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THE MISTRESS OF BONAVENTURE
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Alton of Somasco," "The Dust of Conflict,"
"The Cattle-Baron's Daughter," etc.
_ONLY AUTHORIZED EDITION_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SWEETWATER FORD 1
II. BONAVENTURE RANCH 10
III. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR 22
IV. THE TIGHTENING OF THE NET 34
V. A SURPRISE PARTY 45
VI. A HOLOCAUST 58
VII. A BITTER AWAKENING 68
VIII. HOW REDMOND CAME HOME 78
IX. A PRAIRIE STUDY 92
X. A TEMPTATION 104
XI. IN PERIL OF THE WATERS 113
XII. THE SELLING OF GASPARD'S TRAIL 124
XIII. AN UNFORTUNATE PROMISE 137
XIV. THE BURNING OF GASPARD'S TRAIL 147
XV. BEAUTY IN DISGUISE 159
XVI. THE DEFENSE OF CRANE VALLEY 170
XVII. THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE 183
XVIII. THE VIGIL-KEEPER 194
XIX. THE WORK OF AN ENEMY 205
XX. LEADEN-FOOTED JUSTICE 216
XXI. AGAINST TIME 226
XXII. BAD TIDINGS 238
XXIII. LIBERTY 248
XXIV. A SECRET TRIBUNAL 261
XXV. A CHANGE OF TACTICS 272
XXVI. THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 282
XXVII. ILLUMINATION 293
XXVIII. THE ENEMY CAPITULATES 305
XXIX. THE EXIT OF LANE 315
XXX. THE LAST TOAST 326
The Mistress of Bonaventure
CHAPTER I
THE SWEETWATER FORD
After relaxing its iron grip a little so that we hoped for spring,
winter had once more closed down on the broad Canadian prairie, and the
lonely outpost was swept by icy draughts, when, one bitter night,
Sergeant Mackay, laying down his pipe, thrust fresh billets into the
crackling stove. It already glowed with a dull redness, and the light
that beat out through its opened front glinted upon the carbines, belts,
and stirrups hung about the rough log walls.
"'Tis for the rebuking of evildoers an' the keeping of the peace we're
sent here to patrol the wilderness, an' if we're frozen stiff in the
saddle 'tis no more than our duty," said the sergeant, while his eyes
twinkled whimsically. "But a man with lands an' cattle shows a
distressful want o' judgment by sleeping in a snow bank when he might be
sitting snug in a club at Montreal. 'Tis a matter o' wonder to me that
ye are whiles so deficient in common sense, Rancher Ormesby. Still, I'm
no' denying ye showed a little when ye brought that whisky. 'Tis
allowable to interpret the regulations with discretion in bitter
weather--an' here's a safe ride to ye!"
A brighter beam that shot out called up the speaker's rugged face and
gaunt figure from the shadows. Although his lean, hard fingers closed
somewhat affectionately on a flask instead of on the bridle or carbine
they were used to, his profession was stamped on him, for Allan Mackay
was as fine a sample of non-commissioned cavalry officer as ever
patrolled the desolate marches of Western Canada--which implies a good
deal to those who know the Northwest troopers. He was also, as I knew, a
man acquainted with sorrow, who united the shrewdness of Solomon with a
childish simplicity and hid beneath his grim exterior a vein of
eccentric chivalry which on occasion led him into trouble. The blaze
further touched the face of a young English lad sitting in a corner of
the room.
"Some of us were sent here for our sins, and some came for our health
when the temperature of our birthplaces grew a trifle high," he said. "I
don't know that anybody except Rancher Ormesby ever rode with us for
pleasure. Yet I'm open to admit the life has its compensations; and
Sergeant Mackay has given me many as good a run as I ever had with--that
is, I mean any man who must earn his bread might well find work he would
take less kindly to."
The lad's momentary embarrassment was not lost on his officer, who
chuckled somewhat dryly as he glanced at him. "I'm asking no questions,
an' ye are not called on to testify against yourself," he said. "Maybe
ye rode fox-hunting on a hundred-guinea horse, an' maybe ye did not; but
ye showed a bit knowledge o' a beast, an' that was enough for me.
Meantime ye're Trooper Cotton, an' I'll see ye do your duty. To some,
the old country--God bless her--is a hard stepmother, an' ye're no' the
first she has turned the cold shoulder on and sent out to me."
The worthy sergeant was apt to grow tiresome when he launched out into
his reminiscences, and, seeing that Trooper Cotton did not appreciate
the turn the conversation was taking, I broke in: "But you're forgetting
the outlaw, Mackay; and I'm not here for either health or pleasure. I
want to recover the mare I gave five hundred dollars for, and that ought
to excuse my company. What has the fellow who borrowed her done?"
"Fired on a mortgage money-lender down in Assiniboia," was the answer.
"Maybe he was badly treated, for ye'll mind that the man who takes blood
money, as yon Lane has done, is first cousin to Judas Iscariot; but
that's no' my business. It is not allowable to shoot one's creditors in
the Canadian Dominion. What I'm wondering is where he is now; an' that
will be either striking north for the barrens or west for British
Columbia. It will be boot and saddle when Pete comes in, and meantime
we'll consider what routes would best fit him!"
Mackay knew every bluff and ravine seaming a hundred miles of prairie;
and another silent man, rising from his bunk, stood beside myself and
Cotton as the sergeant traced lines across the table. Each represented
an alternative route the fugitive might take, and the places where the
hard forefinger paused marked a risky ford or lake on which the ice was
yielding. Mackay spent some time over it, as much for his own
edification as for ours, but I was interested, for I greatly desired to
recover the blood mare stolen from me.
I was then five-and-twenty, fairly stalwart and tall of stature, and
seldom regretted that after a good education in England I had gone out
to Western Canada to assist a relative in raising cattle. The old man
was slow and cautious, but he taught me my business well before he died
suddenly and left me his possessions. Adding my small patrimony, I made
larger profits by taking heavier risks, and, for fortune had favored me,
and youth is no handicap in the Colonies, my homestead was one of the
finest in that section of the country. Save for occasional risks of
frost-bite and wild rides through blinding snow, the life had been
toilsome rather than eventful; but the day which, while we talked in the
outpost, was speeding westward across the pines of Quebec and the lakes
of Ontario to gild the Rockies' peaks was to mark a turning-point in my
history.
Suddenly a beat of hoofs rose out of the night, there was a jingle
outside, and the cold set me shivering, when a man, who held a smoking
horse's bridle, stood by the open door. "Your man tried to buy a horse
from the reservation Crees, and, when they wouldn't trade, doubled on
his tracks, heading west for the Bitter Lakes. I've nearly killed my
beast to bring you word," he said.
Horses stood ready in the sod stable behind the dwelling, and in less
than three minutes we were in the saddle and flitting in single file
across the prairie. It was about five o'clock in the morning, and,
though winter should have been over, it was very bitter. The steam from
the horses hung about us, our breath froze on our furs, but a Chinook
wind had swept the prairie clear of snow, and, though in the barer
places the ground rang like iron beneath us, the carpet of matted
grasses made moderately fast traveling possible. No word was spoken,
and, when the silent figures about me faded as they spread out to left
and right and only a faint jingle of steel or dull thud of hoofs
betokened their presence, I seemed to have ridden out of all touch with
warmth and life.
The frost bit keen, the heavens were black with the presage of coming
storm, and the utter silence seemed the hush of death. Beast and bird
had long fled south, and I started when once the ghostly howl of a
coyote rose eerily and faintly from the rim of the prairie.
By daylight we had left long leagues behind us, and I was the better
pleased that the fugitive's trail, of which we found signs, led back
towards my own homestead. For a brief five minutes the Rockies, seen
very far off across the levels, flushed crimson against the sky. Then
the line of spectral peaks faded suddenly, and we were left, four tiny
crawling specks, in the center of a limitless gray circle whose
circumference receded steadily as the hours went by. But the trail grew
plainer to the sergeant's practiced eyes, and, when we had crossed the
Bitter Lakes on rotten and but partially refrozen ice, he predicted that
we should come up with the fugitive by nightfall if our horses held out.
Mine was the best in the party, and, though not equal to the stolen
mare, the latter had already traveled fast and far. It was a depressing
journey. No ray of sunlight touched the widespread levels, and there was
neither smoke trail nor sign of human life in all that great desolation.
Hands and feet lost sense of feeling, the cold numbed one's very brain;
but the wardens of the prairie, used alike to sleep in a snow trench or
swim an icy ford, care little for adverse weather, and Mackay held on
with a slow tenacity that boded ill for the man he was pursuing.
The light showed signs of failing when Trooper Cotton shouted, and we
caught sight of our quarry, a shadowy blur on the crest of a low rise
that seamed the prairie. "Ye may save your breath, for ye'll need it,"
said Mackay. "It's a league from yon rise to the Sweetwater, an' there's
neither ice-bridge nor safe ford now. If he's across before we are we'll
no' grip him the night, I'm thinking--and there's ill weather brewing."
Whip and heel were plied, and the worn-out beasts responded as best they
might. The man who had taught me stock and horse breeding knew his
business, and when my beast raced across the edge of the rise the
troopers were at least two hundred yards behind. Then the exultation of
the chase took hold of me, and my frozen blood commenced to stir as the
staunch beast beneath me swept faster and faster down the long gray
incline. At every stride I was coming up with the horse thief. A dusky
ridge of birches loomed ahead, shutting off the steep dip to the river.
Beyond this, there were thicker trees; and the light was failing; but
while all this promised safety for the pursued, I was gaining fast and
the troopers were dropping further behind. The fugitive had just reached
the timber when a light wagon lurched out from it, and I yelled to the
man who drove it to hold clear of my path. There was a hoarse shout away
to the left, and, when no answer came back, the crack of a carbine. A
repeating rifle banged against my back, and, feeling that its sling lay
within easy reach, I drove my heels home as I raced past the wagon.
There was scarcely time for a side glance, but the one I risked set my
heart beating. Two feminine figures wrapped in furs sat within it, and
one smiled at me as I passed. The face that looked out from beneath the
fur cap was worth remembering, though it was several years since I had
last seen it in England. Haldane had brought his daughters with him when
he came out from Montreal to visit his Western possessions, it seemed;
but my horse was over the brink of the declivity before I could return
the greeting, and, bending low to clear the branches, I drove him
reeling and blundering down and down through willow undergrowth and
scattered birches on the track of the fugitive. I was but a plain
rancher, and it seemed presumptuous folly to neglect my lawful business
for a smile from Beatrice Haldane.
It was growing dark among the birches, and flakes of feathery snow
sliding down between the branches filled my eyes, but I could see that
the distance between us was shortening more rapidly and that the man in
front of me reeled in his saddle when a branch smote him. The mare also
stumbled, and I gained several lengths. The drumming of hoofs and the
moan of an icy wind which had sprung up seemed to fill all the hollow.
White mist that slid athwart the birches hung over the Sweetwater in the
rift beneath, and--for the river had lately burst its chains of ice--I
felt sure that the man I followed would never make the crossing. Yet it
appeared certain that he meant to attempt it, for he rode straight at
the screen of willows that fringed the water's edge, vanished among
them, and I heard a crackling as his weary beast smashed through the
shoreward fringe of honeycombed ice. Then I saw nothing, for rattling
branches closed about me as the horse feebly launched himself at the
leap, while a denser whiteness thickened the mist. So far fortune had
favored me throughout the reckless ride; but it is not wise to tempt
fate too hardly, and the beast pitched forward when his hoofs descended
upon bare frozen ground.
Had I worn boots my neck might have paid the penalty, but the soft
moccasins slipped free of the stirrups in time, and when I came down the
horse rolled over several yards clear of me. He was up next moment, but
moved stiffly, and stood still, trembling, when I grasped the bridle.
The saddle had slipped sideways, as though a girth buckle had yielded,
and I felt faint and dizzy, for the fall had shaken me. Nevertheless, I
unslung the rifle mechanically, when a hail reached me, and, turning, I
saw the man we had followed sitting still in his saddle, some twoscore
yards away, with the steam frothing white to his horse's knees. The
daylight had almost gone, the snow was commencing in earnest, but I
could make out that he was bareheaded and his face smeared with crimson,
perhaps from a wound the branch had made. It looked drawn and ghastly as
he sat stiffly erect against a background of hurrying water and falling
snow, with one hand on his hip and the other raised as though to command
attention.
"You are Rancher Ormesby, whose horse I borrowed, I presume?" he said.
"Well, if you are wise you will give up the chase before worse befalls
you. I am armed, and I give you fair warning that I do not mean to be
taken. Go home to your stove and comforts. You have no quarrel with me."
The clean English accent surprised me, and the rifle lay still in the
hollow of my left arm as I answered him: "Do you forget you are sitting
on the best mare I possess? The loss of several hundred dollars is more
than I can put up with; and your warning sounds rather empty when I
could hardly fail to pick you off with this rifle."
I listened for the troopers' coming, but could hear only the fret of the
river and the moaning of the blast, for the wind was rising rapidly. It
was evident that the beast whose bridle I held was in no fit state to
attempt the crossing, and yet, though the stranger's cool assurance was
exasperating, I began to be conscious of a certain admiration and pity
for him. The man was fearless. He had been hunted like a wolf; and now,
left, worn out, wounded, and doubtless faint from want of food, to face
the wild night in the open, he had, it seemed, risked his last chance of
escape to warn me when he might have taken me at a disadvantage.
He laughed recklessly. "Still, I hardly think you will. The mare is
done, and I pledge my word I'll turn her loose as soon as I'm clear of
the troopers. I have no grudge against you, but if you are wise you will
take no further chances with a desperate man. Go home, and be thankful
you have a place to shelter you."
There would have been no great difficulty in bringing the man down at
that range, even in a bad light, and it is probable that nobody would
have blamed me; but, though I should willingly have ridden him down in
fair chase, I could not fire on him as he sat there at my mercy, for if
he was armed it must have been with a pistol--a very poor weapon against
a rifle. I might also have shot the horse; but one hesitates to
sacrifice a costly beast, even in the service of the State, and, strange
to say, I felt inclined to trust his promise. Accordingly, I did
neither; and when a great ice cake came driving down, and, raising his
hand again as though in recognition of my forbearance, he wheeled the
mare and vanished into a thicker rush of snow, I stood motionless and
let him go. Then, feeling more shaken and dizzy than before, I seized
the bridle and led the horse into the whirling whiteness that drove down
the slope. Darkness came suddenly. I could scarcely see the trees, and
it was by accident I stumbled upon the troopers dismounted and picking
their way.
"Have ye seen him?" asked an object which looked like a polar bear and
proved to be the sergeant.
"Yes," I answered shortly, deciding that it would not be well to fully
explain how I had let our quarry slip through my fingers. "If he has not
drowned himself in the river he has got away. I was close upon him when
my horse fell and threw me badly. Are you going to try the crossing,
too?"
There are few bolder riders than the Northwest troopers, but Mackay
shook his head. "I'm thinking it would be a useless waste of Government
property an' maybe of a trooper's life," he said. "No man could find him
in this snow, and if he lives through the night, which is doubtful,
we'll find his trail plain in the morning. We'll just seek shelter with
Haldane at Bonaventure."
I do not know how we managed to find the Bonaventure ranch. The wind had
suddenly freshened almost to a gale, and, once clear of the river
hollow, we met the full force of it. The snow that whirled across the
desolate waste filled our eyes and nostrils, rendering breathing
difficult and sight almost impossible; but it may be that the instinct
of the horses helped us, for, making no effort at guidance, I trudged
on, clinging to the bridle of my limping beast, while half-seen
spectral objects floundered through the white haze on each side.
Nevertheless, the pain which followed the impact of the flakes on one
side of my half-frozen face showed that we were at least progressing in
a constant direction, and at last Trooper Cotton raised a hoarse halloo
as a faint ray of light pierced the obscurity. Then shadowy buildings
loomed ahead, and, blundering up against a wire fence, we staggered,
whitened all over, to the door of Bonaventure.
It was flung wide open at our knock, banged to again, and while a
trooper went off with the horses to the stable the rest of us, partly
stupefied by the change of temperature, stood in the lamp-lit hall
shaking the white flakes from us. A man of middle age, attired in a
fashion more common in the cities than in the West, stretched out his
hand to me.
"I am glad to see you, Ormesby; and, of course, you and your companions
will spend the night here," he said cordially. "My girls told me they
had met you, and we were partly expecting your company. Apparently the
malefactor got away, Sergeant Mackay?"
"We did not bring him with us, but he'll not win far this weather," was
the somewhat rueful answer. The master of Bonaventure smiled a little.
"He deserves to escape if he can live through such a night; and I'm
inclined to be sorry for the poor devil," he said. "However, you have
barely time to get into dry things before supper will be ready. We
expect you all to join us, prairie fashion."
The welcome was characteristic of Carson Haldane, who could win the
goodwill of most men, either on the prairie or in the exclusive circles
of Ottawa and Montreal. It was also characteristic that he called the
evening meal, as we did, supper; though when he was present a state of
luxury, wholly unusual on the prairie, reigned at Bonaventure.