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.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 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]