Bindloss Harold
The Mistress of Bonaventure

CHAPTER XIV
THE BURNING OF GASPARD'S TRAIL

The hole in the roof of the sod-house had been insufficiently stopped, the green birch billets stored in a corner burned sulkily in the rusty stove, so that the earth-floored room was bitterly cold. Still, after tying my horse at one end of it, and partly burying myself in a heap of prairie hay, I managed to sink into a light slumber. I awakened feeling numbed all through, with the pain at the joints which results from sleeping insufficiently protected in a low temperature, and looked about me shivering. There was not a spark in the stove, the horse was stamping impatiently, and, when a sputtering match had shown me that it was after two in the morning, I rose stiffly. Anything appeared better than slowly freezing there, and I strode out into the night, leading the horse by the bridle.

A cold wind swept the prairie, and it was very dark; but, when we had covered a league or so, and the exercise had warmed me, a dull red glare appeared on the horizon. A grass fire was out of the question at that season, and it was evident that somebody's homestead was burning. I was in the saddle the next moment and riding fast towards the distant blaze. The frozen sod was rough, the night very black, and haste distinctly imprudent; but I pressed on recklessly, haunted by a fear that the scene of the conflagration was Bonaventure. Reaching the edge of a rise, I pulled the horse up with a sense of vast relief, for a struggling birch bluff gave me my bearings and made it plain that neither Haldane's homestead nor his daughter could be in peril.

Then it dawned on me that the fire was at Gaspard's Trail and I sat still a minute, irresolute. I had no doubt that the recent purchaser was merely acting for Lane, and I felt tempted to resume my journey; but curiosity, or the instinct which calls out each prairie settler when his neighbor's possessions are in jeopardy, was too strong for me, and I rode towards the blaze, but much more slowly. It was one thing to risk a broken limb when danger appeared to threaten Bonaventure, but quite another to do so for the sake of an unscrupulous adversary. It would have been well for me had I obeyed the first impulse which prompted me – and turned my back upon the fire.

An hour had passed before I reached the house which had once been mine, and, after tethering the horse in shelter of an unthreatened granary, I proceeded to look about me. Gaspard's Trail was clearly doomed. One end of the dwelling had fallen in. The logs, dried by the fierce summer, were blazing like a furnace, and a column of fire roared aloft into the blackness of the night. Showers of sparks drove down-wind, barns and stables were wrapped in smoke; but, although the blaze lighted up the space about them, there was nobody visible. This was in one respect not surprising, because the nearest homestead stood a long distance away, but, as the new owner had an assistant living with him, I wondered what had become of them. From the position of the doors and windows they could have had no difficulty in escaping, so, deciding that if the ostensible proprietor had deserted his property I was not called on to burn myself, I proceeded to prowl about the buildings in case he should be sheltering inside one of them.

Finally I ran up against him carrying an armful of tools out of a shed, and he dropped them at sight of me. "Hallo! Where did you spring from? Blamed hard luck, isn't it?" said he.

Niven, for that was his name, did not appear greatly disconcerted, or was able to face his loss with enviable tranquillity. He was a lanky, thin-faced man, with cunning eyes, and I did not like the way he looked at me.

"I was out on the prairie and saw the blaze. Where's your hired man; and is there nothing better worth saving than these?" I asked.

"I haven't seen Wilkins since he woke me up," was the answer. "He shouted that the place was burning, and he'd run the horses out of the stable and on to the prairie, while I hunted up odd valuables and dressed myself. He must have done it and ridden off to the nearest ranch for help, for I haven't seen him since. The fire had got too good a hold for us to put it out."

If I had hitherto entertained any doubts as to the ownership of Gaspard's Trail, the speaker's manner would have dissipated them. No man would, in the circumstances, have wasted time in speech had his own property been in danger; and the sight of the homestead, which I had spent the best years of my life in building, now burning without an effort being made to save it, filled me with indignation.

"You're the man who used to own this place, aren't you?" asked Niven, with a sidelong glance. "Should have thought you would have had enough of it; but you might as well help heave these things out, now you're here."

The question was innocent, if unnecessary, for I had spoken to him at the sale; but the manner in which he put it made me long to assault him, and I answered wrathfully: "I'll see you and your master burned before I move a hand!"

"I'm my own master, worse luck!" said the other coolly, before he commenced to gather up his load; and then turned again as another man came up breathless.

"Is that you, Ormesby. Come to see the last of it?" he said; and I saw that the newcomer was Boone, or Adams, the photographer.

"I don't quite know what I came for," I answered. "Probably out of curiosity. It's too late to save anything, even if there were more water in the well than there used to be."

Boone nodded as he glanced towards the house. It was burning more fiercely than ever. The straw roof of the stable, which stood not far away, was also well alight, and we could scarcely hear each other's voices through the crackling of blazing logs and the roaring of the flame. It was moodily I watched it toss and tower, now straight aloft, now hurled earthwards by the wind in bewildering magnificence. After many a hard day's toil I had robbed myself of much needed sleep to fashion what the pitiless fire devoured, and it seemed as though I had given my blood to feed the flame, and that the hopes which had nerved me had dissipated like its smoke. "I can guess what you're feeling, but a bad failure is sometimes the best way to success. You will get over it," said Boone.

I was grateful, but I did not answer him, for just then a rattle of wheels broke through the roar of the conflagration, and two jolting wagons lurched into the glare. Black figures on horseback followed, and a breathless man ran up. "Trooper came round and warned us, and there's more behind. Looks as if we'd come too late," he said.

We formed the center of an excited group in a few more minutes, for Niven had joined us, and, when he had answered some of the many questions, he asked one in turn. "It was my man Wilkins warned you?"

"I guess not," was the answer. "Trooper Chapleau saw the blaze on his rounds"; and, when the others had stated how the news had been passed on to them, the new owner said: "Then where in the name of thunder has the fool gone?"

A swift suspicion flashed upon me, and I glanced at Adams; but his face was serene enough, and, when the question remained unanswered, another thought struck me. "Did you see him lead the horses out?" I asked.

"No," was the answer. "He was good at handling beasts, and I was way too busy to worry about him. Must have done it long ago. I made sure he'd lit out to ask for assistance, when I saw the door had swung to."

I twisted round on my heel. "Who's coming with me to the stable, boys?" I asked.

The men looked at me and then at the fire. The stable was built of the stoutest logs obtainable, packed with sod, and its roof of branches, sod, and straw piled several feet thick to keep out the frost. A wind-driven blaze eddied about one end of it, but the rest of the low edifice appeared uninjured as far as we could see it through the smoke. The glare beat upon the weather-darkened faces of the spectators, which glowed like burnished copper under it; but, if devoid of malicious satisfaction, I thought I could read a resolve not to interfere stamped on most of them.

"There's nothing of yours inside, and this fellow says the teams are clear," said one. "A bigger fire wouldn't stop us if the place was Ormesby's; but when the man who allows he owns it does nothing I'll not stir a finger to pull out a few forks and pails for that black thief Lane."

His comrades nodded, and another man said: "It's justice. Boys, you'll remember the night we brought Redmond home?"

I knew the first speaker's statement was true enough. One and all would have freely risked their lives to assist even a stranger who had dealt fairly with them; but they were stubborn men, unused to oppression, and recent events had roused all the slow vindictiveness that lurked within them. I felt very much as they did; but, remembering something, I was not quite certain that the teams were out of the stable, and the dumb beasts had served me well. Before I could speak a police trooper came up at a gallop. "Hallo! What are you gaping at? Can't you stir around and pull anything clear of harm's way, boys?" he shouted.

"We're not a Montreal fire brigade, and I forgot my big helmet," said one.

"Not a stir," interjected another.

"We'd pull the very sod up off the corral if you'd run Lane in for wholesale robbery," added a third; and it was not until the hoarse laugh which followed died away that I found my opportunity.

"I'm afraid the horses are inside there, boys," I said. "It's not their fault they belong to Lane, and whether you come along or not, I'm going to liberate them."

There was a change in a moment. I never saw even the most unfortunate settler ill-use his beast, though all young plow oxen and half-broken broncos, besides a good many old ones, are sufficiently exasperating. "Ormesby's talking now," said somebody; and there was an approving chorus. "Get the poor brutes clear, anyway. Coming right along!" Then I started for the stable at a run, with the rest of the company hard behind me.

Thick smoke rolled between us and the door, and when we halted just clear of the worst of it a bright blaze shot up from the thatch. The heat scorched our faces, and one or two fell back with heads averted; but the sound of a confused trampling reached us from the building. "We've got to get in before the poor brutes are roasted, and do it mighty smartly," said somebody.

That at least was evident; but the question how it was to be accomplished remained, for I recoiled, blinded and choking, at the first attempt, before I even reached the door. I had framed it, with my own hands, of stout tenoned logs, so that it would fit tightly to keep out the frost. One of the posts loosened by the fire had settled, apparently since the last person entered the building. Another man went with me the second time, but though we managed to reach the handle the door remained immovable, and once more we reeled back beaten, when a strip of blazing thatch fell almost on our heads. Because the roof fed it, the fire was mostly on the outside of the building.

"Solid as a rock," gasped my companion. "Say, somebody find a lariat and we'll heave her out by the roots."

A rope was found and with difficulty hitched about the handle, after which a dozen strong men grasped the slack of it. A glance at their faces, illumined by the glare, showed that the thought of the suffering beasts had roused them, and they were in earnest now. There was a heave of brawny shoulders, a straining of sinewy limbs, and the line of bodies swayed backwards as one, when a voice rose: "All together! Heave your best!"

I felt the straining hemp contract within my grasp. Trampling feet clawed for a firmer hold on the frozen sod, and I could hear the men behind me panting heavily. The door remained fast, however, and again a breathless voice encouraged us: "This time does it! Out she comes!"

The rope creaked, the trampling increased, and a man behind kicked me cruelly on the ankle during his efforts; but instead of the jammed door, its handle came out, and the next moment we went down together in one struggling heap. "There was a good birch log by the granary. We'll use it for a ram," I gasped.

Two men brought the log, which was unusually long and heavy for that region, where the stoutest trees are small, and Boone and I staggered with the butt of it into the smoke. The rest grasped the thinner end, swung it back, and drove the other forward with all the impetus they could furnish. The door creaked, but the most manifest result was the fall of a further strip of burning thatch on us.

"We must manage this time," spluttered Boone. "If we once let go it will be too late before anyone else takes hold again."

Once more the door defied us. The heat was almost stifling, the smoke thicker than ever; but, choking, panting, and dripping with perspiration, we managed to swing and guide the end of the log until the battered frame went down with a crash, and we two reeled over it into the building. The fire which traveled along the roof had eaten a portion out, but though one strip of the interior was flooded with lurid light, the smoke of a burning hay pile rolled about the rest. A horse was squealing in agony; one stall partition had been wrenched away, and another kicked to pieces; while two panic-stricken brutes blundered about the building. The rest were plunging and straining at their tethers, and there was a curious look in Boone's face as he turned to me.

"Somebody will risk being kicked to death before we get them out. I wish we could give their owner the first chance," he said.

Several of the agonized beasts had been in times of loneliness almost as human friends to me. Others had, in their own dumb faithful way, helped me to realize my first ambitions, and the sight of their suffering turned me savage. "Do you know anything of this?" I asked.

Boone wheeled around on me with a menace in his eyes, but apparently mastering his temper with an effort, laughed unpleasantly. "No. Take care you are not asked the same question. Are you disposed to let the horses roast while we quarrel?"

The latter, at least, was out of the question, and I had only paused to gather breath and consider a plan of operations, for it is by no means easy to extricate frantic beasts from a burning building. The others in the meantime were gathering around, and we set about it as best we could. At times thick smoke wreaths blew into our eyes, the heat grew insupportable, and the first horse I freed would have seized me with its teeth but that I smote it hard upon the nostrils. Two men were knocked down and trampled on, another badly kicked, but amid an indescribable confusion the task was accomplished, until only one badly burned horse, and another with a broken leg, remained inside the building.

"We can't leave them to grill," I said. "Thorn used to keep an old shotgun inside the chop-chest lid."

It was Boone who brought me the weapon, and the burned horse was quickly put out of its misery; but a portion of the roof fell in as I ran towards the other. This one lay still, and, I saw, recognized me. It had carried me gallantly on many a weary ride, and was the one on which Lucille Haldane had leaped across the fence. I felt like a murderer when it turned its eyes on me with an almost human appeal, for all that I could do was to press the deadly muzzle against its head. The shock of the detonation shook down a shower of blazing fragments, and I had turned away with a horrible sense of guilt, when somebody shouted, "There's a man in the end stall!"

The stall was hidden by the smoke, but, now that the emptied stable was quieter, a voice reached us faintly through the vapor: "Won't anyone take me out of this?"

Several of us made a rush in that direction; but, so far as memory serves, only Boone and I reached the stall, and, groping around it blindly, came upon something which resembled a human form. We lifted it between us, and the man both groaned and swore; then, staggering through the vapor, we came, blackened, burned a little, and half-asphyxiated, into the open. The rest were already outside, and, when we laid down our burden, they stood about him, panting.

"You've nearly killed me between you, boys, but it wasn't your fault," he gasped. "Horse fell over me when I tried to turn him loose." The half-articulate words which followed suspiciously suggested that the sufferer was cursing somebody, and I caught the name of Lane before he lapsed into semi-consciousness.

"It's pretty simple," one of the onlookers said. "The way Ormesby fixed that door, it shut itself. He got some bones smashed, and was turned half-silly by the shock. Couldn't make us hear him even if he had sense enough. My place is the nearest, and I'll take him along."

I heard my name called softly, and saw Boone standing apart from the rest. "I want to ask why you spoke as you did a little while ago?" he said.

"I did not stop to reflect just then, but I'll hear your explanation if you care to volunteer one before I apologize," I said.

"I was camped under a bluff with the wagon when I saw the blaze, and as the distance was not great, I came in on foot," was the answer. "That is the simple truth. Do you believe it?"

"Yes," I said, for his manner impressed me. "In turn, you also hinted something."

"I was giving you a warning," said Boone. "You are dealing with a dangerous man, and can't you see that if there is any doubt concerning the fire's origin a charge might be worked up against you? Be careful what you say; but as I see the sergeant yonder, you need not mention my presence unless it is necessary."

I alluded to Haldane's desire to see him, and, when he vanished, followed the rest into the presence of Sergeant Mackay, who, ubiquitous as usual, had mysteriously appeared. He sat motionless in his saddle, with slightly compressed lips, though his keen eyes moved along the encircling faces. It was evident that he was making an official inquiry, and the owner of the homestead was speaking.

"My name is Niven, late of the Brandon district, and I purchased this property recently," he said.

"Any partners?" asked the sergeant; and I noticed a gleam of what appeared malicious satisfaction in the other's face as he answered: "No. You will find my name recorded as sole owner. All was right when I turned in about ten o'clock, but I didn't notice the time when my hired man Wilkins roused me to say the house was burning. Had too much to think about. Can't suggest any cause for the fire, and it doesn't count much, anyway, for the result is certain. House and stable burned out – and all uninsured."

"Had ye any other hired man than Wilkins?" interposed the sergeant; and Niven answered: "No. Stable didn't seem to be burning when I first got up, but Wilkins said it was swept by sparks and he'd get the horses out. One of them must have knocked him down, and he was only found at the last minute."

"Who was the first man ye met when ye went out?" asked the sergeant.

"My predecessor – Ormesby," said Niven.

Mackay appeared to meditate before he spoke again: "Where did ye meet him, and what did he say?"

"Slipping around the corner of a shed, and he said he'd see me burnt before he stirred a hand to help," was the prompt answer. Then Mackay questioned several others before he turned to me.

"How did ye happen to come to Gaspard's Trail, Henry Ormesby?"

"I was riding out from Bonaventure to intercept the freighter and saw the blaze," I answered indignantly. "I certainly refused to help Niven at first, for I had little cause for goodwill towards him or the man behind him; but afterwards I saved most of his working beasts."

There was a murmur of assent from the bystanders, but the sergeant, disregarding it, spoke again: "Did ye meet the freighter?"

"No," I said bluntly.

Mackay smiled. "Ye did not. I passed him an hour gone by on the Buffalo trail. What was your business with him?"

"To ask him for a package."

"All that should be easily corroborated," was the answer; and I was glad that the examination was over, for, remembering Boone's warning, it appeared that my answers might give rise to unpleasant suspicions. It also struck me that, in the hurry and confusion, nobody had noticed him or remembered it if they had done so, while, somewhat strange to say, after the last brief interview I had full confidence in his statement that he knew nothing about the origin of the fire.

"I'm thinking that will do in the meantime. Chapleau, ye'll ride in to the depot and wire for a surgeon. Now, boys, are any of ye willing to take Niven home?" asked Mackay.

Apparently none of them were willing, though at last two offers were reluctantly made. It was the only time I ever saw the prairie settlers deficient in hospitality; but the man's conduct had confirmed their suspicions as to his connection with Lane, which was sufficient to prejudice the most generous. "Maybe he would be comfortable if I took him along with me," Mackay said dryly.

Thereupon the assembly broke up, and I rode back to Bonaventure, reaching it with the first of the daylight, blackened and singed, while, as it happened, Lucille Haldane was the first person I met. "Where have you been? Your clothes are all burned!" she said.

"Gaspard's Trail is burned down and I helped to save some of the horses," I answered wearily; and I never forgot the girl's first startled look. She appeared struck with a sudden consternation. It vanished in a moment, and, though she looked almost guilty, her answer was reassuring.

"Of course; that is just what you would do. But you are tired and must rest before you tell me about it."

I was very tired, and slept until noon, when I told my story to Haldane and his daughter together. The former made very few comments, but presently I came upon Lucille alone, and laid my hand on her shoulder as I said: "Do you know that somebody suggested it was I who burned Gaspard's Trail?"

The girl's color came and went under my gaze; then she lifted her head and met it directly. "I – I was afraid you might be suspected, and for just a moment or two, when you first came in looking like a ghost, I did not know what to think," she said. "But it was only because you startled me so."

"I would not like to think that you could believe evil against me," I said; and Lucille drew herself up a little. "Do not be ungenerous. As soon as I could reason clearly I knew it was quite – quite impossible."

"I hope any work of that kind is," I said; and Lucille Haldane, turning suddenly, left me.