Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554, Harold Bindloss [ink book reader .txt] 📗

Volume 554 Chapter 25 (A Counterstroke) Pg 185

Langside's Farm Was Duly Put Up At Auction, Together With A Valuable

Team Which He Hired Out To His Neighbors When He Left The Place, A Few

Implements And A Little Rude Furniture.  The Sale Was Held Outside, And

When George Arrived Upon The Scene During The Afternoon A Row Of Light

Wagons And Buggies Stood Behind The Rickety Shack, Near Which Was An

Unsightly Pile Of Broken Crockery, Discarded Clothes And Rusty

Provision Cans.  It Was Characteristic Of Langside That He Had Not

Taken The Trouble To Carry Them As Far As The Neighboring Bluff.  In

Front Of The Bluff, Horses Were Picketed; Along The Side Ran A Strip Of

Black Soil, Sprinkled With The Fresh Blades Of Wheat; And All Round The

Rest Of The Wide Circle The Prairie Stretched Away Under Cloudless

Sunshine, Flecked With Brightest Green.

 

A Thin Crowd Surrounded The Auctioneer's Table, But The Men Stood In

Loose Clusters, And George, Walking Through Them, Noticed That The

Undesirable Element Was Largely Represented.  There Were A Number Of

Small Farmers, Attracted By Curiosity, Or Perhaps A Wish To Buy; But

These Kept To Themselves, And Men From The Settlement Of No Fixed

Profession Who Worked Spasmodically At Different Tasks, And Spent The

Rest Of Their Time In The Sachem, Were More Plentiful.  Besides These,

There Were Some Strangers, And George Thought The Appearance Of Several

Was Far From Prepossessing.

 

It Was A Glorious Day.  There Was Vigor In The Warm Breeze That Swept

The Grassy Waste; The Sunshine That Bathed The Black Loam Where The

Green Blades Were Springing Up Seemed Filled With Promise; But As The

Sale Proceeded George Became Sensible Of A Vague Compunction.  The

Sight Of The New Wheat Troubled Him--Langside Had Laboriously Sown That

Crop, Which Somebody Else Would Reap.  Watching The Battered Domestic

Utensils And Furniture Being Carried Out For Sale Had The Same

Disturbing Effect.  Poor And Comfortless As The Shack Was, It Had,

Until Rude Hands Had Desecrated It, Been A Home.  George Felt That He

Was Consenting To The Ruin Of A Defenseless Man, Assisting To Drive Him

Forth, A Wanderer And An Outcast.  He Wondered How Far The Terrors Of

Loneliness Had Urged Langside Into His Reckless Courses--Homesteaders

Scattered About The Wide, Empty Spaces Occasionally Became Insane--But

With An Effort He Overcame The Sense Of Pity.

 

Langside Had Slackly Given Way, And, Choosing An Evil Part, Had Become

A Menace To The Community; As Grant Had Said, He Must Go.  This Was

Unavoidable, And Though The Duty Of Getting Rid Of Him Was Painful, It

Must Be Carried Out.  George Was Usually Unsuspicious And Of Easy-Going

Nature Up To A Certain Point, But There Was A Vein Of Hardness In Him.

 

Once Or Twice The Auctioneer Was Interrupted By Jeering Cries, But He

Kept His Temper And The Sale Went On, Though George Noticed That Only A

Few Strangers Made Any Purchases.  At Length, When The Small Sundries

Had Been Cleared Off, There Was A Curious Silence As The Land Was Put

Up.  It Was Evident That The Majority Of Those Present Had Been Warned

Not To Bid.

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The Auctioneer Made A Little Speech In Praise Of The Property, And

Paused When It Fell Flat; Then, While George Wondered What

Understanding The Creditors Had Arrived At With Grant, A Brown-Faced

Stranger Strode Forward.

 

"I've Been Advised To Let This Place Alone," He Said.  "I Suppose You

Have A Right To Sell?"

 

"Yes, Sir," Replied The Auctioneer.  "Come Along, And Look At My

Authority, If You Want.  It's Mortgaged Property That Has Been

Foreclosed After The Creditors Had Waited A Long While For A

Settlement, And I May Say That The Interest Demanded Is Under The

Present Market Rate.  Everything's Quite Regular; No Injustice Has Been

Done.  If You're A Purchaser, I'll Take Your Bid."

 

"Then I'll Raise You A Hundred Dollars," Said The Man.

 

There Was A Growl Of Dissatisfaction, And The Stranger Turned To The

Part Of The Crowd From Which It Proceeded.

 

"This Is An Open Auction, Boys.  I Was Born In The Next Province, And

I've Seen A Good Many Farms Seized In The Years When We Have Had

Harvest Frost, But This Is The First Time I Ever Saw Anybody Try To

Interfere With A Legal Sale.  Guess You May As Well Quit Yapping,

Unless You Mean To Bid Against Me."

 

There Was Derisive Laughter, And A Loafer From Sage Butte Threw A Clod.

Then Another Growl, More Angry Than The First, Broke Out As Grant,

Moving Forward Into A Prominent Place, Nodded To The Auctioneer.  His

Rugged Face Was Impassive, And He Ignored The Crowd.  A Number Of The

Farmers Strolled Toward Him And Stood Near By With A Resolute Air Which

Had Its Effect On The Others, Though George Saw By Grant's Look Of

Surprise That He Had Not Expected This.  Another Man Made A Bid, And

The Competition Proceeded Languidly, But Except For A Little Mocking

Laughter And An Occasional Jeer, Nobody Interfered.  In The End, The

Stranger Bought The Land; And Soon Afterward Grant Walked Up To George.

 

"I Want The Team, If I Can Get It At A Reasonable Figure; They're Real

Good Beasts With The Imported Percheron Strain Strong In Them," He

Said.  "It Will Be A While Before They're Put Up, And I'd Be Glad If

You Could Ride Round And Let Flora Know What's Keeping Me.  I'd An Idea

She Expected There Might Be Some Trouble To-Day."

 

"I'll Get Off; But There's A Mower Yonder I Would Like.  Will You Buy

It For Me, If It Goes At A Fair Price?"

 

"Certainly," Promised Grant.  "Tell Flora To Give You Supper; And If

You Ride Back Afterward By The Trail, You'll Meet Me And I'll Let You

Know About The Mower."

 

George Rode Away Shortly Afterward, And Grant Waited Some Time Before

He Secured The Team, After Rather Determined Opposition.  Finding

Nobody Willing To Lead The Horses Home, He Hitched Them To The Back Of

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His Light Wagon And Set Off At A Leisurely Pace.  When He Had Gone A

Little Distance, He Overtook A Man Plodding Along The Trail.  The

Fellow Stopped When Grant Came Up.

 

"Will You Give Me A Lift?" He Asked.

 

The Request Is Seldom Refused On The Prairie, And Grant Pulled Up His

Team.

 

"Get In," He Said.  "Where Are You Going?"

 

"North," Answered The Other, As He Clambered Up.  "Looking For A Job;

Left The Railroad Yesterday And Spent The Night In A Patch Of Scrub.

Heard There Was Stock In The Bluff Country; That's My Line."

 

Grant Glanced At The Fellow Sharply As He Got Into The Wagon And

Noticed Nothing In His Disfavor.  His Laconic Account Of Himself Was

Borne Out By His Appearance.

 

"It's Quite A Way To The First Homestead, If You're Making For The Big

Bluffs," He Said.  "You Had Better Come Along With Me And Go On In The

Morning."

 

"I'll Be Glad," Responded The Other.  "These Nights Are Pretty Cold,

And My Blanket's Thin."

 

They Drove On, And After A While The Stranger Glanced At The Team

Hitched Behind The Vehicle.

 

"Pretty Good Beasts," He Remarked.  "That Mare's A Daisy.  Ought To Be

Worth A Pile."

 

"She Cost It," Grant Told Him.  "I've Just Bought Her At A Sale."

 

"I Heard The Boys Talking About It When I Was Getting Dinner At The

Settlement," Said The Stranger Carelessly.  "Called The Fellow Whose

Place Was Sold Up Langside, I Think.  There's Nothing Much Wrong With

The Team You're Driving."

 

Grant Nodded; They Were Valuable Animals, For He Was Fond Of Good

Horses.  He Was Well Satisfied With His New Purchases And Knew That

Langside Had Bought The Mare After A Profitable Haulage Contract During

The Building Of A New Railroad.  His Companion's Flattering Opinion

Made Him Feel Rather Amiable Toward Him.

 

It Was Getting Near Dusk When They Entered A Strip Of Broken Country,

Where The Ground Was Sandy And Lolled In Low Ridges And Steep Hillocks.

Here And There Small Pines On The Higher Summits Stood Out Black

Against The Glaring Crimson Light; Birches And Poplars Straggled Up

Some Of The Slopes; And The Trail, Which Wound Through The Hollows, Was

Loose And Heavy.  The Moist Sand Clogged The Wheels And The Team

Plodded Through It Laboriously, Until They Came To A Spot Where The

Melted Snow Running Into A Depression Had Formed A Shallow Lake.  This

Had Dried Up, But The Soil Was Very Soft And Marshy.  Grant Pulled Up

Volume 554 Chapter 25 (A Counterstroke) Pg 188

And Glanced Dubiously At The Deep Ruts Cut In The Road.

 

"There's A Way Round Through The Sand And Scrub, But It's Mighty Rough

And I'm Not Sure We Could Get Through It In The Dark," He Said.

 

"S'pose You Double-Yoke And Drive Straight Ahead," Suggested The Other.

"I See You Have Some Harness In The Wagon."

 

Grant Considered.  The Harness, Which Had Been Thrown In With His

Purchase, Was Old And Short Of One Or Two Pieces; It Would Take Time

And Some Contriving To Hitch On The Second Team, And The Light Was

Failing Rapidly.  When He Had Crossed The Soft Place, There Would Still

Be Some Rough Ground To Traverse Before He Reached The Smoother Trail

By Which George Would Be Riding.

 

"It Might Be As Quick To Go Round," He Replied.

 

"No, Sir," Said His Companion, Firmly.  "There's A Blamed Steep Bit Up

The Big Sandhill."

 

Suspicion Flashed On Grant; The Man Had Led Him To Believe He Was A

Stranger To The Locality, And It Was Significant That He Should Insist

Upon Their Stopping And Harnessing The Second Team.

 

"That's So," He Returned.  "Guess You Had Better Get Down And See If

It's Very Soft Ahead."

 

The Fellow Rose With A Promptness Which Partly Disarmed Grant's

Suspicions, And Put His Foot On The Edge Of The Vehicle, Ready To Jump

Down.  Then He Turned