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Bindloss, Harold, 1866-1945

"Winston of the Prairie"

Dim trees whirled by them,
undergrowth went down, and they, were out on the dusty grass again,
while, like field guns wanted at the front, the bouncing wagons went
through behind. Then the fire rose higher in front of them, and when
they topped the last rise the pace grew faster still. The slope they
thundered down was undermined by gophers and seamed by badger-holes,
but they took their chances gleefully, sparing no effort of hand and
heel, for the sum of twenty dollars and the credit of being first man
in. Then the smoke rolled up to them, and when eager hands drew bridle
at last, a youthful voice rose breathlessly out of it:
"Stapleton a good first, but he'll go back on weight. It used to be
black and orange when he was at home."
There was a ripple of hoarse laughter, a gasping cheer, and then
silence, for now their play was over, and it was with the grim
quietness, which is not unusual with their kind, the men of Silverdale
turned towards the fire. It rolled towards the homestead, a waving
crimson wall, not fast, but with remorseless persistency, out of the
dusky prairie, and already the horses were plunging in the smoke of it.
That, however, did not greatly concern the men, for the bare fire
furrows stretched between themselves and it; but there was also another
blaze inside the defenses, and, unless it was checked, nothing could
save house and barns and granaries, rows of costly binders, and stock
of prairie hay. They looked for a leader, and found one ready, for
Winston's voice came up through the crackle of the fire:
"Some of you lead the saddle-horses back to the willows and picket
them.


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