"We have smelt the smoke-wraith flying in the hot October wind,
And have fought the fiery demon that came raging down behind."
_Prairie Born._
The harvest was at its height. Blood-red the sun rose every morning to
plough its silent way across an ocean of polished steel, while white
cloud-swans, with ruffled plumage, floated on its glassy bosom;
blood-red it sank to rest every night behind the dim haze of harvest
dust. The smell of ripe wheat filled the air, and where the binders
clattered into fields of rusty oats a red cloud marked their pilgrimage
as a modern people fought its slow way out of the land of bondage. The
great, white, dangerous full moon of August had left the fields
unharmed, and men and women and horses and steam and gasoline were deep
in their pitched battle against time and the steadily shortening day and
approaching winter.
Work on the Grant homestead was in full swing. From the earliest moment
that the dew would permit operations until the stooks stood eerie and
indistinct in the thickening dusk the boys broadsided their two binders
into the ranks of the standing grain. Four heavy horses swung on the
tugs of each binder, their heads swaying to the slow time of their
shaggy feet. After the first day the rattle of the machinery had no
terrors for them and they plodded sullenly along with equine
resignation, but their sly eyes missed no standing stalk that came
within the license of their check-reins, and occasionally the off animal
would desert the path made by the drive-wheel on the previous round to
make a hurried grab at a stook which appeared to be within reach. Mr.
Grant found his time fully occupied arranging the relays, as the
practical farmer plans that during good weather his binder must never
stop except to change horses and oil the machinery. Twenty thousand
harvesters from the eastern provinces had poured into the country in ten
days, and it was on this imported help the farmers depended for the
stooking. It was work, hard work and long hours, for everybody, but it
was work with a spirit for all. The fruit of the year's labour now stood
within measureable distance; victory was within their grasp.
Farmers on light soil had finished cutting, and already the whistle of
the steam thresher was heard in the land. The mills were working
short-handed, a condition with which they would have to be content until
the stooking was finished, and a run of a thousand bushels a day was
considered better than no run at all. The thresher first in the field
was usually able to choose his territory, and the choice might mean the
difference between loss and gain at the close of the season.
On a farm adjoining the Grants' such a short-handed mill was in
operation. The water haul was short, and to economise labour the same
team was being used to draw water and supply straw to the engine. A
small matter, as a general rule, but a very important one in this
instance, as it turned out.
Having to supply both straw and water the tankman unfortunately allowed
the water reserve to fall very low. The whistle was blowing incessantly
for water, and the driver whipped his team with the heavy wagon across
the stubble fields. Suddenly a whiff of smoke partially obscured the
engine from his view, and the next moment he knew that the straw with
which the engine was partially surrounded had caught fire. The water
barrels were empty, and the engineer, instantly taking in the situation,
drove his engine forward without so much as throwing the belt, grappled
on to the separator, and backed the outfit away from the zone of danger.
All this was done in less time than is required to relate it, but
already the fire was beyond control. Whisked by a hot wind from the
south-west the flames leapt from the smaller pile of straw provided for
the engine to the larger one behind the separator, and in a moment were
away across the field, the heavy, dry stubble burning furiously. With
much courage and presence of mind the tankman swung his team around and
endeavoured to cross the path of the fire, at the same time drawing the
plug, which allowed the water from the tank to spray out over the
stubble. The ruse did temporarily check the flames, but they had already
gained too much headway to be stopped by a narrow strip of
half-moistened stubble, and in a moment the courageous driver found
himself and team surrounded by fire. But his wit had not deserted him.
The horses, scenting the danger, plunged in frenzy as they saw the fire
sweeping about them, but the driver sprang on the tongue, and, removing
the draw-bolt, released them from the wagon. From that moment they could
be depended upon to take care of themselves, and they dashed furiously
away through the smoke and across the field. The driver, throwing his
smock about his head, faced the fire, and in a moment was through the
danger zone and safe on burnt ground.
Harry Grant swung his binder at the northwest corner of the field and
started his team on the south stretch. Looking suddenly up he saw a
cloud of smoke blowing across the lower end of the field. Already he
could see the red line of flame a mile away where it swept through the
neighbour's stooks. There were no fire guards so early in the season,
and the road allowances stood knee-deep in dry grass. The farm buildings
were safe enough, as they were surrounded by a considerable area of bare
land, but the fire would lick up the stooks and even burn the standing
grain, which was now dead ripe. In ten minutes they would pay an awful
price for their two months' dry weather, and the nearest plough was in
the implement shed, half a mile away!
In a moment Harry had his team unhitched. Throwing himself on the back
of one of the horses he galloped them homeward, the trace-chains flying
wildly about their heels as they ran. A wedge of hot smoke blew across
their course, but they plunged into it without slackening, as a
locomotive enters a fog. As they drew up in front of the implement shed
Harry was just in time to meet his brother George coming out with his
four-horse team and gang plough. George had been at a closer part of the
field when he discovered the fire.
"Start at the south-west corner, Harry," George shouted as he drove
past. "You go east. I'll go north."
The brothers did as arranged. They were able to reach the south-west
corner of the farm ahead of the fire, and by ploughing a guard north and
east they formed a wedge to divide the fire. The stookers had reached
the scene by this time, and ran ahead of the horses, throwing the stooks
out of the way. Mr. Grant started a back-fire, which steadily widened
the strip of bare land between the approaching enemy and the fruit of
their year's labours.
The Grant farm was safe, but the fire had been spread rather than
controlled. It now raced away to the east and north, destroying every
unprotected thing in its path. The wind seemed to rise as the flames
gained headway, but above the roaring of the fire and the crackle of the
wheat could be heard the rumble of wagons galloping along the
smoke-obscured roads. All the threshers and harvesters within range were
hurrying to give their assistance, but indeed it was little they could
do. Further away, but still in the path of the fire, farmers were
ploughing guards and settling out back-fires, and it was not until these
were reached that the flames finally burned themselves out.
News of the fire had soon reached the little town of Plainville, and
business men of all classes did not hesitate to close their stores and
shops and drive to the scene of the conflagration in wagons, buggies and
automobiles. It was little assistance they could give at best, but there
is a satisfaction and a suggestion of heroism in even _appearing_ to
assist. And the face of a merchant looming up through the smoke that
enveloped a farmer's building might be the drawing card which would
establish another good account on that merchant's books.
When the telephone brought the first word of the fire Gardiner hitched
up his horse and buggy and drove straight to the Grant homestead, but
before he arrived the fire zone had swept onward. Some one said that
young Mrs. Delt was alone at the mercy of the fire, as her husband was
away assisting a distant neighbour, and Gardiner at once whipped his
horse in that direction. Heavy banks of smoke lay across the road, and
at places it was with difficulty he could fill his lungs with air.
Suddenly, in such a smoke-cloud, his horse threw itself back on the
brechin, and Gardiner fancied he heard a girl's voice raised in alarm.
Springing out, he went to the horse's head, and could there distinguish
the form of a woman now standing by the side of the road.
"Why, Miss Vane! What are you doing here?"
"I might answer with the same question, Mr. Gardiner, if there were time
to play with words. But I want to ride with you to poor Mrs. Delt's.
Come, let's hurry."
"Just where I was going," said Gardiner. "I might have known I would
find you wherever an errand of mercy called."
"The crack of that whip would sound better than a compliment just now,
Mr. Gardiner. There may not be a moment to lose."
The young man answered by urging his horse to a run, and in a few
moments they were at Mrs. Delt's door.
"Oh, Mr. Gardiner and Miss Vane!" cried the farmer's wife, as soon as
she recognised her visitors. "What _shall_ I do? There are no horses
here and nothing to work with. Whatever _can_ we do?"
But Gardiner had already taken in the situation.
"You are protected to the west by the summer-fallow," he said, "so your
only danger is from the south. There's a strip of stubble a hundred
yards wide there that the fire would lick up in a moment. We must throw
a break across it in some way."
"Oh, do hurry and think what is to be done," cried Miss Vane. "You know
all about prairie fires and I am quite useless. I keep looking all the
time for the hose reel."
Gardiner smiled, even as he turned over in his mind the expedients that
might be adopted. The girl's voice was music in his ears, and the sense
of danger and emergency seemed to deepen the acquaintance between them,
as a moment of crisis rises superior to a century of convention.
Gardiner's eye fell on the full water trough beside the well.
"You have a rope?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, there is plenty of rope in the stable," Mrs. Delt answered,
and all three at once ran in that direction. They found a coil of rope
hanging on a harness pin. Gardiner seized the coil bodily, and the
ladies, anxious to help, found an end apiece. As they ran the rope
became entangled and dragged along the ground, and presently all three
were precipitated in a knot which required some moments to untie.
"Now a bed tick. You have a bed tick, Mrs. Delt?"
"Such a question!" gasped Myrtle, as all three rushed away again, this
time to the house. Following Mrs. Delt up the narrow stairway they found
the good lady in the spare room, littering quilts and pillows to right
and left.
"But we want an old tick--not the best you have," Gardiner remonstrated.
"The best tick I have is none too good for Mr. Gardiner," was Mrs.
Delt's reply, which left the young man speechless. There was no time for
explanation, so tick and trio crowded down the stairs and out into the
yard. Gardiner bundled the tick into a roll and made a couple of loops
around it with the rope.
"Now, into the tank with it," he shouted, and the bedding was promptly
immersed. A hotter blast of smoke hastened them in their efforts, as the
women soused the tick up and down in the water to get it thoroughly
saturated, while Gardiner hitched it to the rear axle of the buggy by
means of the rope.
"Now, all together!" he shouted, springing into the buggy and speaking
to his horse. "One of you sit on the tick."
With the discipline of a regular Mrs. Delt instantly obeyed, but at the
first tug of the rope found herself unhorsed, if the term is
permissible. Miss Vane immediately took her place and was whisked in an
uncertain course across the hundred yards of stubble, the water dripping
from the tick all the way.
They drove across the field and back, and then, with the added
protection of a couple of water pails and three wet sacks, they started
a back-fire. Several times it jumped the dampened streak, but on each
occasion they beat it out with the wet sacks. The back-fire worked
steadily backward against the wind, gradually widening the margin of
protection, and by the time the fire came speeding down upon them a
strip of burnt stubble twenty yards wide baffled its designs. For a few
minutes the flames stood up, snapping far into the air, and throwing
detached ribbons of fire toward the Delt buildings. But their fury was
soon spent, and, admitting defeat, they slunk back shamefacedly and died
down among the ashes.
When Gardiner had assured himself that the danger was past he turned to
his companions and found Miss Vane busily sprinkling water from the well
on the face of Mrs. Delt, who when the height of the excitement was
over, had availed herself of a woman's privilege to faint away. But the
fresh water soon restored her. For a moment her eyes wandered
uncertainly from one of her rescuers to the other, and presently she
burst out in a ringing laugh.
Gardiner looked at Miss Vane with an expression of alarm. He was more at
home fighting a prairie fire than caring for a woman in hysteria.
Mrs. Delt seemed to read his question. "Oh, don't be alarmed," she said,
as soon as she could control herself. "I was just thinking of the
picture Miss Vane presented as she rode that tick across the field. You
couldn't see her to advantage, Mr. Gardiner. And my poor best tick at
that!"
Then it was time for everybody to laugh, and when that was over and
smoke clouds had cleared away and the sun looked out blood-red from the
western sky, Mrs. Delt insisted first that Miss Vane share some dry
clothing with her, and second that all remain for supper.
The uneasiness of the Grants was set at rest by telephone, which,
despite many burnt poles, was fortunately still in service, and
Gardiner, nothing loath, 'phoned his clerk that he would not be in until
late.
The sun had set, and a moonless sky, studded with a million diamond
points, arched over Gardiner and Miss Vane as they drove home through
the smoke-scented night air. A hundred points of fire glowed like great
coals on the horizon, with here and there a brighter pyramid of flame
marking a burning stack or some unfortunate settler's buildings. After
the heat and excitement of the day everything was strangely cool, and
quiet, and peaceful. The milch cows lay in their corrals, complacently
chewing, and occasionally heaving great sighs of satisfaction; the
horses, which had sniffed the smoke in terror during the day, had by
this time concluded that it was all a part of the mysterious designs of
their strange master, man, and settled themselves to enjoy a night free
from the bane of flies and mosquitoes. A rainbow of light arose in the
northern sky and deepened in colour until every fairy of auroraland
seemed dancing in draperies of white and pink and yellowish green before
the footlights of the Arctic circle to the music of the silence of
immeasurable space.
"It is wonderful, isn't it?" said Miss Vane, after a long silence.
"These great prairies--how majestic they are, how silent, how
awe-inspiring. It is the first time I have seen them in anger--at war
with the puny efforts of man. And even in their anger how beautiful they
are! You prairie-dwellers have, I am told, two great elements of
danger--the blizzard and the prairie fire?"
"Three," said Gardiner.
"Three? And what is the third?"
"Love."
For the moment she was taken off her guard. It was the one subject she
did not care to discuss with Gardiner. But she answered, in a quiet
impersonal voice,
"Love is not peculiar to the prairies."
"No, but the love of the prairies is peculiar. How can a soul, hemmed in
by the works of man, seeing life in all the seaminess of man's--and
woman's--depravity, and knowing that it is but one drop in the ocean of
humanity, rise to the sublime heights experienced by the dweller on the
prairie, where all the works of nature seem combined to elevate the
individual? The greatest organisms come out of the cities, but the
greatest individuals will always come out of the country. And love is
individual."
"Inhale that 'prairie-fire smell in the gloaming,' Mr. Gardiner. Is it
not exquisite?"
"Miss Vane--Myrtle--why do you close your eyes to that which must be
obvious? You have seen to-day the ravages of material fire--do you
imagine the fire of the heart burns less deeply, or that it abates with
the passing of time? Rather it grows from day to day and from month to
month. The fact I declared to you that night--that memorable night of
your unfortunate accident--seems a thousand times more a fact now than it
was then. I realise the prize I ask, and I am astonished that I dare ask
it, but what will one not do when life is at stake? And for me more than
life is at stake; if you deny me this prize I ask no longer anything
that life can give."
"I do not wish to be unkind, Mr. Gardiner, nor to coach you in your
suit, but--don't you think you are arguing your case too much from your
point of view? To put it plainly, you present reasons why you should
want to marry me. Would it not be more to the point to suggest reasons
why I should want to marry you?"
"Perhaps you are right. I admit I was speaking from my own view point.
But, if I must say it, surely I am not without recommendations. I can
keep you comfortably, and gratify your tastes and ambitions anywhere
within reason. I have a good business, and some investments----"
"I said I didn't wish to coach you, but I see I must. Can't you see that
tastes and ambitions and business and investments are nothing--absolutely
nothing--without love? Love is the only argument that can appeal to a
true girl's heart, and when love argues it needs not to be supplemented
by any other consideration. Without love there can be no marriage. There
may be a ceremony, but it is a hollow mockery--an outraging of every
principle of real virtue. That is the argument you need, Mr. Gardiner,
the only argument that can ever persuade me. And that argument is
lacking."
"Which is a roundabout way of saying you don't love me?"
"Love may be denied, but it needs not to be confessed. Where it exists
it will proclaim itself."
"So you have not yet learned to love me?"
She did not answer.
"You are still thinking of someone else?"
She did not answer.
"I do not wish to pursue an unpleasant subject, Miss Vane, but if you
are still hoping for Burton's return let me urge you to disillusion
yourself. He will not return. If you care for him you should hope that
he will not return. Return can mean only one thing to him, and he must
know that. And he will not be brought back. I may say that I used my
influence with the Department to have no effort made to apprehend him.
He will not come back."
"I think he will come back."
"I will wager anything--I would lay any odds, that he will not come back.
Listen--I lay you a wager. If Burton voluntarily returns to trial I
promise never to press this question again. If he does not your answer
is to be 'Yes.' Have you faith enough in Burton for that?"
For a moment she hesitated.
"You are not so sure of him," he urged.
"Yes, I am sure of him."
"Then our wager is placed, and bound by the honour of each," he cried,
exultantly.