The Mistress of Bonaventure

by Harold Bindloss

  Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THE MISTRESS OF BONAVENTURE

  BY HAROLD BINDLOSS

  Author of "Alton of Somasco," "The Dust of Conflict,""The Cattle-Baron's Daughter," etc.

  _ONLY AUTHORIZED EDITION_

  NEW YORKFREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANYPUBLISHERS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. THE SWEETWATER FORD 1 II. BONAVENTURE RANCH 10 III. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR 22 IV. THE TIGHTENING OF THE NET 34 V. A SURPRISE PARTY 45 VI. A HOLOCAUST 58 VII. A BITTER AWAKENING 68 VIII. HOW REDMOND CAME HOME 78 IX. A PRAIRIE STUDY 92 X. A TEMPTATION 104 XI. IN PERIL OF THE WATERS 113 XII. THE SELLING OF GASPARD'S TRAIL 124 XIII. AN UNFORTUNATE PROMISE 137 XIV. THE BURNING OF GASPARD'S TRAIL 147 XV. BEAUTY IN DISGUISE 159 XVI. THE DEFENSE OF CRANE VALLEY 170 XVII. THE RAISING OF THE SIEGE 183 XVIII. THE VIGIL-KEEPER 194 XIX. THE WORK OF AN ENEMY 205 XX. LEADEN-FOOTED JUSTICE 216 XXI. AGAINST TIME 226 XXII. BAD TIDINGS 238 XXIII. LIBERTY 248 XXIV. A SECRET TRIBUNAL 261 XXV. A CHANGE OF TACTICS 272 XXVI. THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 282 XXVII. ILLUMINATION 293XXVIII. THE ENEMY CAPITULATES 305 XXIX. THE EXIT OF LANE 315 XXX. THE LAST TOAST 326

  The Mistress of Bonaventure

  CHAPTER I

  THE SWEETWATER FORD

  After relaxing its iron grip a little so that we hoped for spring,winter had once more closed down on the broad Canadian prairie, and thelonely outpost was swept by icy draughts, when, one bitter night,Sergeant Mackay, laying down his pipe, thrust fresh billets into thecrackling stove. It already glowed with a dull redness, and the lightthat beat out through its opened front glinted upon the carbines, belts,and stirrups hung about the rough log walls.

  "'Tis for the rebuking of evildoers an' the keeping of the peace we'resent here to patrol the wilderness, an' if we're frozen stiff in thesaddle 'tis no more than our duty," said the sergeant, while his eyestwinkled whimsically. "But a man with lands an' cattle shows adistressful want o' judgment by sleeping in a snow bank when he might besitting snug in a club at Montreal. 'Tis a matter o' wonder to me thatye are whiles so deficient in common sense, Rancher Ormesby. Still, I'mno' denying ye showed a little when ye brought that whisky. 'Tisallowable to interpret the regulations with discretion in bitterweather--an' here's a safe ride to ye!"

  A brighter beam that shot out called up the speaker's rugged face andgaunt figure from the shadows. Although his lean, hard fingers closedsomewhat affectionately on a flask instead of on the bridle or carbinethey were used to, his profession was stamped on him, for Allan Mackaywas as fine a sample of non-commissioned cavalry officer as everpatrolled the desolate marches of Western Canada--which implies a gooddeal to those who know the Northwest troopers. He was also, as I knew, aman acquainted with sorrow, who united the shrewdness of Solomon with achildish simplicity and hid beneath his grim exterior a vein ofeccentric chivalry which on occasion led him into trouble. The blazefurther touched the face of a young English lad sitting in a corner ofthe room.

  "Some of us were sent here for our sins, and some came for our healthwhen the temperature of our birthplaces grew a trifle high," he said. "Idon't know that anybody except Rancher Ormesby ever rode with us forpleasure. Yet I'm open to admit the life has its compensations; andSergeant Mackay has given me many as good a run as I ever had with--thatis, I mean any man who must earn his bread might well find work he wouldtake less kindly to."

  The lad's momentary embarrassment was not lost on his officer, whochuckled somewhat dryly as he glanced at him. "I'm asking no questions,an' ye are not called on to testify against yourself," he said. "Maybeye rode fox-hunting on a hundred-guinea horse, an' maybe ye did not; butye showed a bit knowledge o' a beast, an' that was enough for me.Meantime ye're Trooper Cotton, an' I'll see ye do your duty. To some,the old country--God bless her--is a hard stepmother, an' ye're no' thefirst she has turned the cold shoulder on and sent out to me."

  The worthy sergeant was apt to grow tiresome when he launched out intohis reminiscences, and, seeing that Trooper Cotton did not appreciatethe turn the conversation was taking, I broke in: "But you're forgettingthe outlaw, Mackay; and I'm not here for either health or pleasure. Iwant to recover the mare I gave five hundred dollars for, and that oughtto excuse my company. What has the fellow who borrowed her done?"

  "Fired on a mortgage money-lender down in Assiniboia," was the answer."Maybe he was badly treated, for ye'll mind that the man who takes bloodmoney, as yon Lane has done, is first cousin to Judas Iscariot; butthat's no' my business. It is not allowable to shoot one's creditors inthe Canadian Dominion. What I'm wondering is where he is now; an' thatwill be either striking north for the barrens or west for BritishColumbia. It will be boot and saddle when Pete comes in, and meantimewe'll consider what routes would best fit him!"

  Mackay knew every bluff and ravine seaming a hundred miles of prairie;and another silent man, rising from his bunk, stood beside myself andCotton as the sergeant traced lines across the table. Each representedan alternative route the fugitive might take, and the places where thehard forefinger paused marked a risky ford or lake on which the ice wasyielding. Mackay spent some time over it, as much for his ownedification as for ours, but I was interested, for I greatly desired torecover the blood mare stolen from me.

  I was then five-and-twenty, fairly stalwart and tall of stature, andseldom regretted that after a good education in England I had gone outto Western Canada to assist a relative in raising cattle. The old manwas slow and cautious, but he taught me my business well before he diedsuddenly and left me his possessions. Adding my small patrimony, I madelarger profits by taking heavier risks, and, for fortune had favored me,and youth is no handicap in the Colonies, my homestead was one of thefinest in that section of the country. Save for occasional risks offrost-bite and wild rides through blinding snow, the life had beentoilsome rather than eventful; but the day which, while we talked in theoutpost, was speeding westward across the pines of Quebec and the lakesof Ontario to gild the Rockies' peaks was to mark a turning-point in myhistory.

  Suddenly a beat of hoofs rose out of the night, there was a jingleoutside, and the cold set me shivering, when a man, who held a smokinghorse's bridle, stood by the open door. "Your man tried to buy a horsefrom the reservation Crees, and, when they wouldn't trade, doubled onhis tracks, heading west for the Bitter Lakes. I've nearly killed mybeast to bring you word," he said.

  Horses stood ready in the sod stable behind the dwelling, and in lessthan three minutes we were in the saddle and flitting in single fileacross the prairie. It was about five o'clock in the morning, and,though winter should have been over, it was very bitter. The steam fromthe horses hung about us, our breath froze on our furs, but a Chinookwind had swept the prairie clear of snow, and, though in the barerplaces the ground rang like iron beneath us, the carpet of mattedgrasses made moderately fast traveling possible. No word was spoken,and, when the silent figures about me faded as they spread out to leftand right and only a faint jingle of steel or dull thud of hoofsbetokened their presence, I seemed to have ridden out of all touch withwarmth and life.

  The frost bit keen, the heavens were black with the presage of comingstorm, and the utter
silence seemed the hush of death. Beast and birdhad long fled south, and I started when once the ghostly howl of acoyote rose eerily and faintly from the rim of the prairie.

  By daylight we had left long leagues behind us, and I was the betterpleased that the fugitive's trail, of which we found signs, led backtowards my own homestead. For a brief five minutes the Rockies, seenvery far off across the levels, flushed crimson against the sky. Thenthe line of spectral peaks faded suddenly, and we were left, four tinycrawling specks, in the center of a limitless gray circle whosecircumference receded steadily as the hours went by. But the trail grewplainer to the sergeant's practiced eyes, and, when we had crossed theBitter Lakes on rotten and but partially refrozen ice, he predicted thatwe should come up with the fugitive by nightfall if our horses held out.Mine was the best in the party, and, though not equal to the stolenmare, the latter had already traveled fast and far. It was a depressingjourney. No ray of sunlight touched the widespread levels, and there wasneither smoke trail nor sign of human life in all that great desolation.Hands and feet lost sense of feeling, the cold numbed one's very brain;but the wardens of the prairie, used alike to sleep in a snow trench orswim an icy ford, care little for adverse weather, and Mackay held onwith a slow tenacity that boded ill for the man he was pursuing.

  The light showed signs of failing when Trooper Cotton shouted, and wecaught sight of our quarry, a shadowy blur on the crest of a low risethat seamed the prairie. "Ye may save your breath, for ye'll need it,"said Mackay. "It's a league from yon rise to the Sweetwater, an' there'sneither ice-bridge nor safe ford now. If he's across before we are we'llno' grip him the night, I'm thinking--and there's ill weather brewing."

  Whip and heel were plied, and the worn-out beasts responded as best theymight. The man who had taught me stock and horse breeding knew hisbusiness, and when my beast raced across the edge of the rise thetroopers were at least two hundred yards behind. Then the exultation ofthe chase took hold of me, and my frozen blood commenced to stir as thestaunch beast beneath me swept faster and faster down the long grayincline. At every stride I was coming up with the horse thief. A duskyridge of birches loomed ahead, shutting off the steep dip to the river.Beyond this, there were thicker trees; and the light was failing; butwhile all this promised safety for the pursued, I was gaining fast andthe troopers were dropping further behind. The fugitive had just reachedthe timber when a light wagon lurched out from it, and I yelled to theman who drove it to hold clear of my path. There was a hoarse shout awayto the left, and, when no answer came back, the crack of a carbine. Arepeating rifle banged against my back, and, feeling that its sling laywithin easy reach, I drove my heels home as I raced past the wagon.

  There was scarcely time for a side glance, but the one I risked set myheart beating. Two feminine figures wrapped in furs sat within it, andone smiled at me as I passed. The face that looked out from beneath thefur cap was worth remembering, though it was several years since I hadlast seen it in England. Haldane had brought his daughters with him whenhe came out from Montreal to visit his Western possessions, it seemed;but my horse was over the brink of the declivity before I could returnthe greeting, and, bending low to clear the branches, I drove himreeling and blundering down and down through willow undergrowth andscattered birches on the track of the fugitive. I was but a plainrancher, and it seemed presumptuous folly to neglect my lawful businessfor a smile from Beatrice Haldane.

  It was growing dark among the birches, and flakes of feathery snowsliding down between the branches filled my eyes, but I could see thatthe distance between us was shortening more rapidly and that the man infront of me reeled in his saddle when a branch smote him. The mare alsostumbled, and I gained several lengths. The drumming of hoofs and themoan of an icy wind which had sprung up seemed to fill all the hollow.White mist that slid athwart the birches hung over the Sweetwater in therift beneath, and--for the river had lately burst its chains of ice--Ifelt sure that the man I followed would never make the crossing. Yet itappeared certain that he meant to attempt it, for he rode straight atthe screen of willows that fringed the water's edge, vanished amongthem, and I heard a crackling as his weary beast smashed through theshoreward fringe of honeycombed ice. Then I saw nothing, for rattlingbranches closed about me as the horse feebly launched himself at theleap, while a denser whiteness thickened the mist. So far fortune hadfavored me throughout the reckless ride; but it is not wise to temptfate too hardly, and the beast pitched forward when his hoofs descendedupon bare frozen ground.

  Had I worn boots my neck might have paid the penalty, but the softmoccasins slipped free of the stirrups in time, and when I came down thehorse rolled over several yards clear of me. He was up next moment, butmoved stiffly, and stood still, trembling, when I grasped the bridle.The saddle had slipped sideways, as though a girth buckle had yielded,and I felt faint and dizzy, for the fall had shaken me. Nevertheless, Iunslung the rifle mechanically, when a hail reached me, and, turning, Isaw the man we had followed sitting still in his saddle, some twoscoreyards away, with the steam frothing white to his horse's knees. Thedaylight had almost gone, the snow was commencing in earnest, but Icould make out that he was bareheaded and his face smeared with crimson,perhaps from a wound the branch had made. It looked drawn and ghastly ashe sat stiffly erect against a background of hurrying water and fallingsnow, with one hand on his hip and the other raised as though to commandattention.

  "You are Rancher Ormesby, whose horse I borrowed, I presume?" he said."Well, if you are wise you will give up the chase before worse befallsyou. I am armed, and I give you fair warning that I do not mean to betaken. Go home to your stove and comforts. You have no quarrel with me."

  The clean English accent surprised me, and the rifle lay still in thehollow of my left arm as I answered him: "Do you forget you are sittingon the best mare I possess? The loss of several hundred dollars is morethan I can put up with; and your warning sounds rather empty when Icould hardly fail to pick you off with this rifle."

  I listened for the troopers' coming, but could hear only the fret of theriver and the moaning of the blast, for the wind was rising rapidly. Itwas evident that the beast whose bridle I held was in no fit state toattempt the crossing, and yet, though the stranger's cool assurance wasexasperating, I began to be conscious of a certain admiration and pityfor him. The man was fearless. He had been hunted like a wolf; and now,left, worn out, wounded, and doubtless faint from want of food, to facethe wild night in the open, he had, it seemed, risked his last chance ofescape to warn me when he might have taken me at a disadvantage.

  He laughed recklessly. "Still, I hardly think you will. The mare isdone, and I pledge my word I'll turn her loose as soon as I'm clear ofthe troopers. I have no grudge against you, but if you are wise you willtake no further chances with a desperate man. Go home, and be thankfulyou have a place to shelter you."

  There would have been no great difficulty in bringing the man down atthat range, even in a bad light, and it is probable that nobody wouldhave blamed me; but, though I should willingly have ridden him down infair chase, I could not fire on him as he sat there at my mercy, for ifhe was armed it must have been with a pistol--a very poor weapon againsta rifle. I might also have shot the horse; but one hesitates tosacrifice a costly beast, even in the service of the State, and, strangeto say, I felt inclined to trust his promise. Accordingly, I didneither; and when a great ice cake came driving down, and, raising hishand again as though in recognition of my forbearance, he wheeled themare and vanished into a thicker rush of snow, I stood motionless andlet him go. Then, feeling more shaken and dizzy than before, I seizedthe bridle and led the horse into the whirling whiteness that drove downthe slope. Darkness came suddenly. I could scarcely see the trees, andit was by accident I stumbled upon the troopers dismounted and pickingtheir way.

  "Have ye seen him?" asked an object which looked like a polar bear andproved to be the sergeant.

  "Yes," I answered shortly, deciding that it would not be well to fullyexplain how I had let our
quarry slip through my fingers. "If he has notdrowned himself in the river he has got away. I was close upon him whenmy horse fell and threw me badly. Are you going to try the crossing,too?"

  There are few bolder riders than the Northwest troopers, but Mackayshook his head. "I'm thinking it would be a useless waste of Governmentproperty an' maybe of a trooper's life," he said. "No man could find himin this snow, and if he lives through the night, which is doubtful,we'll find his trail plain in the morning. We'll just seek shelter withHaldane at Bonaventure."

  I do not know how we managed to find the Bonaventure ranch. The wind hadsuddenly freshened almost to a gale, and, once clear of the riverhollow, we met the full force of it. The snow that whirled across thedesolate waste filled our eyes and nostrils, rendering breathingdifficult and sight almost impossible; but it may be that the instinctof the horses helped us, for, making no effort at guidance, I trudgedon, clinging to the bridle of my limping beast, while half-seenspectral objects floundered through the white haze on each side.Nevertheless, the pain which followed the impact of the flakes on oneside of my half-frozen face showed that we were at least progressing ina constant direction, and at last Trooper Cotton raised a hoarse hallooas a faint ray of light pierced the obscurity. Then shadowy buildingsloomed ahead, and, blundering up against a wire fence, we staggered,whitened all over, to the door of Bonaventure.

  It was flung wide open at our knock, banged to again, and while atrooper went off with the horses to the stable the rest of us, partlystupefied by the change of temperature, stood in the lamp-lit hallshaking the white flakes from us. A man of middle age, attired in afashion more common in the cities than in the West, stretched out hishand to me.

  "I am glad to see you, Ormesby; and, of course, you and your companionswill spend the night here," he said cordially. "My girls told me theyhad met you, and we were partly expecting your company. Apparently themalefactor got away, Sergeant Mackay?"

  "We did not bring him with us, but he'll not win far this weather," wasthe somewhat rueful answer. The master of Bonaventure smiled a little.

  "He deserves to escape if he can live through such a night; and I'minclined to be sorry for the poor devil," he said. "However, you havebarely time to get into dry things before supper will be ready. Weexpect you all to join us, prairie fashion."

  The welcome was characteristic of Carson Haldane, who could win thegoodwill of most men, either on the prairie or in the exclusive circlesof Ottawa and Montreal. It was also characteristic that he called theevening meal, as we did, supper; though when he was present a state ofluxury, wholly unusual on the prairie, reigned at Bonaventure.