Ranching for Sylvia

by Harold Bindloss

"That's how it struck me," George confessed with an air of good-humored resignation. "Do you mean to keep me here any time?"

"Until the trial," the other answered, standing a little away from him with his hand thrust suggestively into a pocket. "We'll be glad to get rid of you when it's finished, but you certainly can't get away before we let you go."

George cast a glance of keen but unobtrusive scrutiny at the man. They were, he thought, about equal in physical strength; the other's superiority consisted in his being armed, and George had no doubt that he was proficient with his weapons. He had seen a rifle carried into the building, the man's hand was now resting on a pistol, and there was a light ax outside. It looked as if an attempt to escape would be attended with a serious risk, and George realized that he must wait until chance or some slackening of vigilance on his custodians' part equalized matters.

He was given breakfast, and afterward told that he could go out and split some wood, which he was glad to do. There was a pile of branches and a few rotten boards that had once formed part of the shack, and he set to work to break them up, while the rustler sat and smoked in the doorway. The man ran no risk in doing so; there was not a bush within a quarter of a mile, and George knew that a bullet would speedily cut short his flight. He could see nothing that promised a secure hiding place all the way to the skyline, and he thought that the plain ran on beyond it, as little broken. When he had cut some wood, he turned back toward the door, and the man regarded him with a meaning smile.

"Come in, if you want; but leave the ax right there," he said.

He moved back a few paces, out of reach of a sudden spring, as George entered, and the latter realized that he did not mean to be taken by surprise. During the afternoon, another man arrived on horseback with some provisions and remained until George went to sleep. The following morning, the stranger had disappeared, but he came again once or twice, and this was all that broke the monotony of the next few days. George, however, was beginning to feel the strain; his nerves were getting raw, the constant watchfulness was wearing him. The trial would now be beginning, and it was time the binders were driven into his grain; the oats would be ripe, and his neighbors would pick up all the Ontario hands who reached the settlement. Another day passed, and he was feeling desperate when the relief watcher arrived in the afternoon. Listening with strained attention, he heard the men talking outside. Only a few words reached him, but one was "adjourned," and it filled him with fresh determination. If he could escape, it might not be too late.

It was an oppressive afternoon; the fresh northwest breeze had dropped, the sky was clouded, the air hot and heavy. Both men remained about the building, but George sat quietly on the earth floor, smoking and waiting for night. A few large drops of rain fell, splashing upon roof and grass while he ate his supper, but it stopped, and the evening was marked by a deep stillness. He felt listless and disinclined to move; his guards, to judge by their voices, for they were playing cards outside, were languidly irritable.

Dusk came and a thick obscurity, unlike the usual clearness of the summer nights, shut in the lonely building. It was intensely dark in the stable; George could not see the relief man's horse, though he could now and then hear it move. Voices rose at intervals from beyond the partition, but they ceased at last and only an occasional crackle of the dry grass that served for seats and bedding told that one at least of the rustlers was keeping watch. George felt his limbs quiver while he waited, and he was conscious of an unpleasant tension on his nerves. There was thunder brewing, and he thought the storm might offer him an opportunity for getting out.

At length it struck him that the silence was unusually deep. Rising to his feet he moved about. There was no challenge; and by way of further experiment, he kicked his tin plate so that it rattled. Still nobody called to him, though the horse made a little noise in moving. George sat down and took off his boots while his heart throbbed painfully. It looked as if his guards had gone to sleep. He moved a few yards, stopped to listen, and went on for several paces more. There was no sound yet beyond the partition, and he crept softly past the horse; he longed to lead it out, but decided that the risk would be too great.

Then he stood in the gap between the wall and the partition, straining eyes and ears, and wondering where the rifle lay. He could see nothing, however; and, creeping on cautiously, with tingling nerves and an intolerable feeling of suspense, he drew level with the doorway. It was hard to refrain from leaping out, but this might make some noise. Crossing the threshold with careful movements, he made for the spot where he had cut the wood. He struck something that rattled, but he found the ax and the feel of it sent a thrill through him. It was light enough to be carried easily; and he did not mean to be recaptured.