CHAPTER V
THE SHORES OF THE INFINITE
The summer was a season of great activity and development. Harris didnot sow any crop after the 1st of June, but applied himself then tothe construction of his stable, which was built after the samefashion as the house. The shelter of its cool walls and roof wasgratefully sought by the cows in the heat of the day, and itscomparative freedom from mosquitoes was a haven to the horses in theevenings. Then there was more land to plough, and Harris's soul neverdulled to the delight of driving the ploughshare through the virginsod. There was something almost sacred in the bringing of his will tobear upon soil which had come down to him through all the ages freshfrom the hand of the Creator. The blackbirds that followed at hisheel in long, respectful rows, solemnly seeking the trophies of theirchase, might have been incarnations from the unrecorded ages that hadknown these broad fields for chase and slaughter, but never forgrowth and production. The era of the near vision, demanding itsimmediate reward, had passed away, and in its place was the day offaith, for without faith there can be neither seed-time nor harvest.
But it was not only on Harris's homestead that development was takingplace. As McCrae had predicted, there was a considerable movement ofsettlers into the district, and at several points their tents or rudehouses now broke the vast sweep of the horizon. Tom Morrison hadfound land to the satisfaction of his heart within three miles of theHarris homestead, and his big log-house, eighteen by twenty-four,assumed the proportions of a castle by comparison with the smallerhomes springing up around. Some miles to the east Dick Matheson,straight from the lumber camps of the Madawaski, had pitched histent, and a few miles farther on was his friend of the shanties, JohnBurton. To the west were the Grants, and to the north Hiram Riles andhis wife, Eliza. A mixed community they were, drawn from manycorners, and all of them more or less under the heel of poverty; butthey were filled with enthusiasm, with resourcefulness, and anindomitable determination to face and overcome all obstacles. Amissionary had in some way spied out the field, and held monthlySunday services at Morrison's house; and Dr. Blain, when not in oneof his unfortunate debauches, had his headquarters at the new town ofPlainville, which consisted of Sempter's general store and a"stopping-place," and which had sprung up near the junction of twostreams in anticipation of the railway.
None of these pioneers was possessed of a complete farming equipment,but each had something which his neighbour lacked, and they madecommon cause together in their struggle with Nature. Thus Harris hadno mower, but when haying season came he was able to borrowMorrison's, at the same time lending his plough to Riles, whosimultaneously accommodated Morrison with his hayrack. Among thewomen exchanging became something of an exact science. Mrs. Grant wasthe proud possessor of a very modern labour-saver in the shape of aclothes-wringer, as a consequence of which wash-day was rotatedthroughout the community, and it was well known that Mrs. Riles andMrs. Harris had to do their churning alternately. But it was Mrs.Morrison's sewing-machine that was the great boon to the community,and to it, perhaps, as much as the open-hearted hospitality of honestTom and his wife, was due the fact that their house became the socialcentre of the district.
Nor was the settlement deprived of its share of sport and amusement.On one of his periodical visits McCrae donated a baseball, and Harrisquickly shaped a bat from the trunk of a stout willow he found by theriver-bed. They had all outdoors to play in, and it was a simplematter to mow the grass from a stretch of level prairie and turn overthe sod at points to mark the bases. Unfortunately, there were notenough men in the community to make two baseball teams, but a speciesof game was devised in which the players batted in turn, and when notbatting or base-running were always on the "out" side. Harrisdeveloped considerable ability as a pitcher, throwing the powerfulstraight ball which in those days was a greater menace to the barehands of the catcher than to the batter at the plate. On the occasionof his monthly visits the missionary, who was an ardent ball-player,generally contrived to reach Morrison's by Saturday afternoon, and sowas able to take part in the Saturday night game. And although henever took advantage of his association with the young men to"preach" to them, except on Sundays, a sense of comradeship sprangup, and a standard of sport was established which bore fruit in thecommunity many years later.
And so the first summer wore away and the first harvest was at hand.Any disappointment which had been occasioned by backward conditionsearlier in the season was effaced by the wonderful crop which nowcrowned the efforts of the pioneers. On their finest Eastern farmsthey had seen nothing to equal the great stand of wheat and oatswhich now enveloped them, neck-high, whenever they invaded it. Thegreat problem before the settlers was the harvesting of this crop. Itwas a mighty task to attempt with their scythes, but there was noself-binder, or even reaper, within many miles.
Finally Morrison solved the problem for the whole community byplacing an order, at a fabulous figure, for a self-binder from theUnited States. It was a cumbrous, wooden-frame contrivance, guiltlessof the roller bearings, floating aprons, open elevators, amid sheafcarriers of a later day, but it served the purpose, and with its aidthe harvest of the little settlement was safely placed in sheaf. Thefarmers then stacked their grain in the fields, taking care to ploughdouble fire-guards, with a burnt space between, as a precaution,against the terrifying fires which broke over the prairie as soon asthe September frosts had dried the grass. A community some twentymiles to the eastward boasted a threshing mill, and arrangements weremade for its use after it had discharged the duties of its ownlocality. The machine was driven by horse-power, and in the dawn ofthe crisp November mornings the crescendo of its metallic groan couldbe heard for miles across the brown prairie. It, too, with its handfeed, its open straw-carriers, its low-down delivery, whichnecessitated digging a hole in the frozen earth to accommodate thebags, and its possible capacity of six hundred bushels a day, bearsmean comparison with its modern successor; but it threshed grain at alower cost per bushel, and threw less into the straw than has everbeen accomplished by the mighty steam and gasoline inventions whichhave displaced it.
When Harris's threshing was done he found he had six hundred bushelsof wheat and seven hundred bushels of oats in cone-shaped piles onhis fields. The roads were fine and hard, and no snow had yet fallen,so he determined to begin at once with the marketing of his wheat.His last cent had been spent months before; indeed, it had been onlythrough the courtesy of the storekeeper at Plainville, who was alsopostmaster, and who had stretched the law to the point of acceptinghen eggs as legal tender in exchange for postage stamps, that MaryHarris had been able to keep up the brave, optimistic series ofletters written "home." So Harris decided that he would at oncemarket some of his wheat. Most of the oats would be needed for hishorses and for seed, and what remained would command good prices fromnew settlers the following spring, but some of the wheat must beturned into money at once. During the latter part of the summer theyhad lived exclusively on the produce of their farm; on vegetablesfrom the garden, fish and ducks from the stream, prairie chickens,and an occasional rabbit from the fields. The wild geese had desertedthem early in the spring, and returned only after harvest. But nowthey should have a change on their table. Mary had accepted thepioneer fare of the summer without complaint, but of late Harris haddiscovered a strange longing in her ryes, and more than once she hadarrested herself in the words "I wish we had--" Then two penitentlittle tears would steal softly clown her cheeks, and she would buryher head in his arms as he soothed her with loving words and promisedthat "after threshing things would be different."
So now he set out for Emerson with the best load his horses coulddraw. The first few miles he drove in silence, for there was a heavyweight at his heart as he thought of the little wife alone with theresponsibilities of the farm...That she would be faithful to everyresponsibility he knew beyond question...But he was not quitesatisfied. A strange moodiness had come over her, and even with himat home she had at times given way to fits of downheartedness whichseemed altoget
her alien to her nature.
But this morning as he drove the well-worn trail, a burnished sunmounted higher and higher ahead of him, and with it his own spiritsrose until he found himself whistling and boyishly building castlesin the air. But his castles, as he told himself, had solidfoundations; indeed, they were not even speculations, but alreadymight be accepted as assured accomplishments. Some things hecertainly must do for Mary. First of these was the purchase of aglass window for the house, and next to that he promised enoughboards for a door, and perhaps enough to floor part of their littleroom. Then there should be sugar, and tea, and flour, and warm boots,and some much-needed kitchen utensils. True, he needed some thingshimself, but his needs could wait. And then there were other things.Oh, he knew what to get. He hadn't been having little conferenceswith Mrs. Morrison for nothing...A tender smile gently suffused hisface, and his cheery whistle soared above the rumble of thewagon-wheels on the hard lumps of the trail.
Ten days later he retraced his course in the teeth of a blindingblizzard. A dozen times he had been lost in the last forty-eighthours, but he had developed the prairie-dweller's sense of direction,and had always been able again to locate the trail. The Arthurs wouldhave detained him, almost by force, but the thought of a pale,patient face, wrung with an agony of anxiety not for itself, made himadamant in his resolve to go home at whatever cost. The roads werealmost impassable; he left his lumber at Arthurs', but carried withhim his window, a few boards for a door, and a little bundle ofdrygoods. Everything else had gone by the way, surrendered inexchange for food and shelter for himself and horses.
It was not dreadfully cold, but the sky seemed only a vast turmoil ofsnow. The north-west wind pelted the flakes in his face, where theymelted with the warmth of his skin and again drooped in tenaciousicicles from his eyebrows and moustache. The horses, too, were halfblinded with the storm, and the empty wagon dragged laboriouslythrough the deep drifts. Darkness came down very early, but at lastHarris began to recognize familiar landmarks close by the trail, andjust as night was settling in he drew into the partial shelter of thebench on the bank of the coulee. The horses pulled on their reinspersistently for the stable, but Harris forced them up to the house.His loud shout was whipped away by the wind and strangled in amoment, so he climbed stiffly from the wagon and pulled with numbedhands at the double thickness of carpet that did service for a door.He fancied he heard a sound, but could be sure of nothing; he calledher name again and again, but could distinguish no answer. But atlast the fastenings which held the carpet gave way, and he halfwalked, half fell, into the house.
The lantern burned dimly, but it was not at the lantern he looked. Inthe farthest corner, scarcely visible in the feeble light, stood hiswife, and at her shoulder was the gun, trained steadily upon him.
"Mary, Mary, don't you know me?" he cried.
She dropped her weapon to the floor, where it went off, harmlesslyburying its charge in the sod wall.
"Thank God, oh, thank God!" she exclaimed.
He threw off his wet overcoat and rushed to her side. But she satsilent on the bed, staring absently at the light flickeringuncertainly in the wind from the open door.
He hastily rearranged the carpet, then, returning to her, he took herhands in his and rubbed them briskly. But she still stared vaguely atthe light.
Suddenly a thought came to him. He rushed outside, to find that thehorses, of their own accord, had taken shelter beside the stable.Here from the wagon he drew a little bundle and hurried back to thehouse.
She was sitting where he left her, shivering slightly and watchingthe play of the light as it flickered up and down the wall. He torethe package open and spread its contents before her.
At first she took no notice, but gradually her eyes found the outlineof soft cloth and dainty feminine devices. With a great joy hewatched the colour returning as her set face relaxed in a smile ofineffable tenderness. She raised her face to his and slipped her armsabout his neck, and he knew that for the moment he had snatched herout of the valley of the shadow.
Harris made no more attempts to market his wheat that winter. Hiswife's health now became his first consideration, but, even had therebeen no such problem, experience had shown that nothing was to begained by making the long and expensive trip to Emerson. The cost ofsubsistence of man and team on the way devoured all the proceeds ofthe wheat; indeed, there were instances on record in the settlementwhere men who attempted such trips during the winter actually cameback poorer than they left, while those who could show a gain of abag of sugar, a sack of flour, or a box of groceries were consideredfortunate indeed.
"What shall we eat?" said Harris to his wife, when, after a fulldiscussion, it was decided that no more grain could be marketed untilspring.
"Oh, we shall not suffer," was her calm reply. "We have over fivehundred bushels of wheat."
"But we can't eat wheat!"
"I'm not so sure of that. I heard Mr. McCrae say that lots offamilies had wintered on wheat. Indeed, boiled wheat is something ofa delicacy. Even the best city families rarely have it, although itis more nutritious than flour and much easier to prepare."
Harris thrilled with joy over his wife's vivacity. The strange gloomthat oppressed her so much of late had cost him many anxious hours.
"Besides," she continued, "we are well off to what some of them are.We have a good supply of vegetables, and one of the cows will milkmost of the winter, and we have half a dozen laying hens. Then youwill be able to shoot a rabbit now and again."
"Yes, we'll be all right," he agreed. "Perhaps I will get a day ortwo out at the lake. They say there is fine fishing all winter wheresome of the springs keep the ice open. And then, there's always achance to pick off a deer."
So, in high spirits, they planned for their winter. There were longhours, and little diversion, and the desolation of bleak, snowboundprairies on every side, but through it all they kept up their courageand their hopefulness. Mary spent much time with her needle, fromwhich John, when he felt she was applying herself too closely,beguiled her to a game of checkers or an hour with one of their fewbut valued books. To supplement their reading matter Mrs. Morrisonsent over her little library, which consisted of "The Life of DavidLivingstone" and a bound number of "The Gospel Tribune." And therewere frequent visits and long evenings spent about a cosy fire, whenthe Morrisons, or the Grants, or the Rileses, dropped in to whileaway the time. The little sod house was warm and snug, and as the menplayed checkers while the women sewed, what cared the pioneers forthe snow and the cold and the wind whistling across the plains?
***
At last came the crisis. At four in the afternoon Harris kissed hiswife an affectionate farewell, hitched his horses to the sleigh, andstarted out posthaste for Plainville. The sun, hanging low to thewestern horizon, was banded by a great ring of yellow and gold,bulging into two dull reflected glows at either side. A ground-driftof snow whipped keenly across the hard crust, and the north-west windhad a rip to it, but overhead the sky was clear and the blueamazingly deep. Harris drove by way of the Morrisons, where a few lowwords sent Tom to the stable at a trot to hitch his own team, whilethe good wife bustled about in the "room," almost overwhelmed withthe importance of her mission.
"I will go for the doctor, Jack, and you go back and take the wifewith you," was Morrison's kindly offer, but Harris would not agree.It was dark by this time, and he felt that he could trust no one elseto make the journey to Plainville. Besides, there was more than achance that Dr. Blain might be incapable, and in that case it meant adrive of thirty miles farther.
"It's good of you, Morrison," he said, "but you are more used to yourwife's'bidding than I am, and you can be of good service there, ifyou will." And without waiting to argue he sprang into his sleighagain and was whipping his team into the darkness.
Dr. Blain, when at home, was to be found at the stopping-place.Harris tied his team at the door and went in, shaking the snow andfrost from his great-coat. The air inside was close and stifling withtobacco, not
unmixed with stronger fumes. A much-smoked oil lamp,hung by a wall-bracket, shed a certain sickly light through the thickair, and was supplemented in its illumination by rays from the doorof a capacious wood stove which stood in the centre of the room, andabout which half a dozen men were sitting.
"Night, Harris," said the landlord, who had a speaking acquaintancewith every settler within twenty miles. "Ye're drivin' late. Ye'llhave a bite supper, an' stable the team?"
"No, Hank, not to-night, thanking you the same. But I'm after Dr.Blain, and I'm in a hurry. Is he here, and--is he fit?" There was ananxiety in the last words that did not escape the host.
"Nothin' ser'ous, I hope? Frost, or somethin'?" Then, without waitingfor reply, he continued: "Yes, doctor's here. Upstairs, bed to theright as ye go up. Just got in a little back. As for fit--dig 'im outan' judge for yourself."
Harris lost no time in scaling the ladder which led to the upperhalf-storey of the building. It was a garret--nothing better--wherethe cold stars looked through knot-holes in the poplar shingles, andthe ends of the shingle-nails were tipped with frost. Anotherwall-lamp burned uncertainly here, flickering in the wind thatwhistled through the cracks in the gables, and by its light Harrisfound "the bed to the right." The form of a man lay diagonally acrossit, face downward, with arms extended above the head, and so stillthat Harris paused for a moment in a strange alarm. Then he slippedhis hand on the doctor's neck and found it warm.
"Come, Doctor," he said, "I want you with me." But the sleeping mananswered with not so much as a groan.
"Come, Dr. Blain," Harris repeated, shaking him soundly. "I want youto go home with me." He might have been speaking to the dead.
In sudden exasperation he seized the doctor by the shoulders, andwith one heave of his mighty arms set him upright on the floor andshook him vigorously.
Dr. Blain opened his eyes and blinked uncertainly at the light."Whatche doing, Harris?" he said at length, and the recognitionbrought a thrill of hope. "'S no use...Gotta sleep it off. 'S no use,Harris. 'S no use." And he crumpled up in the bed.
But Harris was desperate. "Now I'm not going to fool with you," hesaid. "You get up and come with me or I'll take you. Which is it?"
But the doctor only mumbled "'S no use," and fell heavily to sleep.
Throwing open his coat to get free motion for his arms, Harris in amoment wrapped the sleeping man in a couple of blankets from the bed,threw him over his shoulder, carried him down the rickety ladder, anddeposited him, none too gently, in the sleigh. There was a mild cheerfrom the men about the stove over these heroic measures, and one ofthem thoughtfully threw the doctor's satchel into the sleigh. Thenext moment all were lost in the darkness.
Harris drove for an hour, watching the trail keenly in the whitishmist of the winter's night, and urging the horses to the limit oftheir exertions. He had almost forgotten his passenger when he felt astir in the bottom of the sleigh. Looking down closely he found thedoctor trying to extricate a flask from one of his pockets. With aquick wrench he took it from him, and would have thrown it into thesnow, but the thought struck him that it might be needed, and he putit into his own pocket.
The doctor struggled to his feet. "Say, Harris, you're friend o'mine, but don't take too many liberties, see? 'S no use tryin'without it. Jush give me that bottle now, or I'll get out an' gohome."
Harris was so pleased at the signs of returning coherence that hecould have hugged the doctor, but he only said, "You've had enoughfor to-night. And you won't get out, because if you try to I'll knockyou senseless in the bottom of the sleigh."
Then the doctor changed his tactics. He threw his arms about Harris'sneck, and genuine tears coursed down his cheeks.
"Say, Harris, you don' know anything about it. You don' know what I'mup agains'. Jush got in from Wakopa to-day, and I haven't had myclosh off for week. 'S right! I tell you, Harris, you don' know...Oh,I know I'm a fool--yes, don' tell me. But th' engineer knows it toowhen he ties down th' shafety valve t' make th' grade. Dosh it jushth' same. Thash jus' like me. Come on, Harris, hand it over. I got t'have it, or I can't make the grade."
"Well, you'll make the grade first to-night," said Harris.
After that the doctor remained silent for some time. Then suddenly hedemanded: "Shay, Harris, where you takin' me to, anyway?"
"I'm taking you home."
"Home? What home? I got no home, jus'a--"
"I'm taking you to my home."
"Wha' for? You're all right, I guess..." Suddenly the doctor stooderect. "Harris, is your wife sick?"
"That's why I came for you."
"Well, why the devil didn't you say so? Here, give me that whip.Harris, Harris, what did you waste time arguing for?"
"I didn't waste much. The argument was mostly on your side."
"Harris," said the doctor, after a long silence, "you think I'm afool. You're right. It isn't as though I didn't know. I know the roadI'm going, and the end thereof... And yet, in a pinch, I can pullmyself together. I'm all right now. But it'll get me again as soon asthis is over... Any good I am, any good I do, is just a bit ofsalvage out of the wreck. The wreck--yes, it's a good wordthat--wreck."
***
Just as the dawn was breaking he knelt beside her. Her eyes were verylarge and quiet, and her face was white and still. But she raised onepale hand, and the thin fingers fondled in his hair. She drew hisface very gently down, and big silent tears stood in his eyes.
"We will call him Allan," he said.