Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 13

"Wild geese; the forerunners of the host that will soon come down from the marshes by the Polar Sea."

"But do they go so far?"

He laughed.

"They cross this continent twice a year; up from the steaming lagoons on the Gulf to the frozen muskegs of the North, and back again. They're filled with a grand unrest and wholly free; travelers of the high air, always going somewhere."

"Ah!" responded Gertrude. "To be always doing something is good. But the other--the ceaseless wandering----"

"Going on and on, beating a pa.s.sage through the icy winds, rejoicing in the sun, seeking for adventure. Is there no charm in that?"

She looked at him uneasily, as if his words had awakened some half-understood response.

"I think Cyril must have felt something of the kind. So far it has never stirred me. Isn't it wise to hold fast by what is safe and familiar?"

"Oh, I don't know," Prescott answered with a smile. "I follow the course you mention, because I have to. It's my business to drive the plow, and the hazard of having a crop hailed out is adventure enough. But I don't think it should make one hard on the people who prefer the other thing.

After all, they may be right; the life they take pleasure in may be the best for them, though it wouldn't appeal to you or me."

"I'm not sure that toleration should be encouraged. It often means indifference, perhaps a lack of principle."

She grasped tightly the rail around the seat, for the horses plunged down a sandy slope at a wild gallop, pa.s.sing at the bottom a horse and buggy in which sat a man dressed in a dark gray suit, to whom Prescott waved his hand.

"Is he a clergyman?" asked Gertrude.

"Well," Prescott smiled, "he's a Presbyterian minister. I suppose you think there's a difference?"

His companion with unusual forbearance let this pa.s.s.

"Then you have churches at Sebastian?"

"Four. I can't say they're crowded; but, while we're liberal-minded on many points, the flocks won't mix. Strikes me as a pity."

"It is a pity; there should be only one strong and united church in every place."

"And that the right one?" Prescott's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You're thinking of the one we call Episcopalian?"

"Yes," said Gertrude severely; "the Church."

"I'll admit that I'm on pretty good terms with the lot, but Father Dillon's my favorite. For one thing, he's a practical farmer as well as a fine cla.s.sical scholar. His crowd, for the most part, are hard-up foreigners; and he shows them how to build decent homes and put their crops in. All the same, I've quite a high opinion of the Methodist and the Presbyterian, who are at the opposite end of the scale."

Gertrude showed signs of disapproval.

"In these matters, broad-mindedness may be dangerous. One can't compromise."

"Well," he said, "even the Roman Curia tried it before the council of Trent, and your people made an attempt to conciliate the English Calvinists about Elizabeth's time; you were inclined to Genevan Protestantism once or twice afterward."

His companion's surprise was evident, and he laughed as he read her thoughts.

"Oh," he explained, "I used to take some interest in these matters once upon a time. You see, I was at McGill."

"McGill? I seem to have heard the name, but what does it stand for?"

Prescott looked amused.

"I don't know that it quite means what Oxford does to you, but it's something of the kind; you might have seen the fine buildings at the foot of the mountain, if you had stayed in Montreal. Then we have Toronto; with deference to the Toronto men, I'll compare that to Cambridge. Still, so far as I understand your English ideas, there's a difference--our boys go to McGill or Toronto with the intention of learning something that will open up a career. They certainly play football and one or two other games pretty well, but that's a very secondary object; so's the acquiring of a polished style. In fact, it's not altogether unusual on this side of the Atlantic to find university men spending a vacation as waiters in the summer hotels."

"But why do they do that?" Gertrude asked with a shocked expression.

"For money," Prescott answered dryly. "One gathers that the St. Andrew boys did something of the same kind in Scotland in your grandfather's time; and no logical objection could be made to it, anyway. Isn't it a pretty good test of a man's determination? It's hard to see why he should make a worse doctor, engineer, or preacher, because he has the grit to earn his training by carrying plates, or chopping trees, which some of our boys take to."

This was difficult to answer, and Gertrude did not attempt it; her prejudices were stronger than her powers of reasoning. Looking southward, she saw the turreted tops of the Sebastian elevators rising from the sea of gra.s.s like cathedral towers. Their smallness emphasized the vastness of the plain, which was beginning to have a stimulating effect on her mind. She thought it might explain the broadness of her companion's views, which, while erroneous, were becoming comprehensible. He lived in the open, beyond the bounds of walls and fences, breathing this wonderful invigorating air. Nevertheless, he was obviously a man of varied and extensive information, which struck her as somewhat curious in face of his severely practical abilities. He could mend harness, plow a straight furrow, break horses, and strip a complicated machine. As a new type, he deserved attention.

After a while they struck into a well-beaten track which had been graded where it crossed a muskeg. The rude work, however, had suffered from frost and rain: the ruts in the hard black soil were deep and there were dangerous holes. To make matters worse, a big gasoline tractor, intended to a.s.sist in some harvesting operations, had got into difficulties near the middle of the graded track. It was making an alarming noise and diffusing a pungent odor, while two men thrust bits of board beneath the wheels for it to climb out of the hole on. Prescott's team slackened their pace, jerking their heads and p.r.i.c.king their ears. They were young range horses that had roamed over wide s.p.a.ces, and were badly broken.

Getting a tight grip on the reins he turned to his companion.

"We can't get around--the muskeg's too soft. I'd put you down, only that I may not be able to hold the team after we get past that machine." He raised his voice. "Can't you stop her, boys?"

"No, sir!" cried a grimy man. "Soon as we cut out the engine she'd run back into the hole! We've been here two hours already!"

"Hold tight!" Prescott cautioned Gertrude, and urged the horses forward.

As they approached the tractor the noise suddenly increased, and its wheels spun faster, grinding on the skids. One of the horses reared, swinging up the pole, which nearly threw its fellow; then there was a frantic thud of hoofs against the frame of the vehicle, and the team, swinging half around, threatened to overturn it into the swamp. Prescott plied the whip; the beasts plunged. One pair of wheels left the road, and the rig slanted alarmingly. A violent crash and jolt followed; Gertrude came near to being flung out of her seat; and they pa.s.sed the tractor and sped across the graded stretch at a furious pace. Prescott was braced backward, his feet pressed hard against a bar, his lips tightly set, while Gertrude, shrinking from the disaster that seemed imminent, wondered how he swung the panic-stricken beasts clear of the worst holes.

She gasped with relief when they had pa.s.sed the muskeg, but the trail was still in a dangerous state, and Prescott turned the team upon the gra.s.s, where they galloped on while the wheels smashed through short scrub, until at last the speed began to slacken. The horses' coats were foul and flecked with spume when Gertrude looked backward and saw the tractor far away in the distance.

"They've had enough," Prescott remarked. "We made the last mile at a pretty good clip; I kept them at it. Guess they won't start another circus if we meet a freight locomotive on the switches."

The settlement was reached without further mis-adventure, and Prescott, as a special favor, secured a separate table at the hotel, where Gertrude was served with an excellent meal. Afterward he showed her how to despatch her father's message, and as she turned away the telegraph operator grinned at Prescott.

"Where are all these high-toned English girls coming from, Jack?" he said. "You have brought another one this time."

Leaving the man without an answer, Prescott rejoined his companion.

"Are there any English people staying near the settlement?" she asked.

"The fellow was alluding to Miss Hurst."

"Muriel Hurst?" Gertrude exclaimed sharply. "Was she here with you?"

"Yes." Prescott regretted that she had asked for an explanation of the operator's remarks. "I once drove her in; Cyril's team was doing something else. But you said you wanted to visit the drygoods store, didn't you?"

Gertrude accompanied him there and when he left her in the hands of a lady clerk she fancied that she was favored with somewhat unusual attention on his account. The man seemed to be a favorite in the settlement. She spent a tedious afternoon in the hotel parlor while he went about the business that had brought him in and the team rested. It was a relief when he reappeared in time for supper; and after that they set out again. The sun set before they reached the homestead, the air grew bracingly cool, and the prairie rolled away before them, dim and mysterious, streaked with shadowy blurs of bluffs until a full moon rose and flooded it with silvery light. There was strange, deep silence except for the thud of hoofs which rose and fell in sharp staccato rhythm.

Gertrude was tired when Prescott helped her down at the homestead, but all her senses were unusually alert. She had enjoyed what she felt had been an invigorating day, and she admitted that, although she by no means agreed with all the rancher said, his breezy talk had added to its zest.

CHAPTER IX