatrice had never seen equaled there. Her
fiance had narrowly escaped with his life, her brother was in imminent
peril, yet her eyes were steady and her pose was firm. His danger could
not be made light of, but the girl evidently had confidence in him.
Beatrice imagined that Hester had her brother's swiftness of action,
nevertheless she could wait and suffer calmly when there was nothing
else to be done. After all, stern courage was part of the girl's
birthright, for she was a daughter of the pioneers.
Beatrice did not know that her own face was tense and white. The
accident had been unexpected and unnerving. She was shaken by its
suddenness and by a dread she could not explain: it was no time for
analysis of feelings. She was watching the trail with desperate
concentration, wondering whether the wagon and its reckless driver would
break out from the trees. In a moment they did appear--the team going
downhill at a mad gallop, Harding lashing them with a loop of the reins.
There is not often a brake on a prairie wagon, and as the chain that
locked the wheels had obviously broken, Harding's intention was plain.
He meant to keep the horses ahead of the iron load that would overturn
the wagon and mangle the animals if it overtook them. This warranted his
furious speed. But the trail was narrow and tortuous, and with the heavy
weight spread over a long wheel-base, the wagon was hard to steer.
Beatrice realized this, but in spite of her horror she felt a thrill of
fierce approval.
The man was standing upright now; he looked strangely unmoved. Beatrice
supposed this was a delusion; but she could see the nerve and judgment
with which he guided the team. They were passing the spot where the bank
fell away. The wheels on one side were on its edge. Beatrice turned
dizzy. She felt that they must go over, and man and horses and wagon be
crushed to pulp beneath the heavy load. They passed; but there was a
turn not far off, and room was needed to take the curve. As they rushed
on, half hidden by the trees, she felt her breath come hard and a
contraction in her throat as she wondered whether he could get round. If
not, the load of iron would rush headlong over the fallen horses,
leaving in its path a mass of mangled flesh and pools of blood. To her
excited imagination, the boiler was no longer a senseless thing. It
seemed filled with malevolent, destructive power; she felt she hated it.
There was a tense moment; then the leading horses plunged from the trees
with the pole-team behind them, all still on their feet. Harding had
somehow steered them round. But the danger was not yet over, for the
trail shelved to one side and there was an awkward curve near the
bridge. The wagon seemed to Beatrice to be going like the toboggans she
had seen on the long slide at Montreal. It was more difficult to see as
it got farther off and the trees were thicker. Her eyes filled with
water from the intensity of her gaze, and she feared to waste a moment
in wiping them. Something terrible might happen before she could see
again. She wanted to shriek; and she might have done so only that, even
in such a moment, she remembered what was expected of the Mowbray
strain. Horses and wagon were still rushing on. Then there was a thud
and a harsh rattle: Harding was on the bridge. Another moment and the
mad beat of hoofs slackened and stopped.
Lance, waving his fur cap, broke into a harsh, triumphant yell, and the
rest of the Allenwood men set up a cheer. In the midst of it Devine
appeared, scrambling up the hill through the brush.
"He's done it! He's done it!" he cried excitedly, running up to Hester.
"It's great! She was going like an express freight on a downgrade when
he jumped up."
Hester smiled at him proudly, and he turned and started off at top speed
down the trail. They all followed, and, crossing the bridge, found
Harding standing by his blowing team. The horses' coats were foul with
sweat, and Harding's face was badly scratched, but he did not seem to
know it, and except that he was breathless he looked much as usual.
"This is quite ridiculous!" Mrs. Broadwood panted, with a keen glance at
Beatrice. "There's some excuse for Hester, but I can't see why you and I
should go running after a man who doesn't belong to either of us and
seems to feel a good deal cooler than we do!"
Beatrice flushed, but she did not answer.
"You were lucky in getting down," Kenwyne said to Harding. "We thought
you were going over the bank."
"So did I, at first," Harding answered.
Broadwood and Lance made some remarks about the accident, and Hester
watched them with a smile. There was a hint of strain in their voices,
but their manner was very matter-of-fact. She surmised that they wished
to forget their relapse into emotional excitement. She contented herself
with giving her brother a quick, expressive look.
Harding unhooked the broken wire from the back of the wagon.
"Well," he said, "we must set about getting up."
The ascending trail had a gentler slope, and there was not much risk in
climbing it; though it cost them heavy labor. With the help of a yoke of
oxen, they got the wagon up, and when the top was reached Kenwyne came
up to Harding.
"You and Devine have done enough," he said. "There should be no trouble
now. We'll lead the teams home while you take it easy."
Harding was glad to comply. He followed with Hester and Mrs. Broadwood,
because Beatrice seemed so evidently trying to avoid him.
The girl felt disturbed. When she thought that Harding could not escape,
a curious sense of personal loss had intensified her alarm. Terror, of
course, was natural; the other feeling was not to be explained so
readily. Although she disliked some of his opinions, she knew that he
attracted her. His was a magnetic nature: he exerted a strong influence
over every one; but she would not admit that she was in love with him.
That would be absurd. And yet she had been deeply stirred by his danger.
Lance and Devine had lingered in the rear, and the little group stopped
in the middle of the trail and waited for them. Then, when they moved
forward again, Beatrice and Harding were somehow thrown together, and
she checked the impulse to overtake the others when she saw that she and
the prairie man were falling behind. To avoid being alone with him would
exaggerate his importance.
"You must have known you were doing a dangerous thing when you got up on
the wagon," she said.
"I suppose I did," he replied. "But I saw that I might lose the boiler
if it went down the bank. The thing cost a good deal of money."
"You were able to remember that?"
"Certainly! Then there were the teams. It would have been a pity to let
them be killed."
Beatrice thought he might have offered a better explanation. He had
implied that anxiety about the boiler had influenced him more than
regard for his horses. She felt that she must give him an opportunity
for defending himself.
"I wonder which consideration counted most?"
He looked at her with amusement; and she flushed as she suddenly
recalled that he was sometimes very shrewd.
"Well," he said, "the main thing was to get hold of the reins--and I
don't know that it matters now."
"I suppose not," Beatrice agreed, vexed that he did not seem anxious to
make the best impression. "After all, breaking land on a large scale
must be expensive, and I understand that your plans are ambitious."
Harding glanced across the prairie: it ran back to the blue smear of
trees on the horizon, covered with thin snow, and struck a note of utter
desolation.
"Yes," he said with a gleam in his eyes. "All this looks lifeless and
useless now, but I can see it belted with wheat and oats and flax in the
fall. There will be a difference when the binders move through the grain
in rows."
"In rows!"
"We'll want a number, if all goes well. Devine's land follows my
boundary, and we must drive our plows in one straight line. We begin at
the rise yonder and run east to the creek."
The boldness of the undertaking appealed to the girl as she glanced
across the wide stretch of snow.
"It's a big thing," she said.
"A beginning. Two men can't do much, but more are coming. In a year or
two the wheat will run as far as you can see, and there'll be homesteads
all along the skyline."
They walked on in silence for a moment; then he gave her an amused
glance.
"I guess Colonel Mowbray doesn't like what I'm doing?"
"He doesn't go so far. It's to what you are persuading our friends to do
that he objects."
"That's a pity. They'll have to follow--not because I lead, but because
necessity drives."
"You're taking it for granted that it does drive; and you must see my
father's point of view."
"That I'm encouraging your people to rebel? That's not my wish, but he
can't hold them much longer--the drift of things is against him."
Beatrice's eyes sparkled. He thought she looked very charming with her
proud air and the color in her face; but he must keep his head. He was
readjusting his opinions about sudden, mutual love, and he saw that
precipitation might cost him too much. If he could not have the girl on
his own terms, he must take her on hers.
"Colonel Mowbray founded the settlement," Beatrice said, "and it has
prospered. Can't you understand his feelings when he sees his control
threatened?"
"The time when one man could hold full command has gone. He can be a
moral influence and keep the right spirit in his people, but he must
leave them freedom of action."
"That is just the trouble! It's the modern spirit which you are bringing
into the settlement that disturbs us. We managed to get along very well
before we ever heard of Mr. Harding and his steam-plow and his
wheat-binders and his creameries."
She could not keep the slight scorn out of her voice; indeed, she did
not wish to do so. But he took it good-naturedly.
"Do you know what I see?" he questioned with a smile. "A time when
Colonel Mowbray--and Colonel Mowbray's daughter," he added
teasingly--"will look with pride upon the vast acres of Allenwood turned
from waste grassland into productive fields of wheat and oats and flax;
when the obsolete horse-plow will be scrapped as old iron and the now
despised steam-plow will be a highly treasured possession of every
settler; when----"
"Never!" Beatrice interrupted emphatically. "You must understand that my
father's views and yours are as widely different as the poles--and my
father is the head of Allenwood!"
Harding looked down at the haughty face turned up to him; and a great
longing suddenly surged through him. He had never desired her more than
at that instant. His admiration showed so strongly in his eyes that the
blood swept into Beatrice's face.
"Bee!" Lance called back to them. "Mrs. Broadwood wants you to verify
what I'm telling her about the collie pup."
Beatrice loved her brother for the interruption.