Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 - Harold Bindloss (best black authors TXT) 📗
- Author: Harold Bindloss
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Scrub. George Started As He Saw That She Had Roughly Indicated The
Figure Of A Man Lying Upon The Little Mound With A Rifle In His Hand.
It Struck Him That She Was Right.
"It's A Picture," Said The Constable; "But Why Did You Put That Fellow
Yonder?"
"Come And See."
They Followed Her To The Mound, And After An Inspection Of It, Flett
Nodded.
"You'd Make A Mighty Smart Tracker, Miss Grant. I Was Against This
Mound Being The Firing Place, Because, To Get To It, The Fellow Would
Have To Come Out Into The Open."
"Would That Count? It Was A Bull He Was After."
"It Was," Flett Agreed. "This Fixes The Thing."
George Looked At Him Meaningly.
"Have You Made Up Your Mind About Anything Else?"
"Oh, Yes," Said Flett. "It Was Done With Malicious Mischief. If A
Poor White Or An Indian Meant To Kill A Beast For Meat, He Wouldn't
Pick A Bull Worth A Pile Of Money, At Least While There Was Common Beef
Stock About."
"Then What Do You Mean To Do?"
Flett Smiled.
Volume 554 Chapter 12 (George Faces Disaster) Pg 90
"Sooner Or Later, I'm Going To Put Handcuffs On The Man Who Did This
Thing. If You'll Give Me The Sketch, Miss Grant, I'll Take It Along."
Flora Handed It To Him, And He And Edgar Went Away Shortly Afterward,
Leaving George With The Girl. She Sat Still, Looking Down At Him When
He Had Helped Her To The Saddle.
"I'm Afraid You Have A Good Many Difficulties To Face," She Said.
"Yes," Assented George. "A Dry Summer Is Bad For Wheat On My Light
Soil, And That Is Why I Thought Of Going In For Stock." He Paused With
A Rueful Smile. "It Doesn't Promise To Be A Great Improvement, If I'm
To Have My Best Beasts Shot."
She Pointed To The West. The Grass About Them Was Still Scorched With
Fierce Sunshine, But Leaden Cloud-Masses, Darkly Rolled Together With A
Curious Bluish Gleam In Them, Covered Part Of The Sky.
"This Time It Will Rain," She Said. "We Will Be Fortunate If We Get No
More Than That. Try To Remember, Mr. Lansing, That Bad Seasons Are Not
The Rule In Western Canada, And One Good One Wipes Out The Results Of
Several Lean Years."
Then She Rode Away, And George Joined Edgar. He Felt That He Had Been
Given A Warning. On Reaching Home, He Harnessed A Team And Drove Off
To A Sloo To Haul In Hay, But While He Worked He Cast Anxious Glances
At The Clouds. They Rolled On Above Him In An Endless Procession,
Opening Out To Emit A Passing Blaze Of Sunshine, And Closing In Again.
The Horses Were Restless, He Could Hardly Get Them To Stand; The
Grasses Stirred And Rustled In A Curious Manner; And Even The Little
Gophers That Scurried Away From The Wagon Wheels Displayed An Unusual
And Feverish Activity. Yet There Was Not A Drop Of Rain, And The Man
Toiled On In Savage Impatience, Wondering Whether He Must Once More
Resign Himself To See The Promised Deluge Pass Away.
It Was A Question Of Serious Import. A Night's Heavy Rain Would
Consolidate The Soil That Blew About With Every Breeze, Revive The
Suffering Wheat And Strengthen Its Abraded Stalks Against Any Further
Attack By The Driving Sand. Indeed, He Thought It Would Place The Crop
In Security.
He Came Home For Supper, Jaded, Dusty, And Morose, And Found That He
Could Scarcely Eat When He Sat Down To The Meal. He Could Not Rest
When It Was Over, Though He Was Aching From Heavy Toil; Nor Could He
Fix His Attention On Any New Task; And When Dusk Was Getting Near He
Strolled Up And Down Before The Homestead With Edgar. There Was A
Change In The Looks Of The Buildings--All That Could Be Done Had Been
Effected--But There Was Also A Change In The Man. He Was Leaner, His
Face Was Getting Thin, And He Looked Worn; But He Maintained A Forced
Tranquillity.
The Sky Was Barred With Cloud Now; The Great Breadth Of Grain Had Faded
To A Leaden Hue, The Prairie To Shadowy Gray. The Wind Had Dropped,
Volume 554 Chapter 12 (George Faces Disaster) Pg 91The Air Was Tense And Still; A Strange, Impressive Silence Brooded Over
Everything.
Presently Edgar Looked Up At The Clouds.
"They Must Break At Last," He Said. "One Can't Help Thinking Of What
They Hold--Endless Carloads Of Grain, Wads Of Dollar Bills For The
Storekeepers, Prosperity For Three Big Provinces. It's Much The Same
Weather Right Along To The Rockies."
"I Wasn't Considering The Three Provinces," Said George.
"No," Retorted Edgar. "Your Attention Was Confined To The Improvement
The Rain Would Make In Sylvia Marston's Affairs. You're Looking
Forward To Sending Her A Big Check After Harvest."
"So Far, It Has Looked More Like Facing A Big Deficit."
"You Mean Your Facing It."
George Frowned.
"Sylvia Has Nothing Except This Land."
"It Strikes Me She's Pretty Fortunate, In One Way. You Find The
Working Capital And Bear The Loss, If There Is One. I Wonder What
Arrangements You Made About Dividing A Surplus."
"That," Said George, "Is A Thing I've No Intention Of Discussing With
Anybody But My Co-Trustee."
Edgar Smiled; He Had Hardly Expected To Elicit Much Information Upon
The Point, Having Failed To Do So Once Or Twice Already.
"Well," He Said, "I Believe We'll See The Rain Before An Hour Has
Passed."
Soon After He Had Spoken, A Flash Leaped From Overhead And The Prairie
Was Flooded With Dazzling Radiance. It Was Followed By A Roll Of
Thunder, And A Roar As The Rain Came Down. For A Few Moments The Dust
Whirled Up And There Was A Strong Smell Of Earth; Then The Air Was
Filled With Falling Water. George Stood Still In The Deluge,
Rejoicing, While The Great Drops Lashed His Upturned Face, Until Edgar
Laughingly Pushed Him Toward The House.
"As I'm Wet Through, I Think I'll Go To Bed. At Last, You Can Rest
Content."
George, Following His Example, Lay Down With A Deep Sense Of
Thankfulness. His Cares Had Gone, The Flood That Roared Against The
Board Walls Had Banished Them. Now That Relief Had Come, He Felt
Strangely Weary, And In A Few Minutes He Was Sound Asleep. He Did Not
Hear The Thunder, Which Broke Out Again, Nor Feel The House Shake In
The Rush Of Icy Wind That Suddenly Followed; The Ominous Rattle On Roof
Volume 554 Chapter 12 (George Faces Disaster) Pg 92And Walls, Different From And Sharper Than The Lashing Of The Rain,
Began And Died Away Unnoticed By Him. He Was Wrapped In The Deep,
Healing Slumber That Follows The Slackening Of Severe Mental And Bodily
Strain; He Knew Nothing Of The Banks Of Ragged Ice-Lumps That Lay
Melting To Lee Of The Building.
It Was Very Cold The Next Morning, Though The Sun Was Rising Above The
Edge Of The Scourged Plain, When Edgar, Partly Dressed And Wearing Wet
Boots And Leggings, Came Into The Room And Looked Down At George
Compassionately.
The Brown Face Struck Him As Looking Worn; George Had Flung Off Part Of
The Coverings, And There Was Something That Suggested Limp Relaxation
In His Attitude; But Edgar Knew That His Comrade Must Bear His Load
Again.
"George," He Said, Touching Him, "You Had Better Get Up."
The Man Stirred, And Looking At Him Became At Once Intent As He Saw His
Face.
"Ah!" He Exclaimed. "Something Else Gone Wrong?"
Edgar Nodded.
"I'm Sorry," He Answered Simply. "Put On Your Things And Come Out.
You Had Better Get It Over With."
In Three Or Four Minutes George Left The House. Holding Himself
Steadily In Hand, He Walked Through The Drenched Grass Toward The
Wheat. On Reaching It, He Set His Lips Tight And Stood Very Still.
The Great Field Of Grain Had Gone; Short, Severed Stalks, Half-Buried
In A Mass Of Rent And Torn-Up Blades, Covered The Wide Stretch Of Soil
Where The Wheat Had Been. The Crop Had Been Utterly Wiped Out By The
Merciless Hail. Edgar Did Not Venture To Speak; Any Sympathy He Could
Express Would Have Looked Like Mockery; And For A While There Was
Strained Silence. Then George Showed Of What Tough Fiber He Was Made.
"Well," He Said, "It Has To Be Faced. After This, We'll Try Another
Plan; More Stock, For One Thing." He Paused And Then Resumed: "Tell
Grierson To Hurry Breakfast. I Must Drive In To The Butte; There's A
Good Deal To Be Done."
Edgar Moved Away, Feeling Relieved. George, Instead Of Despairing, Was
Considering New Measures. He Was Far From Beaten Yet.
Volume 554 Chapter 13 (Sylvia Seeks Amusement) Pg 93
It Was A Fine September Afternoon And Sylvia Reclined Pensively In A
Volume 554 Chapter 13 (Sylvia Seeks Amusement) Pg 94Canvas Hammock On Herbert Lansing's Lawn With One Or Two Opened Letters
In Her Hand. Bright Sunshine Lay Upon The Grass, But
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