[CHAPTER XV—STILL PLAYING THE GAME]
| “We have smelt the smoke-wraith flying in the hot October wind, And have fought the fiery demon that came raging down behind.” Prairie Born. |
The harvest was at its height. Blood-red the sun rose every morning to plough its silent way across an ocean of polished steel, while white cloud-swans, with ruffled plumage, floated on its glassy bosom; blood-red it sank to rest every night behind the dim haze of harvest dust. The smell of ripe wheat filled the air, and where the binders clattered into fields of rusty oats a red cloud marked their pilgrimage as a modern people fought its slow way out of the land of bondage. The great, white, dangerous full moon of August had left the fields unharmed, and men and women and horses and steam and gasoline were deep in their pitched battle against time and the steadily shortening day and approaching winter.
Work on the Grant homestead was in full swing. From the earliest moment that the dew would permit operations until the stooks stood eerie and indistinct in the thickening dusk the boys broadsided their two binders into the ranks of the standing grain. Four heavy horses swung on the tugs of each binder, their heads swaying to the slow time of their shaggy feet. After the first day the rattle of the machinery had no terrors for them and they plodded sullenly along with equine resignation, but their sly eyes missed no standing stalk that came within the license of their check-reins, and occasionally the off animal would desert the path made by the drive-wheel on the previous round to make a hurried grab at a stook which appeared to be within reach. Mr. Grant found his time fully occupied arranging the relays, as the practical farmer plans that during good weather his binder must never stop except to change horses and oil the machinery. Twenty thousand harvesters from the eastern provinces had poured into the country in ten days, and it was on this imported help the farmers depended for the stooking. It was work, hard work and long hours, for everybody, but it was work with a spirit for all. The fruit of the year’s labour now stood within measureable distance; victory was within their grasp.
Farmers on light soil had finished cutting, and already the whistle of the steam thresher was heard in the land. The mills were working short-handed, a condition with which they would have to be content until the stooking was finished, and a run of a thousand bushels a day was considered better than no run at all. The thresher first in the field was usually able to choose his territory, and the choice might mean the difference between loss and gain at the close of the season.
On a farm adjoining the Grants’ such a short-handed mill was in operation. The water haul was short, and to economise labour the same team was being used to draw water and supply straw to the engine. A small matter, as a general rule, but a very important one in this instance, as it turned out.
Having to supply both straw and water the tankman unfortunately allowed the water reserve to fall very low. The whistle was blowing incessantly for water, and the driver whipped his team with the heavy wagon across the stubble fields. Suddenly a whiff of smoke partially obscured the engine from his view, and the next moment he knew that the straw with which the engine was partially surrounded had caught fire. The water barrels were empty, and the engineer, instantly taking in the situation, drove his engine forward without so much as throwing the belt, grappled on to the separator, and backed the outfit away from the zone of danger.
All this was done in less time than is required to relate it, but already the fire was beyond control. Whisked by a hot wind from the south-west the flames leapt from the smaller pile of straw provided for the engine to the larger one behind the separator, and in a moment were away across the field, the heavy, dry stubble burning furiously. With much courage and presence of mind the tankman swung his team around and endeavoured to cross the path of the fire, at the same time drawing the plug, which allowed the water from the tank to spray out over the stubble. The ruse did temporarily check the flames, but they had already gained too much headway to be stopped by a narrow strip of half-moistened stubble, and in a moment the courageous driver found himself and team surrounded by fire. But his wit had not deserted him. The horses, scenting the danger, plunged in frenzy as they saw the fire sweeping about them, but the driver sprang on the tongue, and, removing the draw-bolt, released them from the wagon. From that moment they could be depended upon to take care of themselves, and they dashed furiously away through the smoke and across the field. The driver, throwing his smock about his head, faced the fire, and in a moment was through the danger zone and safe on burnt ground.
Harry Grant swung his binder at the northwest corner of the field and started his team on the south stretch. Looking suddenly up he saw a cloud of smoke blowing across the lower end of the field. Already he could see the red line of flame a mile away where it swept through the neighbour’s stooks. There were no fire guards so early in the season, and the road allowances stood knee-deep in dry grass. The farm buildings were safe enough, as they were surrounded by a considerable area of bare land, but the fire would lick up the stooks and even burn the standing grain, which was now dead ripe. In ten minutes they would pay an awful price for their two months’ dry weather, and the nearest plough was in the implement shed, half a mile away!
In a moment Harry had his team unhitched. Throwing himself on the back of one of the horses he galloped them homeward, the trace-chains flying wildly about their heels as they ran. A wedge of hot smoke blew across their course, but they plunged into it without slackening, as a locomotive enters a fog. As they drew up in front of the implement shed Harry was just in time to meet his brother George coming out with his four-horse team and gang plough. George had been at a closer part of the field when he discovered the fire.