LELAND FEELS THE STRAIN
Supper had not long been cleared away on an evening some three weeks
after the fire, and the sunlight still streamed into the big general
room; but Leland lay somewhat limply in a lounge-chair, which,
considering that there was a good deal of the wheat still to be cut, was
a somewhat astonishing thing for him to do. His face was paler than
usual; indeed, here and there a trace of greyness had crept into the
bronze, and his eyes were heavy. But a mass of papers lay on the little
table in front of him, and it was evident that he had just been writing.
His mail, which had come in two or three hours earlier, had been an
unusually large one. Carrie sat not far away, watching him a trifle
anxiously. She had been more than a little startled when he came in for
supper walking unsteadily.
"You are still looking far from well," she said.
Leland laughed, though his eyes were half closed. "Oh," he said, "I'll
be round again to-morrow all right. It was as hot as I ever remember it
this afternoon, and each time I came down the long stretch with the
binder the sun was on the back of my neck. I just want to sit still a
little and cool off."
Carrie shook her head. "You have been working too hard," she said.
"Can't you take it a little easier? It surely isn't necessary for you to
drive a binder."
"Just now, anyway, I almost think it is. When I'm there the boys can't
do less than I do, and I set the pace for every man in the field. There
are, you see, quite a few of them, and the little extra effort each one
makes counts for a good deal. Besides, I have always worked, and now it
would be quite hard to get used to walking round with nothing in my
hands, even if I wanted to. Anyway, it won't go on for more than another
month or so."
He made a little involuntary gesture of weariness. "I don't think I'll
be sorry. It has been getting a little hard lately, and if the market
doesn't break me we'll go away when the wheat is in. You would like to
go to Montreal or New York for a week or two? We would do all the
concerts and theatres."
Carrie felt that she would like it very much indeed, for, after all,
life at Prospect had its disadvantages; but she had reasons for not
displaying too much eagerness. Finances were straitened, and Leland, in
spite of his simple tastes, was apt to be extravagant where she was
concerned.
"Of course!" she said. "I mean, if circumstances permitted it, but that
depends upon the market, doesn't it? What has it been doing lately?"
Leland took up a circular. "Standing still for a week, and that is
rather a curious thing. You see, with the first wheat pouring in, the
bears quite often get their own way just now and hammer prices down, but
quotations seem to have been quite steady in Chicago the last few days.
They've had a bad season in Minnesota, and the hail wiped out a good
deal of wheat in Dakota. What one or two States can grow doesn't count
in itself so much against the world's supply, but it's now and then
enough to upset a delicate balance. In Winnipeg the bears made another
raid, but they couldn't break the price, and I'm inclined to fancy that
all they offered was quietly taken up. The outside men, who like a
little deal now and then, aren't all of them babes in the wood."
"I'm afraid I could never quite understand these things," said Carrie.
"In one way it's simple. The world wants so much wheat, though the
quantity varies, because there are places where they eat other things
when it gets too dear. Now, you can get statistics showing how many
million bushels they have raised here and there, and it's evident that,
if it's less than usual, it's going to be dearer. On the other hand, if
there's more than the world has apparently any use of, the men it
belongs to have some trouble in selling it, and values come down. That's
the principle, but there are men who make their living by shoving prices
up and down, and they're able to do it sometimes against all reason. Now
and then they half starve poor folks in Europe, and now and then they
ruin farmers in the Western States and this part of Canada. They have
millions of dollars behind them, and they're clever at crooked games.
Still, it sometimes happens that Nature turns against them, and drowns
them in floods of wheat; or, when they're squeezing the life-blood out
of the farmers, it strikes men up and down the country that wheat was so
cheap it ought to be dearer. Then, if the bears slacken their grip a
little, men who like to gamble and have the money to spare, send their
buying orders in, and the bears find it hard to get the wheat they have
pledged themselves to deliver. That sends prices up and up."
"You think that is likely to happen?"
Leland looked very thoughtful. "I can't say. Nobody could. There's one
significant thing. Prices are steady, though the wheat is coming in.
You'll get considerably more than your two thousand pounds back if they
go up. We could have a month in New York then, and you'd go to operas
with that crescent glittering in your hair."
Carrie said nothing, for though she had not quite understood all he
said, it was sufficiently clear that if prices went down she would never
put the crescent on again. She had further reasons, too, for not
desiring to discuss that subject. While she sat silent, Gallwey came in,
and Leland, taking up a paper, handed it to him.
"That," he said, "is a little idea of mine, and, if we'd had any sense,
we would have thought of it earlier. With the new country opening up to
the North, the police bosses at Regina have their hands full. They don't
want to be worried, and Sergeant Grier seems kind of afraid to admit he
can't put the whisky boys down, or to pitch his reports too strong."
Gallwey nodded. "The same thing," he said, "has occurred to me all
along. His attitude is comprehensible, and I have a certain sympathy
with the folks at the head of the police. To attend to everything, they
would want a brigade."
"Well," said Leland, drily, "I have no intention of getting my homestead
burnt because it suits anybody's hand, and you'll start round to-morrow
and get this petition signed by every responsible man. It's a plain
statement of what we have been putting up with, and a delicate hint that
there are folks among the Government's opposition who might find the
information interesting in case the police bosses do nothing. I almost
fancy that ought to put a move on them."
Gallwey smiled a little as he read the document, which, however, was
worded with a tactfulness he had scarcely expected from his comrade.
Leland's proceedings were, as a rule, rather summary and vigorous than
characterised by any particular delicacy.
"I shall be away three or four days, at least," he said.
"Won't that be a little awkward? You are not very well just now."
Leland made a little impatient gesture. "I'll be all right again
to-morrow."
His comrade did not contradict him, though he had some doubt upon the
subject, and, sitting down, talked about other matters for several
minutes, while, when he rose, he contrived to make Carrie understand it
was desirable that she should find an excuse for going out soon after
him. She did so, and came upon him waiting in the kitchen.
"He persists that there is nothing the matter with him, but I am a
little anxious," she said. "You don't think he is looking well?"
Gallwey appeared thoughtful. "I scarcely fancy it is serious, but there
is no doubt he has been worrying himself lately and doing a good deal
too much. In fact, the strain is telling. Still, I dare say a little
rest would do wonders. Couldn't you keep him in to-morrow?"
"Keep him in!" said Carrie, with a little expostulatory smile.
There was a twinkle in Gallwey's eyes. "It will probably be difficult,
but I almost think, in your case, not absolutely impossible."
"Well, I will do what I can. It is rather a pity you have to go away."
The smile grew a trifle plainer in Gallwey's eyes. "As a matter of fact,
and, although I am quite aware that there will probably be trouble about
it, I am not going. One of the boys will have to ride round with the
paper, instead of me. Still, you will have to decide how you can keep
your husband in."
He went away and left her to grapple with the question, which, since
Leland was a self-willed man, was a somewhat difficult one. It was some
little while before there occurred to her a rather primitive device
which appeared likely to prove effective. She had, however, not quite
realised the inherent obstinacy of her husband's temperament.
It accordingly happened that, when the crippled Jake was busy cleaning
up the big general room early next morning, he was astonished to see
Leland, attired in airy pyjamas, appear in the doorway. He raised his
hand as though in warning, and glanced towards the other door. It
occurred to Jake that he did not look well.
"Mrs. Nesbit's not around?" Leland asked.
Jake said she was in the cook-shed just then, and Leland sat down
somewhat limply in the nearest chair.
"Slip up into Tom Gallwey's room, and bring me a suit of his clothes,
the new ones he goes to the settlement in," he said. "That will square
the deal, because I can't help thinking he had a hand in the thing."
"Where's your own?" asked Jake in evident bewilderment.
"That," said Leland, drily, "is just what is worrying me. But you do
what I tell you quick before Mrs. Nesbit comes in."
Jake did as he was bidden, for there was a look in Leland's eyes which
warned him that further questions would not be advisable; and, when he
came back with the clothing, the latter dressed himself hastily, and,
slipping out, made his way to the stable. He had some difficulty in
putting the harness on the team, and was considerably longer over it
than usual; but he managed to lead them out, and had reached the binder
with them about the time Carrie and Eveline Annersly entered the room he
had quitted. The first thing they saw was a suit of pyjamas lying on the
floor, and the elder lady laughed as she turned to Carrie.
"I fancied you would find it a little difficult to keep Charley Leland
in against his will," she said.
Carrie, who did not answer her, summoned Jake.
"Where is Mr. Leland?" she asked.
"I guess he's working in the wheat," said the man, with a grin.
Carrie appeared astonished, and Eveline Annersly laughed again. "Charley
is a trifle determined, but there are, I almost fancy, lengths to which
he would not go. He has probably borrowed someone's clothing."
"Did he leave any message?" asked Carrie, turning to the man.
"No," said Jake, reflectively. "I don't think he did. He wasn't coming
back for his breakfast. I was to take it out to him, and he figured Tom
Gallwey's store-clothes wouldn't look quite so new by sundown."
He went away, and Eveline Annersly smiled at her companion. "You'll
simply have to put up with it," she said. "It really doesn't sound as if
he was very ill."
In the meanwhile, Leland, after stopping some twenty minutes for
breakfast, climbed into the binder's saddle and drove through the wheat
until almost noon. He did not seem to see quite so well as usual, and
his head ached almost intolerably. Gallwey's jacket also hampered him,
until, tearing it off, he let it fall. It was afterwards found, ripped
in several places by the knife and tied up in a sheaf. The day was
fiercely hot, and the dust rose thick from crackling stubble and
trampled soil, but Leland drove on, swaying now and then in his saddle,
the perspiration dripping from him.
It was close upon the dinner hour, and the sun was almost overhead in a
cloudless sky, when he approached a turning. The glare from the yellow
wheat was dazzling, and the ironwork on the binder almost too hot to
touch with the hand, and Leland once more found his sight grow blurred
as he strove to turn his team. They did not seem to answer the guidance
of the reins, and when the machine, turning short, ran in among the
wheat, he raised himself a little as he called to them. That was the
last thing he remembered.
The next instant, the man behind him saw him reel and topple from the
saddle as the whirling arms came round. He pulled his team up, and,
jumping down, ran as for his life; but, most fortunately, Leland's
tired horses had stopped of their own accord in a pace or two, for,
when the other man came up, their driver lay partly across the
knife-sheath with his feet among the wheat. What could be seen of his
face was darkly flushed, while the sleeve and breast of his dusty shirt
were smeared with trickling red. The other man, startled as he was, had,
however, sense enough to seize the near horse's head before he shouted
to his comrades.
"Lay hold of the wheel, two of you," he said when several of them came
running up. "Now get up, somebody, and pull the driving-clutch out. We
don't want to saw him open."
He had kept himself in hand, but he gasped with relief when the deadly
steel was thrown out of action. Then, still holding the horses, he
directed the rest to drag Leland clear. It was a minute later when he
pushed the others aside and bent over him. Leland lay limp and still in
the dusty stubble, with eyes half closed, and a red trickle dripping
into the thirsty soil beneath him. The man, who had seen a good many bad
axe-wounds in the Ontario bush, rolled back the breast and sleeve of the
torn shirt before he straightened himself and wiped his dripping face.
"I guess he has come off quite fortunate, in one way. There's no big
vessel cut, or it would spout," he said. "The first thing to do is to
get him out of the sun, and it's not very far to the house."
They picked him up, and four of them carried him to the homestead as
gently as they could. At the door they met Carrie. She closed one hand
hard, and turned very white when the men, who stopped, stood gasping a
little and looking at her stupidly, with their burden hanging limply
between them. Then, while she struggled with a numbing sense of horror,
the leader awkwardly took off his hat.
"I guess it's nothing very bad. He's cut in two places, and the binder
hit him on the head, but a man of his kind will soon get over that," he
said. "Now, I know quite a little about cuts and things, and, if you'll
send for Mrs. Nesbit, we'll soon fix him up. Get a move on, boys. Mrs.
Leland will show you where to take him."
The words had a bracing effect. Carrie shook off her first terror, and,
though she was trembling, went up the stairway in front of them. She was
almost afraid to look round at the men, who stumbled noisily with their
burden. Still, she felt a little easier when, in the course of half an
hour, the Ontario man managed to stop most of the bleeding with a few
simple compresses, and to get Leland, who had not opened his eyes yet,
into bed. He turned to Carrie, who was standing close by with a tense,
white face.
"I guess all he got after he fell off the binder is not going to worry
him much, but I don't know what he had before," he said. "It might have
been sunstroke, and it might just as well have been something else. He
was kind of shaky all the morning. Anyway, I'll tell Tom Gallwey, and
he'll send some one of the boys in to the railroad to wire for a
doctor."
He went out, and Carrie was left in the darkened room kneeling by her
husband's side, while Tom Gallwey drove the fastest team at Prospect
furiously across the prairie. He did not send another man, but went
himself, and the horses he drove had reason to remember that journey.