Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 - Harold Bindloss (best black authors TXT) 📗

Wheat

Deserves His Money."

 

"You Mean The Seed's Worth Its Price If The Crop Escapes The Frost?"

 

"That Wasn't Quite All I Meant.  I'm Willing To Pay The Man For The

Work He Has Put Into It.  Try To Figure The Cross Fertilizations He

Must Have Made, The Varieties He's Tried And Cut Out, And Remember It

Takes Time To Get A Permanent Strain, And Wheat Makes Only One Crop A

Year.  If The Stuff's As Good As It Seems, The Fellow's Done Something

He'll Never Be Paid For.  Anyway, He's Welcome To My Share."

 

"There's No Doubt About Your Admiration For Hard Work," Declared Edgar.

"As It Happens, You Have Found Putting It Into Practise Profitable,

Which May Have Had Some Effect."

 

Grant's Eyes Twinkled.

 

"Now You Have Got Hold Of The Wrong Idea.  You Have Raised A Different

Point."

 

"Then, For Instance, Would You Expect A Hired Man Who Had No Interest

In The Crop To Work As Hard As You Would?"

 

"Yes," Grant Answered Rather Grimly; "I'd See He Did.  Though I Don't

Often Pay More Than I Can Help, I Wouldn't Blame Him For Screwing Up

His Wages To The Last Cent He Could Get; But If It Was Only Half The

Proper Rate, He'd Have To Do His Share.  A Man's Responsible To The

Country He's Living In, Not To His Employer; The Latter's Only An

Agent, And If He Gets Too Big A Commission, It Doesn't Affect The Case."

 

"It Affects The Workman Seriously."

 

"He And His Master Must Settle That Point Between Them," Grant Paused

And Spread Out His Hands Forcibly.  "You Have Heard What The Country

West Of Old Fort Garby--It's Winnipeg Now--Was Like Thirty Years Ago.

Do You Suppose All The Men Who Made It What It Is Got Paid For What

They Did?  Canada Couldn't Raise The Money, And Quite A Few Of Them Got

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Frozen To Death."

 

It Struck Edgar As A Rather Stern Doctrine, But He Admitted The Truth

Of It; What Was More, He Felt That George And This Farmer Had Many

Views In Common.  Grant, However, Changed The Subject.

 

"You Had Better Take Your Two Heavy Teams In To The Butte On Monday;

I've Ordered My Freight There Until The Sandy Trails Get Loose Again.

Bring A Couple Of Spare Horses Along.  We'll Load You Up And You Can

Come In Again."

 

"Two Clover-Leaf Wagons Will Haul A Large Lot Of Seed In A Double

Journey."

 

"It's Quite Likely You'll Have To Make A Third.  Don't You Think You

Ought To Get This Hauling Done Before Lansing Comes Home?"

 

A Light Broke In On Edgar.  Grant Was, With Some Reason, Occasionally

Called Hard; But He Was Always Just, And It Was Evident That He Could

Be Generous.  He Meant To Make His Gift Complete Before George Could

Protest.

 

"Yes," Acquiesced Edgar; "It Would Be Better, Because George Might Want

The Teams, And For Other Reasons."

 

The Farmer Nodded.

 

"That's Fixed.  The Agent Has Instructions To Deliver."

 

Edgar Left The Homestead An Hour Later And Spent The Sunday Resting,

Because He Knew That He Would Need All Of His Energy During The Next

Few Days.  At Dawn On The Following Morning He And Grierson Started For

Sage Butte, And On Their Arrival Loaded The Wagons And Put Up Their

Horses For The Night.  They Set Out Again Before Sunrise And Were Glad

Of The Spare Team When They Came To Places Where All The Horses Could

Scarcely Haul One Wagon Through The Soft Black Soil.  There Were Other

Spots Where The Graded Road Sloped Steeply To The Hollow Out Of Which

It Had Been Dug, And With The Lower Wheels Sinking They Had To Hold Up

The Side Of The Vehicle.  Great Clods Clung To The Wheels; The Men,

Plodding At The Horses' Heads, Could Scarcely Pull Their Feet Out Of

The Mire, And They Were Thankful When They Left The Fences Behind And

Could Seek A Slightly Sounder Surface On The Grass.

 

Even Here, Progress Was Difficult.  The Stalks Were Tough And Tangled

And Mixed With Stiff, Dwarf Scrub, Which Grew In Some Spots Almost To

One's Waist.  There Were Little Rises, And Hollows Into Which The

Wagons Jolted Violently, And Here And There They Must Skirt A Bluff Or

Strike Back Into The Cut-Up Trail Which Traversed It.  Toward Noon They

Reached A Larger Wood, Where The Trees Crowded Thick Upon The Track.

When Edgar Floundered Into It, There Appeared To Be No Bottom.  Getting

Back To The Grass, He Surveyed The Scene With Strong Disgust; He Had

Not Quite Got Over His English Fastidiousness.

 

Leafless Branches Met Above The Trail, And Little Bays Strewn With

Volume 554 Chapter 23 (A Harmless Conspiracy) Pg 176

Trampled Brush Which Showed Where Somebody Had Tried To Force A Drier

Route, Indented The Ranks Of Slender Trunks.  Except For These, The

Strip Of Sloppy Black Gumbo Led Straight Through The Wood, Interspersed

With Gleaming Pools.  Having Seen Enough, Edgar Beckoned Grierson And

Climbed A Low Hillock.  The Bluff Was Narrow Where The Road Pierced It,

But It Was Long And The Ground Was Rough And Covered With A Smaller

Growth For Some Distance On Its Flanks.

 

"There's No Way Of Getting Round," He Said.  "I Suppose Six Horses

Ought To Haul One Wagon Through That Sloo."

 

"It Looks A Bit Doubtful," Grierson Objected.  "We Mightn't Be Able To

Pull Her Out If She Got In Very Deep.  We Could Dump Half The Load And

Come Back For It."

 

"And Make Four Journeys?  It's Not To Be Thought Of; Two's A Good Deal

Too Many."

 

They Yoked The Three Teams To The First Wagon, Which Promptly Sank A

Long Way Up Its High Wheels, And While The Men Waded Nearly Knee-Deep

At Their Heads, The Straining Horses Made Thirty Or Forty Yards.  Then

Edgar Sank Over The Top Of His Long Boots And The Hub Of One Wheel Got

Ominously Low.

 

"They've Done More Than One Could Have Expected; I Hate To Use The

Whip, But We Must Get Out Of This Before She Goes In Altogether," He

Said.

 

Grierson Nodded.  He Was Fond Of His Horses, Which Were Obviously

Distressed, And Flecked With Spume And Lather Where The Traces Chafed

Their Wet Flanks; But To Be Merciful Would Only Increase Their Task.

 

The Whip-Cracks Rang Out Like Pistol-Shots; And, Splashing, Snorting,

Struggling, Amid Showers Of Mire, They Drew The Wagon Out Of Its Sticky

Bed.  They Made Another Dozen Yards; And Then Grierson Turned The

Horses Into One Of The Embayments Where There Was Brush That Would

Support The Wheels.  Edgar Sat Down, Breathless, Upon A Fallen Trunk.

 

"People At Home Have Two Quite Unfounded Ideas About This Country," He

Said Disgustedly.  "The First Is That Money Is Easily Picked Up

Here--Which Doesn't Seem To Need Any Remark; The Second Is That They

Have Only To Send Over The Slackers And Slouchers To Reform Them.  In

My Opinion, A Few Doses Of This Kind Of Thing Would Be Enough To Fill

Them With A Horror Of Work."  He Replaced The Pipe He Had Taken Out.

"It's A Pity, Grierson, But We Can't Sit Here And Smoke."

 

They Went On And Nearly Capsized The Wagon In A Pool, The Bottom Of

Which Was Too Soft To Give Them Foothold While They Held Up The

Vehicle, But They Got Through It And One Or Two Others, And Presently

Came Out, Dripping From The Waist Down, On To The Drier Prairie.  Then

Edgar Turned And Viewed Their Track.

 

"It Won't Bear Much Looking At; We Had Better Unyoke," He Said.  "If

Anybody Had Told Me In England That I'd Ever Flounder Through A Place

Volume 554 Chapter 23 (A Harmless Conspiracy) Pg 177

Like That, I'd--"

 

He Paused, Seeking For Words To Express Himself Fittingly.

 

"You'd Have Called Him A Liar," Grierson Suggested.

 

"That Hardly Strikes Me As Strong Enough," Edgar Laughed.

 

They Had Spent Two Hours In The Bluff When They Brought The Last Load

Through, And Sitting Down In A Patch Of Scrub They Took Out Their

Lunch.  After A While Edgar Flung Off His Badly Splashed Hat And Jacket

And Lay Down In The Sunshine.

 

"The Thing's Done; The Pity Is It Must Be Done Again To-Morrow," He

Remarked, "In The Meanwhile, We'll Forget It; I'll Draw A Veil Over My

Feelings."

 

They Had Finished Lunch And Lighted Their Pipes When A Buggy Appeared

From Behind A Projecting Dump Of Trees And Soon Afterward Flora Grant

Pulled Up Her Horse Near By.  Edgar Rose And Stood Beside The Vehicle

Bareheaded, Looking Slender And Handsome In His Loose Yellow Shirt,

Duck Overalls, And Long Boots, Though The Marks Of The Journey Were

Freely Scattered About Him.  Flora Glanced At The Jaded Teams And The

Miry Wagons And Smiled At The Lad.  She Had A Good Idea Of The

Difficulties He Had Overcome.

 

"The Trail Must Have Been Pretty Bad," She Said.  "I Struck Off To The

East By The Creek, But I Don't Think You Could Get Through With A Load."

 

"It Was Quite Bad Enough," Edgar Assured Her.  Flora Looked Thoughtful.

 

"You Have Only Two Wagons; We Must Try To Send You Another, Though Our

Teams Are Busy.  Didn't You Say Mr. Lansing Would Be Back In A Day Or

Two?"

 

"I Did, But I Got A Note This Morning Saying He Thought He Had Better

Go On To Winnipeg, If I Could Get Along All Right.  I Told Him To Go

And Stop As Long As He Likes.  Considering The State Of The Trails, I

Thought That Was Wise."

 

Flora Smiled.  She Knew What He Meant, Since They Had Agreed That All

The Seed Must Be Hauled In Before His Comrade's Return.

 

"I'm Not Going To Thank You; It Would Be Difficult, And George Can Ride

Over And Do So When He Comes Home," Edgar Resumed.  "I Know He'll Be

Astonished When He Sees The Granary."

 

"If He Comes Only To Express His Gratitude, I'm Inclined To Believe My

Father Would Rather He Stayed At Home."

 

"I Can Believe It; But I've An Idea That Mr. Grant Is Not The Only

Person To Whom Thanks Are Due."

 

Flora Looked At Him Sharply, But She Made No Direct Answer.