The Heart of Cherry McBain: A Novel

by Douglas Durkin

It was the middle of the afternoon before King got away. With anything like good luck in travelling he hoped he might reach town before dusk and if the roads were in a condition that made his return possible that night he would be on his way back again by dawn the next day. He hoped that he might be able to return again that night.

His hopes were not encouraged, however, as he rode along. The trail was in bad shape and the rivers had not yet begun to go down. A wish he had entertained when he set out, that he might perhaps meet Keith McBain somewhere along the way, changed quickly to a fear lest the old man should have set out by himself and have met disaster on the way. For he knew that if the old contractor's home-coming on this occasion was anything like it had been on other occasions, there was only one chance in a thousand that he would get through.

There was still more than an hour of daylight left when he reached the White Pine River. The water had risen until now it was running over the bridge in the middle where the logs that had been thrown across for main supports sagged most. The bridge itself, however, was still intact. The embankments that had been thrown up at either end were still visible and appeared to offer good footing, although King knew that the submerged roadway leading away from the bridgehead on either side was washed away by the current. The only question that gave him any concern was whether or not the poles that did service for the bridge planking were still in their places. So far as he could see not one of them had moved out of place. Altogether he felt sure that the crossing was worth trying at any rate. The distance was not great, and if the worst should happen he was confident of his ability to bring himself safely to shore somewhere down stream. The attempt to cross was not to be made recklessly, at any rate, and getting down from his horse King made as careful a survey of the conditions as he could on foot. When he had looked the place over thoroughly and considered the different emergencies that might arise and what he should do to meet each, he got back again into the saddle, and turning his horse towards the bridge-head urged him forward gently.

The horse stepped down very cautiously into the water, proceeded a few yards—and then stopped. The water was almost up to animal's flanks now and was rushing past in a dizzy whirl that made the horse tremble in every muscle and limb. The dog was still standing with two front paws in the water, whining and yelping. For a moment King waited to reconsider what he had planned. He felt almost like turning back and taking the affairs of the camp arbitrarily into his own hands until Keith McBain turned up of his own accord. But in that moment of hesitation something happened that decided the whole question for him at once.

Above the rushing of the water he heard the sound of wheels striking against stones, and looking up he saw Keith McBain's horses coming on the run towards him, the buckboard jumping along behind them and rocking from side to side in the trail—empty. When the team came to the opposite side of the stream, King shouted to them and they stopped suddenly, but not before they had plunged half way to the bridge-head and stood in the deepest part of the current on the other side of the bridge. For a moment only, they stood and looked at King and then wheeling about, and carried by the weight of the flood, plunged back again out of the water and into the poplars that stood at the side of the trail. There they were brought to a standstill in a tangle of branches and underbrush.

All thought of turning back was now impossible for King. Somewhere along the trail that lay ahead Keith McBain was probably lying injured at least, perhaps unconscious, possibly dead. A word to his horse and they plunged into the stream, at first quickly, then more carefully as the water became deeper. Once or twice when the footing became uncertain King got ready to dismount and hold to the horn of the saddle with one hand while the horse brought him to safety, but he realized that his own weight helped the horse to keep its feet. Then suddenly the ground seemed to give way under them, and he swung his leg over and slipped into the water. Just as he did so the horse gave a mad plunge forward and King had all he could do to keep his hold upon the saddle. But in that one leap the animal found fresh footing and the next moment was standing upon the bridge-head with King beside him.

King looked back just in time to see Sal jump into the water and come paddling towards him. But the current was too much for the dog. In spite of King's whistling and calling to her by way of encouragement, she was carried downstream past the embankment and King watched her with grave doubts rising in his mind. Where the stream took a quick turn to the right King lost sight of the dog among partly submerged tree-trunks, but in a moment he heard her bark echoing through the woods and before long she was standing on the trail beside him, shaking herself and yelping at him.

The next stage of the crossing was no less uncertain, but King walked ahead and led his horse, trying every pole with his foot to see that it was secure before he went forward. At the middle of the bridge the water was almost to his knees and the force of the current was so great that King marvelled that the bridge held against it.

When he came at last to the end of the bridge he sent the horse in and walked along beside him with his hand on the horn of the saddle. The passage proved easier than before and presented no special difficulty.

Having shaken the water from his clothes, King left his horse standing in the trail and went to extricate Keith McBain's team from the woods. The task was not so difficult as he had anticipated, for although the horses were excited and nervous they seemed almost exhausted and allowed King to move about them without showing any ill temper. In less than fifteen minutes he had unhitched them and led them out upon the trail, where he tethered them securely in a sheltered place under cover of a clump of poplars. Then he brought the badly shaken buckboard out and left it standing beside the trail.