Lonesome Land (12 page)

T
HE
P
RAIRIE
F
IRE

A
CALAMITY EXPECTED, FEARED, AND GUARDED AGAINST BY A WHOLE
community does sometimes occur, and with a suddenness which finds the victims unprepared in
spite of all their elaborate precautions. Compared with the importance of saving the range from fire, it was but a trivial thing which took nearly every man who dwelt in Lonesome Land to town on a
certain day when the wind blew free from out the west. They were weary of watching for the fire which did not come licking through the prairie grass, and a special campaign train bearing a
prospective President of our United States was expected to pass through Hope that afternoon.

Since all trains watered at the red tank by the creek, there would be a five-minute stop, during which the prospective President would stand upon the rear platform and deliver a three-minute
address—a few gracious words to tickle the self-esteem of his listeners—and would employ the other two minutes in shaking the hand of every man, woman, and child who could reach him
before the train pulled out. There would be a cheer or two given as he was borne away—and there would be something to talk about afterward in the saloons. Scarce a man of them had ever seen a
President, and it was worth riding far to look upon a man who even hoped for so exalted a position.

Manley went because he intended to vote for the man, and called it an act of loyalty to his party to greet the candidate; also because it took very little, now that haying was over and work did
not press, to start him down the trail in the direction of Hope.

At the Blumenthall ranch no man save the cook remained at home, and he only because he had a boil on his neck which sapped his interest in all things else. Polycarp Jenks was in town by nine
o’clock, and only one man remained at the Wishbone. That man was Kent, and he stayed because, according to his outraged companions, he was an ornery cuss, and his bump of patriotism was a
hollow in his skull. Kent had told them, one and all, that he wouldn’t ride twenty-five miles to shake hands with the Deity Himself—which, however, is not a verbatim report of his
statement. The prospective President had not done anything so big, he said, that a man should want to break his neck getting to town just to watch him go by. He was dead sure he, for one,
wasn’t going to make a fool of himself over any swell-headed politician.

Still, he saddled and rode with his fellows for a mile or two, and called them unseemly names in a facetious tone; and the men of the Wishbone answered his taunts with shrill yells of derision
when he swung out of the trail and jogged away to the south, and finally passed out of sight in the haze which still hung depressingly over the land.

Oddly enough, while all the able-bodied men save Kent were waiting hilariously in Hope to greet, with enthusiasm, the brief presence of the man who would fain be their political chief, the train
which bore him eastward scattered fiery destruction abroad as it sped across their range, four minutes late and straining to make up the time before the next stop.

They had thought the railroad safe at last, what with the guards and the numerous burned patches where the fire had jumped the plowed boundary and blackened the earth to the fence which marked
the line of the right of way, and, in some places, had burned beyond. It took a flag-flying special train of that bitter Presidential campaign to find a weak spot in the guard, and to send a spark
straight into the thickest bunch of wiry sand grass, where the wind could fan it to a blaze and then seize it and bend the tall flame tongues until they licked around the next tuft of grass, and
the next, and the next—until the spark was grown to a long, leaping line of fire, sweeping eastward with the relentless rush of a tidal wave upon a low-lying beach.

Arline Hawley was, perhaps, the only citizen of Hope who had deliberately chosen to absent herself from the crowd standing, in perspiring expectation, upon the depot platform. She had permitted
Minnie, the “breed” girl, to go, and had even grudgingly consented to her using a box of cornstarch as first aid to her complexion. Arline had not approved, however, of either the
complexion or the occasion.

“What you want to go and plaster your face up with starch for, gits me,” she had criticised frankly. “Seems to me you’re homely enough without lookin’ silly, into
the bargain. Nobody’s going to look at you, no matter what you do. They’re out to rubber at a higher mark than you be. And what they expect to see so great, gits me. He ain’t
nothing but a man—and, land knows, men is common enough, and ornery enough, without runnin’ like a band of sheep to see one. I don’t see as he’s anny better, jest because
he’s runnin’ for President; if he gits beat, he’ll want to hide his head in a hole in the ground. Look at my Walt.
He
was the biggest man in Hope, and so swell-headed he
wouldn’t so much as pack a bucket of water all fall, or chop up a tie for kindlin’—till the day after ’lection. And what was he then but a frazzled-out back number, that
everybody give the laugh—till he up and blowed his brains out! Any fool can
run
for President—it’s the feller that gits there that counts.

“Say, that red-white-’n’-blue ribbon sure looks fierce on that green dress—but I reckon blood will tell, even if it’s Injun blood. G’wan, or you’ll be
late and have your trouble for your pay. But hurry back soon’s the agony’s over; the bread’ll be ready to mix out.”

Even after the girl was gone, her finery a-flutter in the sweeping west wind, Arline muttered aloud her opinion of men, and particularly of politicians who rode about in special trains and
expected the homage of their fellows.

She was in the backyard, taking her “white clothes” off the line, when the special came puffing slowly into town. To emphasize her disapproval of the whole system of politics, she
turned her back square toward it, and laid violent hold of a sheet. There was a smudge of cinders upon its white surface, and it crushed crisply under her thumb with the unmistakable feel of burned
grass.

“Now, what in time—” began Arline aloud, after the manner of women whose tongues must keep pace with their thoughts. “That there feels fresh and”—with a sniff
at the spot—
“smells
fresh.”

With the wisdom of much experience she faced the hot wind and sniffed again, while her eyes searched keenly the sky line, which was the ragged top of the bluff marking the northern boundary of
the great prairie land. A trifle darker it was there, and there was a certain sullen glow discernible only to eyes trained to read the sky for warning signals of snow, fire, and flood.

“That’s a fire, and it’s this side of the river. And if it is, then the railroad set it, and there ain’t a livin’ thing to stop it. An’ the wind’s jest
right—” A curdled roll of smoke showed plainly for a moment in the haze. She crammed her armful of sheets into the battered willow basket, threw two clothespins hastily toward the same
receptacle, and ran.

The special had just come to a stop at the depot. The cattlemen, cowboys, and townspeople were packed close around the rear of the train, their backs to the wind and the disaster sweeping down
upon them, their browned faces upturned to the sleek, carefully groomed man in the light-gray suit, with a flaunting, prairie sunflower ostentatiously displayed in his buttonhole and with his
campaign smile upon his lips and dull boredom looking out of his eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he was saying, as he smiled, “you favoured ones whose happy lot it is to live in the most glorious State of our glorious union, I greet you, and I envy
you—”

Arline, with her soiled kitchen apron, her ragged coil of dust-brown hair, her work-drawn face and faded eyes which blazed with excitement, pushed unceremoniously through the crowd and
confronted him undazzled.

“Mister Candidate, you better move on and give these men a chancet to save their prope’ty,” she cried shrilly. “They got something to do besides stand around here and
listen at you throwin’ campaign loads. The hull country’s afire back of us, and the wind bringin’ it down on a long lope.”

She turned from the astounded candidate and glared at the startled crowd, everyone of whom she knew personally.

“I must say I got my opinion of a bunch that’ll stand here swallowin’ a lot of hot air, while their coat tails is most ready to ketch afire!” Her voice was rasping, and
it carried to the farthest of them. “You make me
tired!
Political slush, all of it—and the hull darned country a-blazin’ behind you!”

The crowd moved uneasily, then scattered away from the shelter of the depot to where they could snuff inquiringly the wind, like dogs in the leash.

“That’s right,” yelled Blumenthall, of the Double Diamond. “There’s a fire, sure as hell!” He started to run.

The man behind him hesitated but a second, then gripped his hat against the push of the wind, and began running. Presently men, women, and children were running, all in one direction.

The prospective President stood agape upon the platform of his bunting-draped car, his chosen allies grouped foolishly around him. It was the first time men had turned from his presence with his
gracious, flatteringly noncommittal speech unuttered, his hand unshaken, his smiling, bowing departure unmarked by cheers growing fainter as he receded. Only Arline tarried, her thin fingers
gripping the arm of her “breed girl,” lest she catch the panic and run with the others.

Arline tilted back her head upon her scrawny shoulders and eyed the prospective President with antagonism unconcealed.

“I got something to say to you before you go,” she announced, in her rasping voice, with its querulous note. “I want to tell you that the chances are a hundred to one you set
that fire yourself, with your engine that’s haulin’ you around over the country, so you can jolly men into votin’ for you. Your train’s the only one over the road since
noon, and that fire started from the railroad. The hull town’s liable to burn, unless it can be stopped the other side the creek, to say nothing of the range, that feeds our stock, and the
hay, and maybe houses—and maybe
people!
”

She caught her breath, and almost shrieked the last three words, as a dreadful probability flashed into her mind.

“I know a woman—just a girl—and she’s back there twenty mile—
alone,
and her man’s here to look at you go by! I hope you git beat, just for that!

“If this town ketches afire and burns up, I hope you run into the ditch before you git ten mile! If you was a man, and them fellers with you was men, you’d hold up your train and
help save the town. Every feller counts, when it comes to fightin’ fire.”

She stopped and eyed the group keenly. “But you won’t. I don’t reckon you ever done anything with them hands in your life that would grind a little honest dirt into your
knuckles and under them shiny nails!”

The prospective President turned red to his ears, and hastily removed his immaculate hands from where they had been resting upon the railing. And he did not hold up the train while he and his
allies stopped to help save the town. The whistle gave a warning toot, the bell jangled, and the train slid away toward the next town, leaving Arline staring, tight-lipped, after it.

“The darned chump—he’d ’a’ made votes hand over fist if he’d called my bluff; but I knew he wouldn’t, soon as I seen his face. He ain’t man
enough.”

“He’s real good-lookin’,” sighed Minnie, feebly attempting to release her arm from the grasp of her mistress. “And did you notice the fellow with the big yellow
mustache? He kept eyin’ me—”

“Well, I don’t wonder—but it ain’t anything to your credit,” snapped Arline, facing her toward the hotel. “You do look like sin a-flyin’, in that green
dress, and with all that starch on your face. You git along to the house and mix that bread, first thing you do, and start a fire. And if I ain’t back by that time, you go ahead with the
supper; you know what to git. We’re liable to have all the tables full, so you set all of ’em.”

She was hurrying away, when the girl called to her.

“Did you mean Mis’ Fleetwood, when you said that about the woman burning? And do you s’pose she’s really in the fire?”

“You shut up and go along!” cried Arline roughly, under the stress of her own fears. “How in time’s anybody going to tell, that’s twenty miles away?”

She left the street and went hurrying through backyards and across vacant lots, crawled through a wire fence, and so reached, without any roundabout method, the trail which led to the top of the
bluff, where the whole town was breathlessly assembling. Her flat-chested, uncorseted figure merged into the haze as she half trotted up the steep road, swinging her arms like a man, her skirts
flapping in the wind. As she went, she kept muttering to herself:

“If she really is caught by the fire—and her alone—and Man more’n half drunk—” She whirled, and stood waiting for the horseman who was galloping up the trail
behind her. “You going home, Man? You don’t think it could git to your place, do you?” She shouted the questions at him as he pounded past.

Manley, sallow white with terror, shook his head vaguely and swung his heavy quirt down upon the flanks of his horse. Arline lowered her head against the dust kicked into her face as he went
tearing past her, and kept doggedly on. Someone came rattling up behind her with empty barrels dancing erratically in a wagon, and she left the trail to make room. The hostler from their own stable
it was who drove, and at the creek ahead of them he stopped to fill the barrels. Arline passed him by and kept on.

At the brow of the hill the women and children were gathered in a whimpering group. Arline joined them and gazed out over the prairie, where the smoke was rolling toward them, and, lifting here
and there, let a flare of yellow through.

“It’ll show up fine at dark,” a fat woman in a buggy remarked. “There’s nothing grander to look at than a prairie fire at night. I do hope,” she added weakly,
“it don’t do no great damage!”

“Oh, it won’t,” Arline cut in, with savage sarcasm, panting from her climb. “It’s bound to sweep the hull country slick an’ clean, and maybe burn us all
out—but that won’t matter, so long as it looks purty after dark!”