Before the gathering broke up, Harding found himself seated in a corner of the big hall talking quietly to Mrs. Mowbray. She was interested in his farming plans and the changes he wanted made, and she listened carefully, noting how his schemes revealed his character. Now and then she asked a question, and he was surprised at her quick understanding. Moreover, he felt that he had her sympathy, so far as she could loyally give it. When, at length, he went away Mrs. Mowbray sat alone for some minutes quietly thinking. She could find no opening for hostile criticism. The honesty of the man's motives and his obvious ability appealed to her.
CHAPTER XVI
THE BRIDGE
There had been rain since harvest, and the ground was soft when Harding and his comrade stood beside their smoking teams on the slope of the ravine. Pale sunshine streamed down between the leafless trees, glistening upon the pools and wet wheel-ruts that marked the winding trail. The grade was steep and the torn-up surface was badly adapted for heavy loads. Harding frowned as he glanced at the double span of foul-coated horses harnessed to a wagon filled with bags of grain. They were powerful, willing animals, and it jarred on him to overdrive them, as he had been forced to do. Besides, except for the steep ascent, he could have taken his load to the elevators with a single team.
"I hate to abuse good horses, but we must get up," he said when he had recovered breath. "Watch out the wagon doesn't run back when we make a start."
Devine drove a birch log behind the wheels and then ran to the leaders' heads and cracked his whip, while Harding called to the pole-team. For a few moments the battering hoofs churned up the sloppy trail and the wagon groaned and shook, the horses floundering and slipping without moving it. Then with a harsh creak the high wheels began to turn and they slowly struggled up the hill. Harness rattled, chain and clevis rang, the steam from the toiling animals rose in a thin cloud, and white smears streaked their coats as they strained at the collar. The men were red in face and panting hard, but as they fought the grade they broke into breathless shouts. Harding was sparing of the whip; but this was not a time to be weakly merciful, when the load might overpower his teams and, running back, drag them over the edge. Nor dare he stop again and subject the animals to the cruel effort of restarting. They must get up somehow before their strength gave out.
Running with hand upon the bridle, and splashing in the pools, he rushed the horses at the last ascent; and then threw himself down with labored breath in the grass.
"This won't do," he panted after a few moments. "We'll have to put up five or six bags less, and you can figure how many extra loads that will make before we empty the bins. Then, I hate to keep a man and team standing by here when they could be hauling another load."
"It's one of the things a prairie farmer runs up against," Devine remarked.
"Just so. When they can't be put right, you have got to make the best of them; but this grade can be altered."