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The girl made a sharp ejaculation. But she did not attempt to interrupt him.
“I can prove that I was not within three hundred miles of this place on the day of Leslie’s death,” the man went on. “That I was in a city to the west of here distributing”––bitterly––“my wares. I can prove all this––to you. And I intend that before you leave me to-day you shall be a witness to my innocence, even against all prejudice. But before judge and jury it will be different––very different.” He sighed. “There I cannot prove my innocence, for to do so would be to betray my comrades––those who have traded with me and trusted me––and send them to the penal servitude which also awaits me.” His eyes had become reflective. He seemed to be talking to himself now rather than to the woman before him. “No, I cannot save myself at such a cost. Even to escape the gallows I will not play the part of Judas.”
The woman made no reply. She stood staring at him with all that was best in her shining in her eyes. She was trying to follow his every word and to take his meaning, and the one thought which dominated her whole mind was his expressed ability to prove his innocence to her.
He seemed to awake from some melancholy reverie, and again his eyes sought hers.
“Do you wish me to prove my innocence?”
“Yes; you must––you shall!”
The girl moved from the table; and, for the first time during the interview, her hand was removed from the pocket in her skirt. Hope filled the heart in which but now the fires of hell had seemed to burn.296She drank in his words with a soul-consuming thirst The proof! That was what she required.
Iredale went on with grave gentleness.
“The proof is in here.” He moved to the bookcase and opened a secret recess in the back of it, “In this cupboard.”
He produced a pile of books and brought them to the table. Picking out one he opened it at the date of Grey’s death. It was a diary. He read out the entries for the entire week, all of which bore out his testimony. Every one was dated at a different town or village, and related to his sales of opium. He then opened another book and showed the entries of his sales and the figures. He went through the whole pile, book after book, and all of them bore out his statement as to his whereabouts. Then he produced several contracts; these were deeds between himself and various traders, and were dated at the towns at which they were signed. Each book and paper he passed on to Prudence for her scrutiny, drawing her attention to the corroboration in the evidence. There could be no doubt as to the genuineness of these facts, and the girl’s last shadowy doubts of his innocence evaporated before the overwhelming detail. The hope which had filled her heart was now replaced by a triumphant joy. This man had shown her, had convinced her, and she wanted nothing more at that moment.
She looked up into his face, hoping to see a reflection of her own happiness in it. But there was no happiness there. His face was calm, but the melancholy had deepened in his eyes. What she saw came like an icy douche to her, and the happy297expression died upon her lips. She suddenly remembered that he had said he could not use this evidence to publicly declare his innocence.
“But–––” she began.
He shook his head. He knew that she wished to protest. For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes. Then the woman, the weaker, broke down under the strain. Tears came to her eyes, and she poured out all the pent-up grief of her hours of misery.
“Oh, George,” she cried, “can you ever forgive my wickedness? I ought never to have believed. My heart told me that you were innocent; but the evidence––oh, the evidence. I could see no loophole. Everything pointed to you––you. And I, wretch that I am, I believed.” And the girl sobbed as though her heart would break. Iredale made no attempt to soothe her; he felt that it would be good for her to weep. She leant against the table, and after a while her sobs quietened. Then the man touched her upon the shoulder.
“Don’t cry, Prue; my heart bleeds for you when I listen to your sobs. You’re not to blame for believing me guilty. Twelve jurymen will shortly do the same, and who can blame them?” He shrugged. “I must face the ‘music’ and take my chance. And now, child,” he added, his hand still resting upon her shoulder, and smiling down upon her from his superior height, “give me that which you have concealed in your pocket. We will throw it away.”
Prudence sprang up and moved beyond his reach.
“No, no! I can’t! Don’t ask me. Spare me the shame of it. As you love me, George, don’t ask me for it.”
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“As you will, dear; I merely wished to rid ourselves of an ugly presence. While we are together––and it may not be for long now––nothing should come between us, least of all that.”
The girl’s tears had dried. She looked over at her lover. His compelling influence was upon her. She paused irresolute; then she plunged her hand into her pocket and drew forth a large revolver.
“Here, take it. Take it, and do what you like with it” Then she laughed bitterly. “You know me as I am now. I brought that to shoot you with, and afterwards to shoot myself. You see, I am a murderess at heart.” And she smiled bitterly.
Iredale took the weapon and placed it in his bookcase. Then he came to the girl’s side and put his arm tenderly about her shoulders.
“Forget it, child; forget it as you would a hideous dream. Your feelings were forced upon you by––well, through my wretched doings. That which I have done to gain wealth has brought only what might have been expected in its train. No work of evil is without its sting, and, as is always the case, that sting seeks out the most sensitive part of its victim. The chastisement for my wrongdoing has been inflicted with cruel cunning, for you, Prue, have been made to suffer; thus is my punishment a hundredfold greater.”
He drew her to him as he spoke, and gently smoothed her dark hair. Under the influence of his touch and the sound of his voice, the girl calmed. She nestled close to his side, and for a moment abandoned herself to the delight of being with him. But her thoughts would not remain idle for long.299Suddenly she released herself and moved to arm’s length from him.
“George,” she said, in a tone of suppressed eagerness, “they cannot try you for––for murder. You will tell them. You will show them all––these. For my sake, for the sake of all your friends, you will not let them––condemn you. Oh, you can’t allow it. Think,” she went on, more passionately; “no men would willingly let you be declared guilty when they know you to be innocent. It must not be.”
Iredale gave no outward sign. He had turned his face away and was gazing in the direction of the window. His reflective eyes looked out upon the valley, but his resolve was written plainly in them.
“Do not tempt me, Prue,” he said quietly. “Were I to do otherwise than I have resolved, and obtained an acquittal thereby, I should live a life of utter regret. I should despise myself; I should loathe my own shadow. Nothing could be more revolting to me than the man who plays the part of a traitor, and were I that man life would be impossible to me. Think of it only for one moment, sweetheart, and your own good heart will tell you how impossible is that which you ask me to do. It cannot be. All the world would despise me. But even so, its utmost execration would be nothing compared with my own feelings at the thought that I had saved myself by such methods.” He withdrew his hand from her embrace. “No, when the time comes and I am forced to stand my trial for Grey’s murder, I shall face it. Nor shall I betray my friends by one single word. And, too, when that time comes there will not remain one single trace of the traffic which has300hitherto been part of my very existence. There shall be no possible chance of discovery for those who have trusted me. Your brother Hervey will never hold his hand. I know that. I realized that when he left me after seeking ‘blackmail.’ His vindictive nature will see this through. And perhaps I would rather have it so. It will then be settled once and for all. I may get off, but I fear that it will be otherwise.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, Prudence started, and the blood receded from her anxious face, leaving it ghastly in its pallor. She had forgotten that he was even now on his way to Winnipeg for the express purpose of denouncing Iredale. For one instant she shook like an aspen. Then she recovered herself. What was to be done? She tried to think. This matter of Hervey was of her doing. She had driven him to it; urged him to it. Now she realized the full horror of what her foolish credulity had led her into. It had been in her power to stay his hand, at least to draw his fangs. Now it was too late. Suddenly she turned upon her lover in one final appeal. At that moment it seemed the only chance of saving him.
“George, there is a way out of it all; one last resource if you will only listen to me. You love me even in spite of the way I have wronged you. You belong to me if only by reason of our love. You have no right to throw your life away when you are innocent. God knows I honour you for your decision not to betray your companions. If it were possible, I love you more than ever. But the sin would be as great to throw your life away for such a shadow as it would be to deliver your friends up to justice. You301can save yourself; you must. The border is near. We are right on it. Surely the way you have brought the Chinese into the country should provide an exit for us. Oh, my poor love, will you not listen to me? Will you not give me the life I crave? George, let us go––together.”
Her words came passionately. She had stepped forward and placed her two brown hands upon his great shoulders, and her dark, earnest eyes gazed lovingly up into his.
The temptation was a sore one, and the man found it hard to resist. He experienced a sudden rush of blood to the brain. His body seemed to be on fire. He was pulsating with a mad passion. The thought of what she suggested came near to overthrowing his sternest resolve. To go with her. To have her evermore by his side. The thought was maddening. Surely he had never realized until that moment how dearly he loved this woman. But his strong nature came to his rescue in time. The passion had died down as swiftly as it had risen and left him cold and collected.
He gazed down into the brown eyes ever so kindly, ever so lovingly; and his answer came in a tone so gentle that the girl felt that whatever the future might hold for them, this moment had been worth living for.
“No, no, sweetheart. Not flight, even though you would be my companion. We love one another dearly, and for that very fact I could never allow myself to remain under this cloud. At all costs we will have the matter cleared. I owe it to you, to those at the farm, and to myself.”
The girl’s hands dropped to her sides and she turned302away. Then all the agony of her soul found vent in one exclamation.
“Oh, God!” she cried. And with that last cry came the revealing flash which answered the question she had so repeatedly asked herself. She turned back to her lover, and the agonized expression of her face had changed, and in her eyes was the eager light of excitement. Iredale saw the change, but did not recognize its meaning. He felt that she must no longer remain there.
“Child, I want you to go back to the farm and tell them of the accusation that has been brought against me. Tell them all the circumstances of it. Tell them that I have clearly convinced you of my innocence; but, as you love me, I charge you not to reveal the manner in which it was done. Tell your mother that I shall come over to-morrow, and she shall hear the whole story from my own lips. I wish to do this that she may hear my version before she reads of what must happen in the papers. After that I shall go into Winnipeg and set the law in motion. I will clear myself or––otherwise. But on your honour you must promise that all I have shown you to-day remains a secret between us.”
Prudence listened intently to all he said, but a quiet look of resolve slowly crept into her eyes.
“I promise,” she said, and Iredale thanked her with a look.
There was the briefest of pauses; then she went on––
“On one condition.”
“What do you mean?”
Iredale looked his surprise.
“Now you must hear me, George,” she went on303eagerly. “You have charged me with this thing. You must abide by my time. A day more or less can make little difference to you.”
“But I wish to give myself up before others can make the charge.”
“Just so. And in the meantime I want your promise not to come to the farm until the”––she paused to make a swift mental calculation––“day after to-morrow at four o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Tell me your reason.”
“That is my own.” The girl was smiling now. Then she again became excited. “Promise, promise, promise! There is no time to lose. Even now I fear we are too late.”
Iredale looked dubiously at her. Suddenly he saw her face darken.
“Promise!” she demanded almost fiercely, “or I will not abide by my promise to you.”
“I promise.”
An expression of relief came into Prudence’s eyes, and she stepped towards him and looked up into his face.
“Good-bye, George, dearest.”
The man suddenly clasped her in a bear-like embrace and rained passionate, burning kisses on her upturned lips. Then quietly she released herself. She stood away from him holding one of his great hands in both of hers.
“Quick! Now my horse.”
Iredale departed, and Prudence was left alone. She stood looking after him thinking, thinking.
“Can I do it?” she asked herself.
Damside City was the nearest telegraph station. It lay nearly thirty-five miles due west of Owl Hoot304It was merely a grain station for the district and in no sense a village. She must make that point and so intercept Hervey with a telegraphic message. It was her one chance. In spite of her lover she would buy Hervey’s silence, and trust to the future to set the rest straight. She was strong and her horse was good. She must reach the office before it was closed at six o’clock that evening. She calculated it up; she had just three hours in which to cover the distance. She looked out of the window. The wind was blowing from the east; that was good, it would ease the horse. She looked up at the sky, there were a few clouds scudding westwards.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” she said at last, “if it kills poor Kitty.”
A moment later Iredale returned with the mare. The girl waited not a second. Her lover assisted her into the saddle reluctantly. He did not approve this sudden activity on the part of the girl. When she had settled herself she bent down, and their lips met in one long, passionate kiss.
“Good-bye, George.”
The man waved his adieu. His heart was too full to speak. She swung her mare round and galloped down the valley to the north. Her object was to clear the valley and then turn off to the west on the almost disused trail to Damside.
Iredale looked after her until the sound of the mare’s hoofs died away in the distance. He was filled with wonder at her strange request and her hurried departure. But his speculations brought him to no definite conclusions, and he turned abruptly and called to his man, Chintz.
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The man hurried from the stable.
“We have been a little delayed. Is everything ready?” Iredale looked up at the sky, then down at the grizzled face before him.
Chintz nodded.
“Good. Then get to work. Start the first fire directly beyond the graveyard to the east. The wind is getting up steadily. You are sure there are no farms to the west of us, between here and Rosy River?”
The man gave a negative shake of the head.
“That’s all right then. There will be no damage done. And the river will cut the fire off. This time to-morrow we shall be homeless wanderers, Chintz––you and I.” And the smuggler laughed bitterly.
Then his laugh died out.
“Well, to work. Set the fires going.”
306CHAPTER XVIIITHE FOREST DEMON PURSUES
Prudence swung her mare out on to the overgrown trail to Damside City. Kitty was a trim-built little “broncho,” compact, well-ribbed, and with powerful shoulders and chest. She was just the animal to “stay” and travel fast. The road cut through the heart of the Owl Hoot bush, and ran in a diagonal direction, south-west towards the border. Then it converged with the border trail which skirted the great southern muskeg, and, passing through a broken, stony country, went on to Damside.
The wind was rapidly freshening, and the scudding clouds were quickly changing from white to grey, which, to the girl’s practised mind, indicated an immediate change of weather. But she thought little of the matter beyond being thankful that the wind was well behind her, she wished to travel fast, and a “fair” wind is as necessary to the horseman, under such circumstances, as it is to the mariner.
For a time the roughness of the road required her attention. Kitty was surefooted, but the outstanding roots with which her path was lined needed careful negotiation. Presently the trail became wider and its surface more even, and signs of recent usage became307apparent. The roots were worn down and the projecting stones had been removed. Neither did it take the girl long to decide whose servants had done these things. On this obscure trail were to be seen many signs of the traffic upon which the owner of Lonely Ranch had been engaged. Now Prudence gave Kitty her head, and the mare travelled at a great pace.
The breeze had chastened the laden air of the pine world. The redolent woods no longer scented the air, which had in consequence become fresh and bracing. For the moment the emergency of her journey had dulled the girl’s sensibilities to her surroundings. She looked out upon the beautiful tinted world, but she heeded nothing of what her eyes beheld. Her mind was set upon the object of her journey, and her thoughts were centred round the players in the drama of her life.
How different her life seemed to have suddenly become from that which she had contemplated that morning. A great triumphant joy was with her since her lover had established his innocence to her. Her troubles and anxieties were still many, and the least thing might upset every hope she entertained, but there was always with her the remembrance that George Iredale was innocent, and in that thought she felt a wonderful security. That he was a smuggler was a matter of insignificance. She loved him too well to let such knowledge narrow her estimation of him. She was too essentially of the prairie to consider so trifling a matter. Half the farmers in the country were in the habit of breaking the Customs regulations by cutting wood and hay on Government308lands without a permit, and even hauling these things from across the border when such a course suited them, and in every case it was “contraband”; but they were thought no less of by their friends. Iredale was no worse than they, in spite of the fact that his offence carried with it a vastly heavier sentence.
But for the dread that she might be too late to intercept her brother, Prudence would almost have been happy as she raced along that westward-bound trail. She knew her brother’s nature well. She knew that he was vindictive, and no doubt her own treatment of him had roused his ire and all the lower instincts of his malignant nature; but she also knew that he loved money––needed money. His greed for gold was a gluttonous madness which he was incapable of resisting, and he would sacrifice any personal feeling provided the inducement were sufficiently large. She meant that the inducement should be as large as even he could wish, and she knew that in this direction his ideas were extensive. Her one trouble, the one thought which alarmed her, was the question of time. If the office were closed when she arrived, her journey would have been in vain, for the operator lived in Ainsley and would have gone home; Hervey would have arrived in Winnipeg, and, by the time the office opened the following morning, the mischief would have been done.
She flicked her mare with the end of her reins and touched her flank with her heel. Kitty responded with a forward bound. The increased speed was all too slow for the rapid thought and deadly anxiety of the girl, but she was too good a horsewoman to press the willing beast beyond a rational gait.
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The hardy mare “propped” jerkily as she passed down the sharp side of a dried-out slough. She plunged through a thicket of long grass, and a grey cloud of mosquitoes rose and enveloped horse and rider. The vicious insects settled like a grey cloth upon the heated mare, and Prudence’s soft flesh was punctured by hundreds of venomous needles at once. The girl swept the insects from neck and face, heedless of the torturing stings. The mare fretted and raced up the opposite slope, while the girl leant forward in her saddle and sought to relieve the staunch little creature’s agony by sweeping the poisonous insects from her steaming coat.
The mare pressed on. Suddenly she threw up her head and snorted violently. Prudence was startled. Something had distracted Kitty’s attention, and her wide-set ears were cocked in alarm. Her nose was held high, and again and again she snorted. In consequence her pace was slackened and became awkward. She no longer kept a straight line along the trail, but moved from side to side in evident agitation. Prudence was puzzled and endeavoured to steady the creature. But Kitty was not to be easily appeased. She rattled her bit and mouthed it determinedly, grabbing at the side-bar with an evident desire to secure it in her teeth. The girl kept a tight rein and attempted to soothe her with the tender caress of her hand; but her efforts were unavailing. The ears were now turned backwards, and had assumed that curiously vicious inclination which in a horse is indicative of bad temper or equine terror. Kitty had no vice in her, and Prudence quickly understood the nature of her mare’s feelings.
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The failure of her soothing efforts alarmed the girl. She sat up and looked about her. In the dense forest there seemed to be no unusual appearance. The trees were waving and bending in the wind, and their groanings had a sadly mournful effect, upon the scene, but otherwise there was nothing strange to be observed. The sky had assumed a leaden hue, and in this direction the prospect was not alluring, but the clouds were fairly high and there was no suggestion of immediate storm.
Suddenly a couple of jack-rabbits darted across the road. The mare “propped,” reared, and swung round towards the trees. Prudence brought her up to her work sharply. Then she saw that the rabbits were racing on ahead, down the trail. For the moment her patience gave way, and she dug her heel hard against Kitty’s side and the mare plunged forward. But her gait remained unsteady, and in her agitation she kept changing her stride, and once even tripped and nearly fell.
A coyote followed by his mate and two young ones ran out on to the trail and raced along ahead of her. They did not even turn their heads to look at her. Further on a great timber-wolf appeared and trotted along the edge of the woods, every now and then turning its head furtively to glance back.
Then quite suddenly Prudence became conscious of something unusual. She raised her face to the grey vault of the sky and sniffed at the air. A pungent scent was borne upon the wind. The odour of resinous wood, so strong as to be sickly, came to her, and its pungency was not the ordinary scent of the forest about her.
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Half-a-dozen kit-foxes dashed out on to the trail and joined in the race, and the “yowl” of the prairie dog warned her that other animals were about. The resinous odour grew stronger every moment, and at last Prudence detected the smell of smoke. She turned her head and looked back; and behind her, directly in her wake, she saw a thin grey haze which the wind was sweeping along above the trees.
She drew her mare up to a stand, and as she sat looking back, a deadly fear crept into her eyes. Kitty resented the delay and reared and plunged in protest The restraint maddened her. And all the time the girl saw that the smoke haze was thickening, and some strange distant sounds like the discharge of heavy ordnance reached her.
The sweet oval face wore a strained expression; her eyes were wide open and staring, and the fear which looked out of them was fear of no ordinary danger. She watched the dull haze as it thickened and rolled on towards her. She saw it rise like great steam-jets and wreath itself upwards as fresh volumes displayed the lower strata. She saw the dull brown tint creep into it as it densified, and she knew thatit was smoke. The rest needed no explanation beyond the evidence of her senses. The sickly resinous smell told her what had happened. The forest was on fire!
The thought found vent in a muttered exclamation. Then came an afterthought––
“And the wind is blowing it straight along behind me.”
For a moment she gazed about her wildly. She looked to the right and left The forest walls were impassable. She looked back along the trail. The312narrow ribbon-like space was filled with a fog of smoke which was even now enveloping her. What should she do? There was nothing for it but to go on. But the fire must be travelling apace in the high wind. Still she stood. It seemed as though for the moment her faculties were paralyzed with the horror of her discovery.
But at last she was moved to action. The mare became troublesome. The girl could no longer keep her still. The distracted animal humped her back and began to show signs of “bucking.” Then came a rush of animals along the trail; they came racing for dear life, and their numbers were augmented from the wooded depths which lined their route.
Antelope led the way; with heads thrown up and antlers pressed low down upon their backs they seemed to fly over the sandy soil. Then came the “loping” dogs, coyotes, prairie wolves. Birds of all sorts assembled in one long continuous flight. The animal kingdom of that region of forest seemed to have become united in their mutual terror––wolf and hare, coyote and jack-rabbit, hawks and blackbird, prairie chicken and grey-owl; all sworn enemies in time of calm prosperity, but now, in their terror, companions to the last. And all the time, in the growing twilight of smoke, came the distant booming as of the discharge of great cannon.
The girl leaned forward. She clapped her heel hard against the mare’s side, and with a silent prayer joined in the race for life.
She had no exact knowledge of how far these woods extended, or where the break would come which should cut off the fire. The wild beasts were speeding on313down the trail, and, with the instinct of her prairie world, she reasoned that in this direction alone must lie safety.
The smoke grew denser and more choking. Her eyes became sore. Under her she felt the mare stretching herself to the utmost of her gait. She came up with many of the racing denizens of the forest, but they did not attempt to move off the trail at her approach. They were beyond the fear of human presence. A more terrible enemy was behind them, pursuing with gigantic strides which demolished space with incredible swiftness.
Every moment the air grew hotter in spite of the mare’s best efforts, and Prudence knew that the fire was gaining. Hill or dale made no difference now. It must be on––on, or the devouring monster would be upon them. Kitty never flagged, and with increasing speed her footing became even more sure. A loose line, with body bent well forward to ease the animal, Prudence did all she knew to assist her willing companion; but for every stride the faithful mare took, she knew that the fire was gaining many yards.
The booming had increased to a steady roar, in the midst of which the deep, thunderous detonations came like the peals of a raging storm; the wind rushed headlong forward, the fire bringing with it an almost cyclonic sweep of heated air. The mighty forest giants about her bent like reeds under the terrible force, and shrieked aloud their fears at the coming of the devouring demon.
The mare rushed down into a wide hollow. A culvert bridged a reedy slough. The affrighted beast raced across it. The stream of the animal world314swept on about her. She breasted the steep ascent opposite, and Prudence was forced to draw rein. She dared not allow the horse to race up such an incline, even though the fire were within a quarter of a mile of her; she would have been mad to exhaust the faithful creature, which was now her only hope. Even the poor forest creatures, mad as they were with terror, slackened their gait.
At length the hilltop was gained, and a long descent confronted them. Kitty showed no signs of exhaustion yet, and faced her work amidst the rush of refugees with all her original zest. Down into the valley they tore, for the worst of all perils was in pursuit.
The valley stretched away far into the distance; ahead, here, in this hollow, the air was clearer. The hill had shut off the fog of smoke for the moment The refugees now had a smooth run, and a faint glimmer of hope gladdened the heart of the girl.
Without slackening her speed, she looked back at the hill, fearing to see the ruthless flames dart up over the path which her mare’s feet had so recently trodden. But the flames had not yet reached the brow, and she sighed her satisfaction. The smoke was pouring over the tree-tops, and, circling and rolling in a tangled mass, was creeping down in her wake, but as yet there were no flames. She looked this way and that at the dark green of the endless woods, the gracious fields of bending pines. She thought of the beauty which must so soon pass away, leaving behind it only the charred skeletons, the barren, leafless trunks, which for years would remain to mark the cruel path of flame.
Suddenly the roar, which had partly died away into315a vague distant murmur beyond the hill, burst out again with redoubled fury. Again she looked round, and the meaning was made plain to her. She saw the yellow fringe of flame as it came dancing, chaotic, a tattered ribbon of light upon the brow of the hill; she saw the dense pall of smoke hovering high above it like the threat of some dreadful doom. The black of the forest upon the summit remained for a second, then over swept the red-gold fire, absorbing all, devouring all, in an almost torrential rush down to the woods below.
And now she beheld a sea of living fire as the hills blazed before her eyes. It was as though the whole place had been lit at one touch. The sea rolled on with incredible swiftness, as the tongues of flame licked up the inflammable objects they encountered. The efforts of her mare became puerile in comparison with the fearful pace of the flames. How could she hope to outstrip such awful speed?
On, on raced the mare, and on came the molten torrent. Now the heat was intolerable. The girl leant limply over her faithful horse’s neck; she was dizzy and confused. Every blast of the wind burnt her more fiercely as the fire drew nearer. She felt how utterly hopeless were her horse’s efforts.
The mare faltered in her stride; it was her first trip. The girl shrieked wildly. She screamed at the top of her voice like one demented. Her nerves were failing, and hysteria gripped her. Kitty redoubled her efforts. The fear of the fire was aggravated by the girl’s wild cries, and she stretched herself as she had never done before.
Now it seemed as though they were racing in the316heart of a furnace. The whole country was in flames, and the roar and crashing of falling timber was incessant, and the yellow glow was everywhere––even ahead.
Blinded, dazed, the girl was borne on by the faithful Kitty. She no longer thought of what was so near behind her. What little reason was left to her she centred upon keeping her seat in the saddle. An awful faintness was upon her, and everything about her seemed distant.
Kitty alone fought out the battle of that ride; her mistress was beyond all but keeping upon the faithful animal’s back. Had she been less exhausted, the girl would have seen what the mare saw. She would have seen the broad stream of the Rosy river ahead, and less than a quarter of a mile away. But she saw nothing; she felt nothing; she cared for nothing but her hold upon the saddle. Thus it was that when she came to the riverside, and the mare plunged from the steep bank into the deep, quick-flowing stream, she knew not what had happened, but, with a strange tenacity, she held to the pummels of her saddle, while her loyal friend breasted the waters.
How they got out of the river Prudence never knew, nor did she fully realize all that had happened when at last the horse and rider again stood on firm ground. And the tough little broncho had covered another mile or more before the girl awoke to the fact that they were now in an open prairie country, and skirting the brink of the great southern muskeg. Then it all came back to her, and, as Kitty kept steadily on, she looked fearfully about her. She saw away in the distance the awful pall, the lurid gleam of the flames;317and a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving went up from that lonely trail for the merciful escape which had been hers. The girl leant over her mare’s shoulder and caressed the foaming neck.
“Good Kitty, faithful little mare,” she exclaimed emotionally. Then she looked ahead and she remembered all. “But on, girl, on. There is more to do yet.”
The telegraph operator at Damside was closing up his little shack. He had just disconnected his instrument and was standing in his doorway gazing out across the prairie to the east, watching the vast clouds of smoke belching from the direction of the woods. All about him was a heavy haze, and a nasty taste of smoke was in his mouth. He looked across to the only other buildings which formed the city of Damside, the grain elevator and the railway siding buildings. His own hut was close beside the latter. The men were leaving their work. Then presently he looked back in the direction of the distant fire.
“’Tain’t the prairie,” he muttered. “Too thick. Guess the woods are blazin’. That’s beyond the Rosy. Can’t cross there, so I reckon there’s no danger to us. The air do stink here; guess I’ll go and git my hand-car and vamoose.”
He turned back to the room and put on his hat. Just as he left his doorway to pass over to where his hand-car was standing on the railway track, he brought up to a halt A horse and rider were racing up the trail towards him.
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“Hullo, what’s this?” he exclaimed sharply. “Maybe itisthe prairie.”
Prudence drew rein beside him. She had seen her man, and she knew that she was in time. Her joy was written in her face.
“My, but I’ve had a time,” she exclaimed, as she slid down from her saddle. “I thought that fire had got me. Call up Winnipeg, please, Mr. Frances.”
“Why, Miss Mailing, have you ridden through that?” asked the operator, pointing to the distant smoke.
“Not through it, but with it distinctly hot upon my heels––or rather my mare’s,” the girl laughed. “But I want you to send a message for me. It isn’t too late for Winnipeg?”
“Late, bless you, no. But what is it? Prairie or forest?”
“Forest,” replied the girl shortly. “Where’s a form?”
They passed into the hut. Prudence proceeded to write out her message while the man connected up Winnipeg and carried on a short conversation.
“Bad fire,” he said.
“Very.”
Prudence began to write.
“Just where?”
“Owl Hoot.”
“River’ll stop it”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Prudence went on writing.
“Iredale’s ranch burnt out?”
The girl started.
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“Don’t know.”
“Must be.”
“Oh!” Then: “Here you are; and do you mind if I wait for an answer?”
“Pleasure.” And the man read the message––
“To Hervey Malling, Northern Union Hotel,Winnipeg.“Return at once. Money awaiting you. Willing to pay the price on your arrival. Do not fail to return at once. The other matter can rest.“Prudence.”
“To Hervey Malling, Northern Union Hotel,Winnipeg.
“Return at once. Money awaiting you. Willing to pay the price on your arrival. Do not fail to return at once. The other matter can rest.
“Prudence.”
The operator tapped away at the instrument.
Hervey was sitting in the Northern Union Hotel smoking-room. He was talking to a burly man, with a red face and a shock of ginger-grey hair. This was the proprietor of the hotel.
“How long can you give me? I can settle everything by this day month. The harvesting is just finished. I only need time to haul the grain to the elevator. Will that satisfy you?”
The big man shrugged.
“You’ve put me off so often, Mr. Malling. It’s not business, and you know it,” he replied gutturally. “Will you give me an order on––your crop?”
He looked squarely into the other’s face. Hervey hesitated. He knew that he could not do this, and yet he was sorely pressed for money. However, he made up his mind to take the risk. He thought his mother would not go back on him.
“Very well.”
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He turned as the bell-boy approached.
“Telegram for you, sir; ‘expressed.’”
Hervey took the envelope and tore it open. He read his sister’s message, and a world of relief and triumph lit up his face.
“Good,” he muttered. Then he passed it to his companion. “Read that. Do you still need a mortgage? I shall set out to-night.”
The hotel proprietor read the message, and a satisfied smile spread over his face. It did not do for him to press his customers too hard. But still he was a business man. He, too, felt relieved.
“This relates to–––?”
“An ouylying farm of mine which I have now sold.”
“Your promise will be sufficient, Mr. Malling. I thought we should find an amicable settlement for our difficulty. You start to-night?”
“Yes.”
321CHAPTER XIXTHE AVENGER
Alice was standing at the gate of the little front garden. She was talking to her lover, who had just ridden up from the direction of Owl Hoot. Robb had not dismounted, and his face was very serious as he leant down towards her.
“And I never knew a word about it. It’s a jolly good thing I obtained the delivery of his bunch of cattle when I did, or goodness knows what would have happened. Well, anyhow I’ve lost a nice lump. My client, when he heard about the place being for sale, wanted to buy it for a back country for his beeves to winter in. Just my confounded luck. I knew there was a big fire out this way, but I never thought that Iredale was the unfortunate victim. Now I’ve got to go over to Lakeville to see him––he’s staying there, you know, since he was burnt out. I’ll come back this way, and if Mrs Malling can put me up for the night, I’ll be grateful. My ‘plug’ won’t stand the journey back home. You say Hervey will be along this evening?”
“Yes,” replied the girl Then seriously, “What are you going to do?”
“Interview him. There are things about that dog322that want explaining. I take it he can explain ’em. I don’t easily forget. And I owe some one a deal more than I’ve yet been able to pay. P’r’aps that dog’ll help me to discharge my debt. Good-bye, Al; I must be off or I shan’t get back this afternoon.”
Robb turned away in his cheerful, debonair manner and rode off. Troubles sat lightly on his stout heart. His effervescent nature never left him long depressed when Fortune played her freakish tricks upon him. He had lost his commission upon the sale of Iredale’s land, but he had secured the better deal of the cattle. Therefore he was satisfied. But Robb was a very persistent man in his seemingly haphazard fashion. He had promised himself an interview with Hervey about his dog. He had never forgotten or forgiven the disaster in the mountains, and he believed that Hervey would be able to set him on the track of Zachary Smith, whom he felt certain he had seen at the Winnipeg depôt. He hoped so; and, for this purpose, he intended to spend the night at Loon Dyke Farm.
As her lover rode away Alice turned back to the house. The anxious look was still upon her face. She knew that there was serious trouble in the family, and she could see no way of helping these people she loved. Prudence was in sad disgrace with her mother; she had been absent from the farm for two days and had only returned that morning. Mrs. Malling had been distracted with anxiety and grief until the re-appearance of her daughter, and then, when she saw that she was well and that no accident had happened to her, she had flown into such a terrible passion that even Prudence had quailed before323her. Never in her life had Alice seen the kindly old soul give way to such rage. No disparaging epithet had been too bad for her child, and she had literally chased the girl from the room in which they had met. Since then Prudence had retreated to her bedroom, and Hephzibah had poured out the vials of her wrath upon an empty kitchen, for even the long-suffering hired girl had feared to face her.
Now, as Alice approached the front door again, she heard the sound of high-pitched voices coming from the kitchen. Sarah Gurridge had come over while the farm-wife’s rage was at its height; and, as Alice listened, she thought that these two old cronies were quarrelling. But her ears quickly told her that her surmise was wrong. She heard Prudence’s voice raised in angry protest, and, instead of entering the house, she discreetly withdrew, passing round to the farmyard instead.
In the kitchen a stormy scene was being enacted.
Prudence was standing just inside the door. Her mother was beside a long table on which were laid out the necessaries for pastry-making. She had faced round upon the girl and stood brandishing a rolling-pin in one hand, and in the other she held a small basket of eggs. Sarah was seated in a high-backed Windsor chair. Her arms were folded across her waist, and her face expressed perplexed alarm. Prudence’s face was aflame; nor were her eyes one whit less angry than her mother’s.
“But I say you shall hear me, mother, whether you like it or not. I’ll not let you or any one else call me the filth which you did this morning for nothing.”