Read Ebook: The Hound From The North by Cullum Ridgwell Bull Charles Livingston Illustrator

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Ebook has 1177 lines and 63613 words, and 24 pages

h-bells on the horses' backs. The dark figure moved out on to the trail, and stood gazing after the sleigh. For a full minute he stood thus. Then he turned again and swiftly became lost in the black depths whence he had so mysteriously appeared.

GREY'S LAST WORDS

Rigid, hideous, stands the Leonville school-house sharply outlined against the sky, upon the summit of a high, rising ground. It stands quite alone as though in proud distinction for its classic vocation. Its flat, uninteresting sides; its staring windows; its high-pitched roof of warped shingles; its weather-boarding, innocent of paint; its general air of neglect; these things strike one forcibly in that region of Nature's carefully-finished handiwork.

However, its cheerless aspect was for the moment rendered less apparent than usual by reason of many people gathered about the storm-porch, and the number and variety of farmers' sleighs grouped about the two tying-posts which stood by the roadside in front of it An unbroken level of smooth prairie footed one side of the hill, whilst at the back of the house stretched miles of broken, hilly woodland.

The wedding party had arrived from Loon Dyke Farm. Hephzibah Malling had gathered her friends together, and all had driven over for the happy event amidst the wildest enthusiasm and excited anticipation. Each girl, clad in her brightest colours beneath a sober outer covering of fur, was accompanied by her attendant swain, the latter well oiled about the hair and well bronzed about the face, and glowing as an after-effect of the liberal use of soap and water. A wedding was no common occurrence, and, in consequence, demanded special mark of appreciation. No work would be done that day by any of those who attended the function.

But the enthusiasm of the moment had died out at the first breath of serious talk--talk inspired by the non-appearance of the bridegroom. The hour of the ceremony was close at hand and still he had not arrived. He should have been the first upon the scene. The elders were agitated, the younger folk hopeful and full of excuses for the belated groom, the Minister fingered his great silver timepiece nervously. He had driven over from Lakeville, at much inconvenience to himself, to officiate at the launching of his old friend's daughter upon the high seas of wedded life.

The older ladies had rallied to Mrs. Malling's side. The younger people held aloof. There was an ominous grouping and eager whispering, and eyes were turned searchingly upon the grey trail which stretched winding away towards the western horizon.

The Rev. Charles Danvers, the Methodist minister of Lakeville, was the central figure of the situation, and at whom the elder ladies fired their comments and suggestions. There could be no doubt, from the nature and tone of these remarks, that a panic was spreading.

"It's quite too bad, you know," said Mrs. Covill, an iron-grey haired lady of decided presence and possessing a hooked nose. "I can't understand it in a man of Mr. Grey's business-like ways. Now he's just the sort of man whom I should have expected would have been here at least an hour before it was necessary."

"It is just his sort that fail on these occasions," put in Mrs. Ganthorn pessimistically. "He's just too full of business for my fancy. What is the time now, Mr. Danvers?"

"On the stroke of the half-hour," replied the parson, with a gloomy look. "My eyesight is not very good; can I see anything on the trail, or is that black object a bush?"

"Bush," said some one shortly.

"Ah," ejaculated the parson. Then he turned to Mrs. Malling, who stood beside him staring down the trail with unblinking eyes. Her lips were pursed and twitching nervously. "There can have been no mistake about the time, I suppose?"

"Mistake? No," retorted the good lady with irritation. "Folks don't make no mistake about the hour of their wedding. Not the bridegroom, anyway. No, it's an accident, that's what it is, as sure as my name's Hephzibah Malling. And that's what comes of his staying at Ainsley when he ought to have been hereabouts. To think of a man driving forty odd miles to get married. La' sakes! It just makes me mad with him. There's my girl there most ready to cry her eyes out on her wedding morning, and small blame to her neither. It's a shame, and I'm not the one to be likely to forget to tell him so when he comes along. If he were my man he'd better his ways, I know."

No one replied to the old lady's heated complaint. They all too cordially agreed with her to defend the recalcitrant bridegroom. Mr. Danvers drew out his watch for at least the twentieth time.

"Five minutes overdue," he murmured. Then aloud and in a judicial tone: "We must allow him some margin. But, as you say, it certainly was a mistake his remaining at Ainsley."

"Mistake--mistake, indeed," Mrs. Malling retorted, with all the scorn she was capable of. "He's that fool-headed that he won't listen to no reason. Why couldn't he have stopped at the farm? Propriety-- fiddlesticks!" Her face was flushed and her brow ominously puckered; she folded her fat hands with no uncertain grip across the slight frontal hollow which answered her purpose for a waist. Her anger was chiefly based upon alarm, and that alarm was not alone for her daughter. She was anxious for the man himself, and her anxiety found vent in that peculiar angry protest which is so little meant by those who resort to it. The good dame was on pins and needles of nervous suspense. Had Grey suddenly appeared upon the scene doubtless her kindly face would have at once wreathed itself into a broad expanse of smiles. But the moments flew by and still the little group waited for the coming which was so long delayed.

Three of the young men approached the agitated mother from the juvenile gathering. Their faces were solemn. Their own optimism had given way before the protracted delay. Tim Gleichen and Peter Furrers came first, Andy, the choreman, brought up the rear.

"We've been thinking," said Tim, feeling it necessary to explain the process which had brought them to a certain conclusion, "that maybe we might just drive down the trail to see if we can see anything of him, Mrs. Malling. Ye can't just say how things have gone with him. Maybe he's struck a 'dump' and his sleigh's got smashed up. There's some tidy drifts to come through, and it's dead easy to get dumped in 'em. Peter and Andy here have volunteered to go with me."

"That's real sensible of you, Tim," replied Mrs. Malling, with an air of relief. She felt quite convinced that an accident had happened. She turned to the minister. In this matter she considered he was the best judge. Like many of her neighbours, she looked to the minister as the best worldly as well as spiritual adviser of his flock. "Like as not the boys will be able to help him?" she suggested, in a tone of inquiry.

"I don't think I should let them go yet," the man of the cloth replied. "I should give him an hour. It seems to me it will be time enough then. Ah, here's Mrs. Gurridge," as that lady appeared in the doorway. "There's no sign of him," he called out in anticipation of her inquiry. "I hope you are not letting the bride worry too much."

"It's too dreadful," said Mrs. Ganthorn, as her thoughts reverted to Prudence waiting in the school-ma'am's sitting-room.

"Whatever can have happened to him?"

"That's what's been troubling us this hour and more," snapped the girl's mother. She was in no humour to be asked silly questions, however little they were intended to be answered.

She turned to Sarah. In this trouble the peaceful Sarah would act as oil on troubled waters.

Sarah understood her look of inquiry.

"She's bearing up bravely, Hephzibah. She's not one of the crying sort. Too much of your Silas in her for that. I've done my best to console her."

She did not say that she had propounded several mottos more or less suitable to the occasion, which had been delivered with great unction to the disconsolate girl. Prudence had certainly benefited by the good woman's company, but not in the way Sarah had hoped and believed. It was the girl's own sense of humour which had helped her.

Mrs. Malling turned away abruptly. Her red face had grown a shade paler, and her round, brown eyes were suspiciously watery. But she gazed steadily down the trail on which all her hopes were set. The guests stood around in respectful silence. The party which had arrived so light-heartedly had now become as solemn as though they had come to attend a funeral. The minister continued to glance at his watch from time to time. He had probably never in his life so frequently referred to that faithful companion of his preaching hours. Tim Gleichen and Peter Furrers and Andy had moved off in the direction of the sleighs. The others followed Mrs. Malling's example and bent their eyes upon the vanishing point of the trail.

Suddenly an ejaculation escaped one of the bystanders. Something moving had just come into view. All eyes concentrated upon a black speck which was advancing rapidly in a cloud of ground snow. Hope rose at a bound to wild, eager delight. The object was a sleigh. And the speed at which it was coming down the trail told them that it was bearing the belated bridegroom, who, conscious of his fault, was endeavouring to make up the lost time. Mrs. Malling's round face shone again in her relief, and a sigh of content escaped her. Word was sent at once to the bride, and all was enthusiasm again. Then followed a terrible shock. Peter Furrer, more long-sighted than the rest, delivered it in a boorish fashion all his own.

"Ther' ain't no one aboard of that sleigh," he called out. "Say, them plugs is just boltin'. Gum, but they be comin' hell-belt-fer-leckshuns." Every one understood his expression, and faces that a moment before had been radiant with hope changed their expression with equal suddenness to doubt, then in a moment to apprehension.

The young giant had darted off down the trail in the direction of the approaching sleigh. He lurched heavily over the snow, his ungainly body rolling to his gait, but he was covering ground in much the same way that a racing elephant might. His stride carried him along at a great pace. The onlookers wondered and exclaimed, their gaze alternating in amazement between the two objects, the oncoming sleigh and the huge lurching figure of the boy.

Now the sleigh was near enough for them to note the truth of Peter's statement. The horses, ungoverned by any guiding hand, were tearing along at a desperate pace. The cutter bumped and swayed in a threatening manner; now it was lifted bodily from the trail as its runners struck the banked sides of the furrows; now it balanced on one side, hovering between overturning and righting itself, now on the other; then again it would jerk forward with a rush on to the heels of the affrighted horses with maddening effect. The poor brutes stretched themselves wildly to escape from their terror. On they came amidst a whirl of flying snow, and Peter had halted beside the trail awaiting them.

Those who were watching saw the boy move outside the beaten track. Already the panting of the runaways could be heard by those looking on. If the animals were not stayed in their mad career they must inevitably crash into the school-house or collide with the sleighs at the tying-posts. There was no chance of their leaving the beaten trail, for they were prairie horses.

Some of the men, as the realization of this fact dawned upon them, hurried away to remove their possessions to some more secure position, but most of them remained gaping at the runaway team.

Now they saw Peter crouch down, beating the snow under his feet to give himself a firm footing. Barely fifty yards separated him from the sleigh. He settled himself into an attitude as though about to spring. Nearer drew the sleigh. The boy's position was fraught with the greatest danger. The onlookers held their breath. What did he contemplate? Peter had methods peculiar to himself, and those who looked wondered. Nearer--nearer came the horses. A moment more and the boy was lost in the cloud of snow which rose beneath the horses' speeding feet. A sigh broke from many of the ladies as they saw him disappear. Then, next, there came an exclamation of relief as they saw his bulky figure struggling wildly to draw himself up over the high back of the sleigh. It was no easy task, but Peter's great strength availed him. They saw him climb over and stand upon the cushion, then, for a moment, he looked down as though in doubt.

At last he leaned forward, and, laying hold of the rail of the incurved dashboard, he climbed laboriously out on to the setting of the sleigh's tongue. The flying end of one of the reins was waving annoyingly beyond his reach. He ventured out further, still holding to the dashboard, which swayed and bent under the unaccustomed weight. Suddenly he made a grab and caught the elusive strap and overbalanced in the effort. He came within an ace of falling, but was saved by lurching on to the quarters of one of the horses. With a struggle he recovered himself and regained the sleigh. The rest was the work of a few seconds.

Bracing himself, he leant his whole weight on the single rein. The horses swerved at once, and leaving the trail plunged into the deep snow. The frantic animals fell, recovered themselves, and floundered on, then with a great jolt the sleigh turned over. Peter shot clear of the wreck, but with experience of such capsizes, he clung tenaciously to the rein. He was dragged a few yards; then, trembling and ready to start off again at a moment's notice, the jaded beasts stood.

There was a rush of men to Peter's assistance. The women followed. But the latter never reached the sleigh. Something clad in the brown fur of the buffalo was lying beside the trail where the cutter had overturned. Here they came to a stand, and found themselves gazing down upon the inanimate form of Leslie Grey.

It was a number of the younger ladies of the party who reached the injured man first; the Furrer girls and one of the Miss Covills. They paused abruptly within a couple of yards of the fur-clad object and craned forward, gazing down at it with horrified eyes. The next minute they were thrust aside by the parson. He came, followed by Mrs. Malling.

In a moment he had thrown himself upon his knees and was looking into the pallid face of the prostrate man, and almost unconsciously his hand pushed itself in through the fastenings of the fur coat. He withdrew it almost instantly, giving vent to a sharp exclamation. It was covered with blood.

"Stand back, please, everybody," he commanded.

He was obeyed implicitly. But his order came too late. They had seen the blood upon his hand.

Miss Ganthorn began to faint and was led away. Other girls looked as though they might follow suit. Only Hephzibah Malling stood her ground. Her face was blanched, but her mouth was tightly clenched. She uttered no sound. All her anger against the prostrate man had vanished; a world of pity was in her eyes as she silently looked on.

The parson summoned some of the men.

"Bear a hand, boys," he said, in a business-like tone which deceived no one. "We'd better get him into the house." Then, seeing Mrs. Malling, he went on, "Get Prudence away at once. She must not see."

The old farm-wife hurried off, and the others gently raised the body of the unconscious man and bore it towards the house.

Thus did Leslie Grey attend his wedding.

The body was taken in by a back way to Sarah Gurridge's bedroom and laid upon the bed. Tim Gleichen was dispatched at once to Lakeville for the doctor. Then, dismissing everybody but Harry Gleichen, Mr. Danvers proceeded to remove the sick man's outer clothing.

The room was small, the one window infinitely so. A single sunbeam shone coldly in through the latter and lit up the well-scrubbed bare floor. There was nothing but the plainest of "fixings" in the apartment, but they had been set in position by the deft hand of a woman of taste. The bed on which the unconscious man had been placed was narrow and hard. Its coverlet was a patchwork affair of depressing hue.

Mr. Danvers bent to his work with a full appreciation of the tragedy which had happened. His face was solemn, and expressive of the most tender solicitude for the injured man. In a whisper he dispatched his assistant for warm water and bandages, whilst he unfastened and removed the fur coat. Inside the clothing was saturated with still warm blood. The minister's lips tightened as the truth of what had happened slowly forced itself upon his mind.

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