THE BURNING OF GASPARD'S TRAIL
The hole in the roof of the sod-house had been insufficiently stopped,
the green birch billets stored in a corner burned sulkily in the rusty
stove, so that the earth-floored room was bitterly cold. Still, after
tying my horse at one end of it, and partly burying myself in a heap of
prairie hay, I managed to sink into a light slumber. I awakened feeling
numbed all through, with the pain at the joints which results from
sleeping insufficiently protected in a low temperature, and looked about
me shivering. There was not a spark in the stove, the horse was stamping
impatiently, and, when a sputtering match had shown me that it was after
two in the morning, I rose stiffly. Anything appeared better than slowly
freezing there, and I strode out into the night, leading the horse by
the bridle.
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 grass 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 passed 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
space about them, there was nobody visible. This was in one respect not
surprising, because the nearest homestead stood a long distance away,
but, as the new owner had an assistant 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 ownership of
Gaspard's Trail, the speaker's manner would have dissipated them. No man
would, in the circumstances, 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 assault 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
fashion 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 passed 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 assistance, 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?"
I knew the first speaker's statement was true enough. One and all would
have freely risked their lives to assist even a stranger who had dealt
fairly with them; but they were stubborn men, unused to oppression, and
recent events had roused all the slow vindictiveness that lurked within
them. I felt very much as they did; but, remembering something, I was
not quite certain that the teams were out of the stable, and the dumb
beasts had served me well. Before I could speak a police trooper came up
at a gallop. "Hallo! What are you gaping at? Can't you stir around and
pull anything clear of harm's way, boys?" he shouted.
"We're not a Montreal fire brigade, and I forgot my big helmet," said
one.
"Not a stir," interjected another.
"We'd pull the very sod up off the corral if you'd run Lane in for
wholesale robbery," added a third; and it was not until the hoarse laugh
which followed died away that I found my opportunity.
"I'm afraid the horses are inside there, boys," I said. "It's not their
fault they belong to Lane, and whether you come along or not, I'm going
to liberate them."
There was a change in a moment. I never saw even the most unfortunate
settler ill-use his beast, though all young plow oxen and half-broken
broncos, besides a good many old ones, are sufficiently exasperating.
"Ormesby's talking now," said somebody; and there was an approving
chorus. "Get the poor brutes clear, anyway. Coming right along!" Then I
started for the stable at a run, with the rest of the company hard
behind me.
Thick smoke rolled between us and the door, and when we halted just
clear of the worst of it a bright blaze shot up from the thatch. The
heat scorched our faces, and one or two fell back with heads averted;
but the sound of a confused trampling reached us from the building.
"We've got to get in before the poor brutes are roasted, and do it
mighty smartly," said somebody.
That at least was evident; but the question how it was to be
accomplished remained, for I recoiled, blinded and choking, at the first
attempt, before I even reached the door. I had framed it, with my own
hands, of stout tenoned logs, so that it would fit tightly to keep out
the frost. One of the posts loosened by the fire had settled, apparently
since the last person entered the building. Another man went with me the
second time, but though we managed to reach the handle the door remained
immovable, and once more we reeled back beaten, when a strip of blazing
thatch fell almost on our heads. Because the roof fed it, the fire was
mostly on the outside of the building.
"Solid as a rock," gasped my companion. "Say, somebody find a lariat and
we'll heave her out by the roots."
A rope was found and with difficulty hitched about the handle, after
which a dozen strong men grasped the slack of it. A glance at their
faces, illumined by the glare, showed that the thought of the suffering
beasts had roused them, and they were in earnest now. There was a heave
of brawny shoulders, a straining of sinewy limbs, and the line of bodies
swayed backwards as one, when a voice rose: "All together! Heave your
best!"
I felt the straining hemp contract within my grasp. Trampling feet
clawed for a firmer hold on the frozen sod, and I could hear the men
behind me panting heavily. The door remained fast, however, and again a
breathless voice encouraged us: "This time does it! Out she comes!"
The rope creaked, the trampling increased, and a man behind kicked me
cruelly on the ankle during his efforts; but instead of the jammed door,
its handle came out, and the next moment we went down together in one
struggling heap. "There was a good birch log by the granary. We'll use
it for a ram," I gasped.
Two men brought the log, which was unusually long and heavy for that
region, where the stoutest trees are small, and Boone and I staggered
with the butt of it into the smoke. The rest grasped the thinner end,
swung it back, and drove the other forward with all the impetus they
could furnish. The door creaked, but the most manifest result was the
fall of a further strip of burning thatch on us.
"We must manage this time," spluttered Boone. "If we once let go it will
be too late before anyone else takes hold again."
Once more the door defied us. The heat was almost stifling, the smoke
thicker than ever; but, choking, panting, and dripping with
perspiration, we managed to swing and guide the end of the log until the
battered frame went down with a crash, and we two reeled over it into
the building. The fire which traveled along the roof had eaten a portion
out, but though one strip of the interior was flooded with lurid light,
the smoke of a burning hay pile rolled about the rest. A horse was
squealing in agony; one stall partition had been wrenched away, and
another kicked to pieces; while two panic-stricken brutes blundered
about the building. The rest were plunging and straining at their
tethers, and there was a curious look in Boone's face as he turned to
me.
"Somebody will risk being kicked to death before we get them out. I wish
we could give their owner the first chance," he said.
Several of the agonized beasts had been in times of loneliness almost as
human friends to me. Others had, in their own dumb faithful way, helped
me to realize my first ambitions, and the sight of their suffering
turned me savage. "Do you know anything of this?" I asked.
Boone wheeled around on me with a menace in his eyes, but apparently
mastering his temper with an effort, laughed unpleasantly. "No. Take
care you are not asked the same question. Are you disposed to let the
horses roast while we quarrel?"
The latter, at least, was out of the question, and I had only paused to
gather breath and consider a plan of operations, for it is by no means
easy to extricate frantic beasts from a burning building. The others in
the meantime were gathering around, and we set about it as best we
could. At times thick smoke wreaths blew into our eyes, the heat grew
insupportable, and the first horse I freed would have seized me with its
teeth but that I smote it hard upon the nostrils. Two men were knocked
down and trampled on, another badly kicked, but amid an indescribable
confusion the task was accomplished, until only one badly burned horse,
and another with a broken leg, remained inside the building.
"We can't leave them to grill," I said. "Thorn used to keep an old
shotgun inside the chop-chest lid."
It was Boone who brought me the weapon, and the burned horse was quickly
put out of its misery; but a portion of the roof fell in as I ran
towards the other. This one lay still, and, I saw, recognized me. It had
carried me gallantly on many a weary ride, and was the one on which
Lucille Haldane had leaped across the fence. I felt like a murderer when
it turned its eyes on me with an almost human appeal, for all that I
could do was to press the deadly muzzle against its head. The shock of
the detonation shook down a shower of blazing fragments, and I had
turned away with a horrible sense of guilt, when somebody shouted,
"There's a man in the end stall!"
The stall was hidden by the smoke, but, now that the emptied stable was
quieter, a voice reached us faintly through the vapor: "Won't anyone
take me out of this?"
Several of us made a rush in that direction; but, so far as memory
serves, only Boone and I reached the stall, and, groping around it
blindly, came upon something which resembled a human form. We lifted it
between us, and the man both groaned and swore; then, staggering through
the vapor, we came, blackened, burned a little, and half-asphyxiated,
into the open. The rest were already outside, and, when we laid down our
burden, they stood about him, panting.
"You've nearly killed me between you, boys, but it wasn't your fault,"
he gasped. "Horse fell over me when I tried to turn him loose." The
half-articulate words which followed suspiciously suggested that the
sufferer was cursing somebody, and I caught the name of Lane before he
lapsed into semi-consciousness.
"It's pretty simple," one of the onlookers said. "The way Ormesby fixed
that door, it shut itself. He got some bones smashed, and was turned
half-silly by the shock. Couldn't make us hear him even if he had sense
enough. My place is the nearest, and I'll take him along."
I heard my name called softly, and saw Boone standing apart from the
rest. "I want to ask why you spoke as you did a little while ago?" he
said.
"I did not stop to reflect just then, but I'll hear your explanation if
you care to volunteer one before I apologize," I said.
"I was camped under a bluff with the wagon when I saw the blaze, and as
the distance was not great, I came in on foot," was the answer. "That is
the simple truth. Do you believe it?"
"Yes," I said, for his manner impressed me. "In turn, you also hinted
something."
"I was giving you a warning," said Boone. "You are dealing with a
dangerous man, and can't you see that if there is any doubt concerning
the fire's origin a charge might be worked up against you? Be careful
what you say; but as I see the sergeant yonder, you need not mention my
presence unless it is necessary."
I alluded to Haldane's desire to see him, and, when he vanished,
followed the rest into the presence of Sergeant Mackay, who, ubiquitous
as usual, had mysteriously appeared. He sat motionless in his saddle,
with slightly compressed lips, though his keen eyes moved along the
encircling faces. It was evident that he was making an official inquiry,
and the owner of the homestead was speaking.
"My name is Niven, late of the Brandon district, and I purchased this
property recently," he said.
"Any partners?" asked the sergeant; and I noticed a gleam of what
appeared malicious satisfaction in the other's face as he answered: "No.
You will find my name recorded as sole owner. All was right when I
turned in about ten o'clock, but I didn't notice the time when my hired
man Wilkins roused me to say the house was burning. Had too much to
think about. Can't suggest any cause for the fire, and it doesn't count
much, anyway, for the result is certain. House and stable burned
out--and all uninsured."
"Had ye any other hired man than Wilkins?" interposed the sergeant; and
Niven answered: "No. Stable didn't seem to be burning when I first got
up, but Wilkins said it was swept by sparks and he'd get the horses out.
One of them must have knocked him down, and he was only found at the
last minute."
"Who was the first man ye met when ye went out?" asked the sergeant.
"My predecessor--Ormesby," said Niven.
Mackay appeared to meditate before he spoke again: "Where did ye meet
him, and what did he say?"
"Slipping around the corner of a shed, and he said he'd see me burnt
before he stirred a hand to help," was the prompt answer. Then Mackay
questioned several others before he turned to me.
"How did ye happen to come to Gaspard's Trail, Henry Ormesby?"
"I was riding out from Bonaventure to intercept the freighter and saw
the blaze," I answered indignantly. "I certainly refused to help Niven
at first, for I had little cause for goodwill towards him or the man
behind him; but afterwards I saved most of his working beasts."
There was a murmur of assent from the bystanders, but the sergeant,
disregarding it, spoke again: "Did ye meet the freighter?"
"No," I said bluntly.
Mackay smiled. "Ye did not. I passed him an hour gone by on the Buffalo
trail. What was your business with him?"
"To ask him for a package."
"All that should be easily corroborated," was the answer; and I was glad
that the examination was over, for, remembering Boone's warning, it
appeared that my answers might give rise to unpleasant suspicions. It
also struck me that, in the hurry and confusion, nobody had noticed him
or remembered it if they had done so, while, somewhat strange to say,
after the last brief interview I had full confidence in his statement
that he knew nothing about the origin of the fire.
"I'm thinking that will do in the meantime. Chapleau, ye'll ride in to
the depot and wire for a surgeon. Now, boys, are any of ye willing to
take Niven home?" asked Mackay.
Apparently none of them were willing, though at last two offers were
reluctantly made. It was the only time I ever saw the prairie settlers
deficient in hospitality; but the man's conduct had confirmed their
suspicions as to his connection with Lane, which was sufficient to
prejudice the most generous. "Maybe he would be comfortable if I took
him along with me," Mackay said dryly.
Thereupon the assembly broke up, and I rode back to Bonaventure,
reaching it with the first of the daylight, blackened and singed,
while, as it happened, Lucille Haldane was the first person I met.
"Where have you been? Your clothes are all burned!" she said.
"Gaspard's Trail is burned down and I helped to save some of the
horses," I answered wearily; and I never forgot the girl's first
startled look. She appeared struck with a sudden consternation. It
vanished in a moment, and, though she looked almost guilty, her answer
was reassuring.
"Of course; that is just what you would do. But you are tired and must
rest before you tell me about it."
I was very tired, and slept until noon, when I told my story to Haldane
and his daughter together. The former made very few comments, but
presently I came upon Lucille alone, and laid my hand on her shoulder as
I said: "Do you know that somebody suggested it was I who burned
Gaspard's Trail?"
The girl's color came and went under my gaze; then she lifted her head
and met it directly. "I--I was afraid you might be suspected, and for
just a moment or two, when you first came in looking like a ghost, I did
not know what to think," she said. "But it was only because you startled
me so."
"I would not like to think that you could believe evil against me," I
said; and Lucille drew herself up a little. "Do not be ungenerous. As
soon as I could reason clearly I knew it was quite--quite impossible."
"I hope any work of that kind is," I said; and Lucille Haldane, turning
suddenly, left me.