SALLY TAKES CHARGE
The night was clear and bitterly cold when Hawtrey and Sally Creighton
drove away from Stukely's barn. Winter had lingered unusually long that
year, and the prairie gleamed dimly white, with the sledge trail cutting
athwart it, a smear of blue-gray in the foreground. It was--for Lander's
lay behind them with the snow among the stubble belts that engirdled
it--an empty wilderness that the mettlesome team swung across, and
during the first few minutes the cold struck through the horses with a
sting like the thrust of steel. A half moon, coppery red with frost,
hung low above the snow-covered earth, and there was no sound but the
crunch beneath the runners, and the beat of hoofs that rang dully
through the silence like a roll of muffled drums.
Sleighs like the one that Hawtrey drove are not common on the prairie,
where the farmer generally uses the humble bob-sled when the snow lies
unusually long. It had been made for use in Montreal, and bought back
East by a friend of Hawtrey's, who was possessed of some means, which is
a somewhat unusual thing in the case of a Western wheat-grower. This man
also had bought the team--the fastest he could obtain--and when the
warmth came back to the horses Hawtrey and the girl became conscious of
the exhilaration of the swift and easy motion. The sleigh was light and
narrow, and Hawtrey, who drew the thick driving-robe higher about Sally,
did not immediately draw the mittened hand he had used back again. The
girl did not resent the fact that it still rested behind her shoulder,
nor did Hawtrey attach any particular significance to the fact. He was a
man who usually acted on impulse. How far Sally understood him did not
appear, but she came of folk who had waged a stubborn battle with the
wilderness, and there was a vein of grim tenacity in her.
She was, however, conscious that there was something beneath her feet
which forced her, if she was to sit comfortably, rather close against
her companion; and it seemed expedient to point it out.
"Can't you move a little? I can't get my feet fixed right," she said.
Hawtrey looked down at her with a smile. "I'm afraid I can't unless I
get right outside. Aren't you happy there?"
It was the kind of speech he was in the habit of making, but there was
rather more color in the girl's face than the stinging night air brought
there, and she glanced at the bottom of the sleigh.
"It's a sack of some kind, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes," Hawtrey answered, "it's a couple of three-bushel bags. Some
special seed Lorton sent to Winnipeg for. Ormond brought them out from
the railroad. I promised I'd take them along to him."
"You should have told me. It's most a league round by Lorton's place,"
Sally returned with reproach in her voice.
"That won't take long with this team. Have you any great objections to
another fifteen minutes' drive with me?"
Sally looked up at him, and the moonlight was on her face, which was
unusually pretty in the radiance of the brilliant night.
"No," she admitted, "I haven't any."
She spoke demurely, but there was a perceptible something in her voice
which might have warned the man, had he been in the habit of taking
warning from anything, which, however, was not the case. It was one of
his weaknesses that he seldom thought about what he did until he was
compelled to face the consequences; and it was, perhaps, to his credit
that he had after all done very little harm, for there was hot blood in
him.
"Well," he responded, "I'm not going to grumble about those extra three
miles, but you were asking what land I meant to break this spring. What
put that into your mind?"
"Our folks," Sally replied candidly. "They were talking about you."
This again was significant, but Hawtrey did not notice it.
"I've no doubt they said I ought to tackle the new quarter section," he
suggested.
"Yes," assented Sally. "Why don't you do it? Last fall you thrashed out
quite a big harvest."
"I certainly did. There, however, didn't seem to be many dollars left
over when I'd faced the bills."
The girl made a little gesture of impatience. "Oh, Bob and Jake and
Jasper sowed on less backsetting," she said, "and they're buying new
teams and plows. Can't you do what they do, though I guess they don't go
off for weeks to Winnipeg?"
The man was silent. He had an incentive for hard work about which she
was ignorant, and he had certainly done much, but the long, iron winter,
when there was nothing that could be done, had proved too severe a test
for him. It was very dreary sitting alone evening after evening beside
the stove, and the company of the somnolent Sproatly was not cheerful.
Now and then his pleasure-loving nature had revolted from the barrenness
of his lot when, stiff and cold, he drove home from an odd visit to a
neighbor, and arriving in the dark found the stove had burned out and
water had frozen hard inside the house. These were things his neighbors
patiently endured, but Hawtrey had fled for life and brightness to
Winnipeg.
Sally glanced up at him with a little nod. "You take hold with a good
grip. Everybody allows that," she observed. "The trouble is you let
things go afterwards. You don't stay with it."
"Yes," assented Hawtrey. "I believe you have hit it, Sally. That's very
much what's the matter with me."
"Then," said the girl with quiet insistence, "won't you try?"
A faint flush crept into Hawtrey's face. Sally was less than
half-taught, and unacquainted with anything beyond the simple, strenuous
life of the prairie. Her greatest accomplishments consisted of some
skill in bakery and the handling of half-broken teams; but she had once
or twice given him what he recognized as excellent advice. There was
something incongruous in the situation, but, as usual, he preferred to
regard it whimsically.
"I suppose I'll have to, if you insist. If ever I'm the grasping owner
of the biggest farm in this district I'll blame you," he answered.
Sally said nothing further on that subject, and some time later the
sleigh went skimming down among the birches in a shallow ravine. Hawtrey
pulled the horses up when they reached the bottom of the ravine, and
glanced up at a shapeless cluster of buildings that showed black amid
the trees.
"Lorton won't be back until to-morrow, but I promised to pitch the bags
into his granary," he said. "If I hump them up the trail here it will
save us driving round through the bluff."
He got down, and though the bags were heavy, with Sally's assistance he
managed to hoist the first of them on to his shoulders. Then he
staggered with it up the steep foot-trail that climbed the slope. He was
more or less accustomed to carrying bags of grain between store and
wagon, but his mittened hands were numbed, and his joints were stiff
with cold. Sally noticed that he floundered rather wildly. In another
moment or two, however, he vanished into the gloom among the trees, and
she sat listening to the uneven crunch of his footsteps in the snow,
until there was a sudden crash of broken branches, and a sound as of
something falling heavily down a declivity. Then there was another
crash, and stillness again.
Sally gasped, and clenched her mittened hands hard upon the reins as she
remembered that Lorton's by-trail skirted the edge of a very steep bank,
but she lost neither her collectedness nor her nerve. Presence of mind
in the face of an emergency is probably as much a question of experience
as of temperament, and, like other women in that country, she had seen
men struck down by half-trained horses, crushed by collapsing
strawpiles, and once or twice gashed by mower blades. This was no doubt
why she remembered that the impatient team would probably move on if she
left the sleigh, and therefore drove the horses to the first of the
birches before she got down. Then she knotted the reins about a branch,
and called out sharply.
No answer came out of the shadows, and her heart beat unpleasantly fast
as she plunged in among the trees, keeping below the narrow trail that
went slanting up the side of the declivity, until she stopped, with
another gasp, when she reached a spot where a ray of moonlight filtered
down. A limp figure in an old skin coat lay almost at her feet, and she
dropped on her knees beside it in the snow. Hawtrey's face showed an
unpleasant grayish-white in the faint silvery light.
"Gregory," she cried hoarsely.
The man opened his eyes, and blinked at her in a half-dazed manner.
"Fell down," he said. "Think I felt my leg go--and my side's stabbing
me. Go for somebody."
Sally glanced round, and noticed that the grain bag lay burst open not
far away. She fancied that he had clung to it after he lost his footing,
which explained why he had fallen so heavily, but that was not a point
of any consequence now. There was nobody who could help her within two
leagues of the spot, and it was evident that she could not leave him
there to freeze. Then she noticed that the trees grew rather farther
apart just there, and rising swiftly she ran back to bring the team. The
ascent was steep, and she had to urge the horses, with sharp cries and
blows from her mittened hand, among shadowy tree trunks and through
snapping undergrowth before she reached the spot where Hawtrey lay. He
looked up at her when at last the horses stood close beside him.
"You can't turn them here," he told her faintly.
Sally was never sure how she managed it, for the sleigh drove against
the slender trunks, and the fiery beasts, terrified by the snapping of
the undergrowth, were almost unmanageable; but at last they were facing
the descent again, and she stooped and twined her arms about the
shoulders of Hawtrey, who now lay almost against the sleigh.
"It's going to hurt, Gregory, but I have got to get you in," she warned
him.
Then she gasped, for Hawtrey was a man of full stature, and it was a
heavy lift. She could not raise him wholly, and he cried out once when
his injured leg trailed in the snow. Still, with the most strenuous
effort she had ever made she moved him a yard or so, and then staggering
fell with her side against the sleigh. She felt faint with the pain of
it, but with another desperate lift she drew him into the sleigh, and
let him sink down gently upon the bag that still lay there. His eyes had
shut again, and he said nothing now.
It required only another moment or two to wrap the thick driving-robe
about him, and after that, with one hand still beneath his neck, she
glanced down. It was clear that he was quite unconscious of her
presence, and stooping swiftly she kissed his gray face. She settled
herself in the driving-seat with only a blanket coat to shelter her from
the cold, and the horses went cautiously down the slope. She did not
urge them until they reached the level, for the trail that wound up out
of the ravine was difficult, but when the wide white expanse once more
stretched away before them she laid the biting whip across their backs.
That was quite sufficient. They were fiery animals, and when they broke
into a furious gallop the rush of night wind struck her tingling cheeks
like a lash of wires. All power of feeling went out of her hands, her
arms grew stiff and heavy, and she was glad that the trail led smooth
and straight to the horizon. Hawtrey, who had moved a little, lay
helpless across her feet. He did not answer when she spoke to him.
The team went far at the gallop. A fine mist of snow beat against the
sleigh, but the girl leaning forward, a tense figure, with nerveless
hands clenched upon the reins, saw nothing but the blue-gray riband of
trail that steadily unrolled itself before her. At length a blurred
mass, which she knew to be a birch bluff, grew out of the white waste,
and presently a cluster of darker smudges shot up into the shape of a
log-house, sod stables, and straw-pile granary. A minute or two later,
she pulled the team up with an effort, and a man, who flung the door of
the house open, came out into the moonlight. He stopped, and gazed at
her in astonishment.
"Miss Creighton!" he said.
"Don't stand there," cried Sally. "Take the near horse's head, and lead
them right up to the door."
"What's the matter?" the man asked stupidly.
"Lead the team up," ordered Sally. "Jump, if you can."
It was supposed that Sproatly had never moved with much expedition in
his life, but that night he sprang towards the horses at a commanding
wave of the girl's hand. He started when he saw his comrade lying in the
bottom of the sleigh, but Sally disregarded his hurried questions.
"Help me to get him out," she said, when he stopped the team. "Keep his
right leg as straight as you can. I don't want to lift him. We must
slide him in."
They did it somehow, though the girl was breathless before their task
was finished, and the perspiration started from the man. Then Sally
turned to Sproatly.
"Get into the sleigh, and don't spare the team," she said. "Drive over
to Watson's, and bring him along. You can tell him your partner's broke
his leg, and some of his ribs. Start right now!"
Sproatly did her bidding, and when the door closed behind him she flung
off her blanket coat and thrust plenty of wood into the stove. She
looked for some coffee in the cupboard, and put on a kettle, after which
she sat down on the floor by Hawtrey's side. He lay still, with the
thick driving-robe beneath him, and though the color was creeping back
into his face, his eyes were shut, and he was apparently quite
unconscious of her presence. For the first time she was aware of a
distressful faintness, which, as she had come suddenly out of the
stinging frost into the little overheated room that reeked with tobacco
smoke and a stale smell of cooking, was not astonishing. She mastered
her dizziness, however, and presently, seeing that Hawtrey did not move,
glanced about her with some curiosity, for it was the first time she had
entered his house.
The room was scantily furnished, and, though very few of the bachelor
farmers in that country live luxuriously, she fancied that Sproatly, who
had evidently very rudimentary ideas on the subject of house-cleaning,
had not brought back all the sundries he had thrown out into the snow.
It contained a table, a carpenter's bench, and a couple of chairs. There
were still smears of dust upon the uncovered floor. The birch-log walls
had been rudely paneled half-way up, but the half-seasoned boards had
cracked with the heat, and exuded streaks of resin to which the grime
and dust had clung. A pail, which contained potato peelings, stood amid
a litter of old long-boots and broken harness against one wall. The
floor was black and thick with grease all round the rusty stove. A pile
of unwashed dishes and cooking utensils stood upon the table, and the
lamp above her head had blackened the boarded ceiling.
Sally noticed it all with disgust, and then, seeing that Hawtrey had
opened his eyes, she made a cup of coffee and persuaded him to drink it.
After that he smiled at her.
"Thanks," he said feebly. "Where's Sproatly? My side stabs me."
Sally raised one hand. "You're not to say a word," she cautioned.
"Sproatly's gone for Watson, and he'll soon fix you up. Now lie quite
still, and shut your eyes again."
Hawtrey obeyed her injunction to lie still, but his eyes were not more
than half-closed, and she could not resist the temptation to see what he
would do if she went away. She had half risen, when he stretched out a
hand and felt for her dress, and she sank down again with a curious
softness in her face. Then he let his eyes close altogether, as if
satisfied, and by and by she gently laid her hand on his.
He did not appear to notice it, and, though she did not know whether he
was asleep or unconscious, she sat beside him, watching him with
compassion in her eyes. There was no sound but the snapping of the birch
billets in the rusty stove. She was anxious, but not unduly so, for she
knew that men who live as the prairie farmers do usually more or less
readily recover from such injuries as had befallen him. It would not be
very long before assistance arrived, for it was understood that the man
for whom she had sent Sproatly had almost completed a medical course in
an Eastern city before he became a prairie farmer. Why he had suddenly
changed his profession was a point he did not explain, and, as he had
always shown himself willing to do what he could when any of his
neighbors met with an accident, nobody troubled him about the matter.
By and by Sproatly brought Watson to the homestead, and he was busy with
Hawtrey for some time. Then they got him to bed, and Watson came back to
the room where Sally was anxiously waiting.
"Hawtrey's idea about his injuries is more or less correct, but we'll
have no great trouble in pulling him round," he said. "The one point
that's worrying me is the looking after him. One couldn't expect him to
thrive upon slabs of burnt salt pork, and Sproatly's bread."
"I'll do what I can," said Sproatly indignantly.
"You!" replied Watson. "It would be criminal to leave you in charge of a
sick man."
Sally quietly put on her blanket coat. "If you can stay a few hours,
I'll be back soon after it's light," she said. She turned to Sproatly.
"You can wash up those dishes on the table, and get a brush and sweep
this room out. If it's not quite neat to-morrow you'll do it again."
Sproatly grinned as she went out. A few moments later the girl drove
away through the bitter frost.