Canada, Western -- Fiction; Farm life -- Canada -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction
It seemed to Gallwey that this was probable enough. The oats stood half
as high again as most of those he had seen in England, on thick, flinty
stems that had dried and yellowed under a scorching sun, while behind
them rolled the wheat that was almost as ripe. There had been no rain
for days, and very little dew, and now, when a fierce, hot wind was
driving down the fire on them, the whole crop seemed ready for the
burning. The guard-furrows would check the flame, but they could not
stop the sparks, and sheaves and tall stubble lay spread like tinder for
them to fall among.
Then once more the wind descended, and a long wreath of smoke, blotting
out everything, drove on. A great shower of sparks blew forward out of
the midst of it, and, when it was rent aside, there sprang up a great
crackling blaze. It leapt forward with a roar, and then broke up,
running low among the grass, while the smoke whirled past the men,
choking and blinding them, thicker than ever.
"Stand by!" cried Leland. "There's the first! Beat it out! Hold on!
Don't crowd in on them!"
His voice was lost in the crackle of the fire, and that was the last
intelligible thing he said for some time. A further hail of sparks came
out of the smoke, and a blaze sprang up among the stubble. It spread,
even while two men fell upon it with wet grain bags, but flickered out
when a third reinforced them with a shovel. Then it grew intolerably
hot, and the action became general.
The fire was almost up to the guard-furrows, and a rain of burning
particles blew on before it. Incipient blazes broke out where they fell,
and men fought them savagely in the blinding smoke. Now and then they
fell over each other, and one here and there was struck by his comrade's
shovel, but nobody heeded that. Epithets that at other times would have
been answered by the clenched fist passed unnoticed; and choking,
gasping, whirling bag or shovel, they fought on. Now and then the smoke
thinned a little, and the fierce red light beat upon their dripping
faces and bowed figures, only to fade into a confused opacity again that
made but faintly visible the forms flitting like phantoms amidst the
vapour. Here and there a man cried out, but nobody heard what he said,
and his feeble voice was drowned in the crackle of the flame. Leland
appeared to be wherever the fire was fiercest, once knocking Gallwey
down as he came floundering through the stubble towards a spreading
blaze.
Then the fire rolled up to the edge of the ploughing, a wall of flame,
perhaps a hundred yards from end to end, leaping up with a mad roaring;
then it stopped and fell away. The sparks dropped short, too, in a
lulling of the wind, and what, by contrast, seemed black darkness rushed
down upon that part of the prairie. Then there was an impressive
silence, and men, half dazed by the heat and effort, wiped their
streaming faces, and looked round in search of their invisible
neighbours.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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