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-grey, in the foreground. It
was--for Lander's lay behind them with the snow among the stubble belts
that engirdled it--an empty wilderness the mettlesome team swung
across, and during the first few minutes the cold struck through them
with a sting like the thrust of steel. A half-moon hung low above it,
coppery red with frost, 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. The one in question had, however, been made for use in
Montreal, and bought back East by a friend of Hawtrey's, who was, as it
happened, possessed of some means, which is a somewhat unusual thing in
the case of a Western wheat-grower. He had also bought the team--the
fastest he could obtain--and when the warmth came back to them 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 his companion, 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 matter. He was a man who usually
acted on impulse, with singularly easy manners. How far Sally
understood him did not appear, but she came of folk who had waged a
very stubborn battle with the wilderness, and there was a vein of
somewhat 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 colour 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 said.
"Yes," said Hawtrey; "it's a couple of three-bushel bags. Some special
seed wheat 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,"
said Sally.
"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 a
very comely one.
"No," she admitted, "I haven't any."
She said it demurely, but there was a just perceptible something in her
voice which might have warned the man had he been addicted to taking
warning from anything, which was, however, not the case. It was, in
fact, his trouble 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 said, "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," said Sally 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," she said, "Bob and
Jake and Jasper sowed on less backsetting, and they're buying new teams
and ploughs. 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 to work hard which she was not
acquainted with, and he had certainly done so, but the long, iron
winter, when there was nothing that could be done, had proved too much
for him. It was very dreary sitting alone evening after evening beside
the stove, and the company of the somnolent Sproatly was not much more
cheerful. Now and then his pleasure-loving nature had revolted from
the barrenness of his lot when he drove home from an odd visit to a
neighbour, stiff with cold, through the stinging frost, and, arriving
in the dark, found the stove had burned out and water frozen hard
inside the house. These were things his neighbours 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 said. "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. The girl 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 recognised 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 said.
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 it, and
glanced up at a shapeless cluster of buildings that showed black amidst
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 he managed to hoist the
first of them on to his shoulders, with Sally's assistance, and then
staggered up the steep foot-trail that climbed the slope with it. He
was more or less accustomed to carrying bags of grain between store and
waggon, but his mittened hands were numbed, and his joints were stiff
with frost just then, and 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 bye 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, as it happened, she had, like other
women in that country, seen men struck down by half-trained horses,
crushed by collapsing strawpiles, and once or twice gashed by a mower
blade. This was no doubt why she remembered that the impatient team
would probably move on if she left the sleigh, and she drove them 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 came
filtering 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 greyish-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 them up it with sharp
cries and blows with her mittened hand amidst the shadowy trunks and
through snapping undergrowth before she reached the spot where Hawtrey
lay. He looked up at her when at last they stood snorting close beside
him.
"You can't turn them here," he said.
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 her companion, who now lay almost against the sleigh.
"It's going to hurt, Gregory, but I have got to get you in," she said.
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.
[Illustration: "She could not raise him wholly, and he cried out once
when his injured leg trailed in the snow."]
It took only another moment or two to wrap the thick driving robe about
him, and after that she glanced down, with one hand still beneath his
neck. It was clear that he was quite unconscious of her presence, and
stooping swiftly she kissed his grey face. Then she settled herself in
the driving seat with only a blanket coat to shelter her from the
stinging frost, 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 beasts, and when they broke
into a furious gallop the rush of night wind that screamed by struck
her tingling cheeks like a lash of wires. Then 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, a shapeless figure, across her feet, but he
answered nothing when she spoke to him.
The team went far at the gallop, and the beat of hoofs rose up, dulled
a little, in a wild staccato drumming. There was an insistent
crunching beneath the runners, and 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-grey riband of
trail that steadily unrolled itself before her. At length, however, 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 strawpile 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
apparently gazed at her in astonishment.
"Miss Creighton!" he said.
"Don't stand there," said 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," said Sally. "Jump, if you can."
It was supposed on that part of the prairie 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,
which the snow made a little easier, was finished, and the perspiration
started from the man. Then Sally turned to the latter.
"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 fresh billets into the stove. Then she
looked for some coffee in the store cupboard, and set 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 colour was
creeping back into his face, his eyes were shut, and he was apparently
quite insensible of her presence. For the first time she was conscious
of a distressful faintness, which, as she had come suddenly out of the
stinging frost into the little overheated room, which reeked with
tobacco smoke and a stale smell of cooking, was not astonishing. She
mastered it, however, and presently, seeing that Hawtrey did not move;
glanced about her with some curiosity, for this 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 then contained a table, a carpenter's bench, and a
couple of chairs, and there were still smears of dust upon the
uncovered floor. The birch-log walls had been rudely panelled with
match-boarding half-way up, which was a somewhat unusual luxury, but
the half-seasoned boards had rent with the heat, and exuded streaks of
resin to which the grime and dust had clung. A pail, which apparently
contained potato peelings, stood amidst a litter of old long boots and
broken harness against one wall, and 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, and diffused a subtle odour of kerosene.
Sally noticed it all with disgust, and then, seeing that Hawtrey had
opened his eyes, she made a cup of coffee and got 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. Sproatly's gone for
Watson, and he'll soon fix you up. Now lie quite still, and shut your
eyes again."
The man obeyed her, in so far as that he lay 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 a hand out 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 bye 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, 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 recover from such injuries
as had befallen him more or less readily. It would also not be very
long before assistance arrived, for it was understood that the man she
had sent Sproatly for had almost gone through a medical course in an
Eastern city before he set up as 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
neighbours met with an accident, nobody troubled him about the matter.
By and bye Sproatly brought him 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.
"His 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!" said the other. "It would be criminal to leave you in charge of
a sick man."
Sally quietly put on her blanket coat. "If you can stay that long,
I'll be back soon after it's light," she said. Then 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 smart to-morrow you'll do
it again."
[Illustration: "Then she turned to Sproatly. 'You can wash up those
dishes on the table.'"]
Then, while Sproatly grinned, she went out and drove away through the
bitter frost.