Winston of the Prairie | Page 4

pictures of
sheltered England, half-forgotten music, the voices of friends who no
longer remembered him, and the smiles in a girl's bright eyes. Then he
settled himself more firmly in the driving seat, and with numbed
fingers sought a tighter grip of the reins as the memory of the girl's soft
answer to a question he had asked brought his callow ambitions back.
He was to hew his way to fortune in the West, and then come back for
her, but the girl who had clung to him with wet cheeks when he left her
had apparently grown tired of waiting, and Winston sent back her
letters in return for a silver-printed card. That was six years ago, and
now none of the dollars he had brought into the country remained to
him. He realized, dispassionately and without egotism, that this was
through no fault of his, for he knew that better men had been crushed
and beaten.
It was, however, time he had done with these reflections, for while he
sat half-dazed and more than half-frozen the miles had been flitting by,
and now the team knew they were not very far from home. Little by
little their pace increased, and Winston was almost astonished to see
another bluff black against the night ahead of him. As usual in that
country, the willows and birches crawled up the sides and just showed
their heads above the sinuous crest of a river hollow. It was very dark
when the wagon lurched in among them, and it cost the man an effort
to discern the winding trail which led down into the blackness of the
hollow. In places the slope was almost precipitous, and it behooved
him to be careful of the horses, which could not be replaced. Without
them he could not plow in spring, and his life did not appear of any
especial value in comparison with theirs just then.

The team, however, were evidently bent on getting home as soon as
possible, and Winston's fingers were too stiff to effectively grasp the
reins. A swinging bough also struck one of the horses, and when it
plunged and flung up its head the man reeled a little in his seat. Before
he recovered the team were going down-hill at a gallop. Winston flung
himself bodily backwards with tense muscles and the reins slipping a
trifle in his hands, knowing that though he bore against them with all
his strength the team were leaving the trail. Then the wagon jolted
against a tree, one horse stumbled, picked up its stride, and went on at a
headlong gallop. The man felt the wind rush past him and saw the dim
trees whirl by, but he could only hold on and wonder what would take
place when they came to the bottom. The bridge the trail went round by
was some distance to his right, and because the frost had just set in he
knew the ice on the river would not bear the load even if the horses
could keep their footing.
He had not, however, long to wonder. Once more a horse stumbled,
there was a crash, and a branch hurled Winston backwards into the
wagon, which came to a standstill suddenly. When he rose something
warm was running down his face, and there was a red smear on the
hand he lighted the lantern with. When that was done he flung himself
down from the wagon dreading what he would find. The flickering
radiance showed him that the pole had snapped, and while one bronco
still stood trembling on its feet the other lay inert amidst a tangle of
harness. The man's face grew a trifle grimmer as he threw the light
upon it, and then stooping glanced at one doubled leg. It was evident
that fate which did nothing by halves had dealt him a crushing blow.
The last faint hope he clung to had vanished now.
He was, however, a humane man, and considerate of the beasts that
worked for him, and accordingly thrust his hand inside the old fur coat
when he had loosed the uninjured horse, and drew out a long-bladed
knife. Then he knelt, and setting down the lantern, felt for the place to
strike. When he found it his courage almost deserted him, and meeting
the eyes that seemed to look up at him with dumb appeal, turned his
head away. Still, he was a man who would not shirk a painful duty, and
shaking off the sense of revulsion turned again and stroked the beast's

head.
"It's all I can do for you," he said.
Then his arm came down and a tremor ran through the quivering frame,
while Winston set his lips tightly as his hand grew warm. The thing
was horrible to