Jim Rattray, Trooper

BY

KELSO B. JOHNSON

 
'Our Lady of the Snows' resents the title. It is so liable, she complains, to give strangers an utterly wrong idea of her climate. And yet, at times, when the blizzard piles the swirling snow over fence and hollow, until boundaries are lost, and the bewildered wayfarer knows not which way to turn, he is apt to think, if he is in a condition to think at all, that there is some justice in the description.

But there was no sign of the stern side of nature as Jim Rattray made his way westward. The sun shone on the wide, rolling plains, the fresh green of the pasture lands, and the young wheat; the blue sky covered all with a dome of heaven's own blue, and Jim's heart rejoiced within him.

A strapping young fellow was Jim, not long out from the Old Country--the sort of young fellow whose bright eyes and fresh open face do one good to look at. North-country farming in England was the life to which he had looked forward; vigorous sports and hard work in the keen air of the Cumberland fells had knit his frame and hardened his muscles; and his parents, as they noticed with pride their boy's sturdy limbs, and listened in wonder to the bits of learning he brought home from school, had looked forward half-unconsciously to the days when he in his turn would be master of the farm which Rattrays had held for generations.

Bad days, however, had come for English farmers; the Cumbrian farm had to be given up, and Jim's father never recovered from the shock of having to leave it. Within a few years Jim was an orphan, alone in the world.
 

The Great New World

There was nothing to keep him in England; why should he not try his fortune in the great new world beyond the seas, which was crying out for stout hearts and hands to develop its treasures? He was young and strong: Canada was a land of great possibilities. There was room and a chance for all there. His life was before him--what might he not achieve!

'What do you propose doing?' asked a fellow-voyager as they landed.

 'I really don't quite know,' replied Jim. 'As soon as possible I must get employment on a farm, I suppose, but I hardly know how to set about it.'

'There won't be much difficulty about that. All you have to do is to let it be known at the bureau that you want farm work, and you'll find plenty of farmers willing to take you--and glad to get you,' he added, as his eyes roved over Jim's stalwart figure. 'But have you thought of the police?'

'The police? No--what have I done?'

His friend laughed.

'I mean the North-West Mounted Police. Why don't you try to join it? If they'll take you, you'll take to the life like a duck to water. You could join, if you liked, for a short term of years; you would roam about over hundreds of miles of country, and get a general knowledge of it such as you could hardly get otherwise; then, if you'd like to settle down to farming or ranching, the information you had picked up would be useful.'

Jim pondered over the advice, and finally resolved to follow it. He hoped to make his way in the world, and the more knowledge he could gain the better.

A few days later saw him on his way westward, his heart bounding with the exhilarating beauty of the scene. Already the life at home seemed cramped; the wideness and freedom of this great new country intoxicated him.

'Do we want a recruit? No, we don't!' said the sergeant at Regina, to whom Jim applied. 'Stay a bit, though; you needn't be in such a hurry. Just out from the Old Country, I suppose. Do you know anything about horses? Can you ride?'

'Yes,' said Jim humbly.

'Let's try you,' and the sergeant led the way into the riding-school. 'We call this one 'Brown Billy,'' he remarked, indicating a quiet-looking horse. 'Think you can sit on him?'

'I'll try,' said Jim.

Riding Brown Billy seemed ridiculously easy at first. Suddenly, however, without the slightest warning, Jim found himself gripping with his knees the sides of an animal that was dancing wildly on its hind legs.

Jim caught a grin on the faces of the sergeant and some of the other bystanders, and setting his teeth he held on grimly. This was evidently a favourite trick of Brown Billy's, and the sergeant knew it. Well, they should see that British grit was not to be beaten.

Seemingly conquered, Brown Billy dropped again on all-fours. Scarcely had Jim begun to congratulate himself on his victory when Billy's head went down between his forelegs, his hind-quarters rose, and Jim was neatly deposited on hands and knees a few feet ahead.

The grins were noticeably broader as Jim rose, crimson with vexation.

'Thought you could sit him, eh?' laughed the sergeant. 'Well, you kept on longer than some I've seen, and you didn't try to hug him around the neck, either. You're not the first old Billy has played that trick on, by a long way. You'll make a rider yet! Come along and let us see what else you can do.'

As a result of the searching examination Jim underwent he found himself enrolled as a recruit. He was glad to find that there were among his new companions others who had fallen victims to Brown Billy's wiles, and who in consequence thought none the worse of him for his adventure.

Into the work that followed Jim threw himself with all his might. Never had instructors a more willing pupil, and it was a proud day for Jim when he was passed out of the training-school as a qualified trooper.

Jim found himself one of an exceedingly small party located apparently a hundred miles from anywhere. Their nearest neighbours were a tribe of Indians, whose mixture of childishness and cunning shrewdness made them an interesting study. These gave little trouble; they had more or less accepted the fact that the white man was now in possession of the domains of their forefathers, and that their best course was to behave themselves. When the presence of the police was required, Jim was almost amused at the docility with which his directions were generally obeyed.

He delighted in the life--the long rides, the occasional camping out on the plains far from any dwelling, the knowledge that he must rely upon himself. He felt more of a man; his powers of endurance increased until he took a positive pleasure in exercising them to their fullest possible extent. Meanwhile, nothing more exciting happened than the tracking and capture of an occasional horse-thief.

Winter set in early and hard. Snow fell until it lay feet deep, and still the stormy winds brought more. One day the sergeant came in with a troubled face.

'Wightman's horses have stampeded,' he announced. 'They'll be gone coons if they're not rounded up and brought in.'

'Let me go, sergeant!' said Jim.

The sergeant shook his head. 'It's no work for a young hand. The oldest might lose his bearings in weather like this.'

'Let me go, sergeant!' Jim repeated. 'If those horses are to be brought in I can do it.' There was a world of pleading in his tone, and the sergeant guessed the reason.

'I meant no reflection on you, my lad,' said he. 'It's no weather for anybody to be out in. All the same, if those horses aren't to be a dead loss, somebody's got to round them up.'

Finally Jim got his way. In a temporary lull about midday he set out on his stout horse, well wrapped up in the thick woollen garments provided for such times as these, and determined to bring in those horses, or perish in the attempt.

'They went off sou'-west,' shouted the sergeant. 'I should----' A furious blast as the gale recommenced carried away whatever else he might have said, and Jim was alone with his good horse on the prairie.

There was no hesitancy in his mind. South-west he would push as hard as he could go. The animals had probably not gone far; he must soon come up with them, and the sooner the better.

Gallantly his steed stepped out through the deepening snowdrifts. Fain would the sensible animal have turned and made his way back to his stable, but Jim's credit was at stake, and no turning back was allowed. Mile after mile was covered; where could those animals be in this storm?

Ha! a sudden furious rush of wind brought Jim's horse nearly to its knees. How the gale roared, and how the snow drove in his face! Up and on again, south-west after those horses!

But which _was_ the south-west? The daylight had completely faded; not a gleam showed where the sun had set. Jim felt for his pocket-compass; it was gone! The wind, blowing apparently from every quarter in succession, was no guide at all. Nothing was visible more than a yard away; nothing within that distance but driving snowflakes. Any tracks of the runaways would be covered up in a few moments; in any case there was no light to discern them.

However, it was of no use to stand still. By pressing on he might overtake his quarry, and after fright had driven them away, instinct might lead them home. That was now the only chance of safety. Would he ever find them?
 

Deeper and deeper sank his horse into the snow; harder and harder it became to raise its hoofs clear for the next step. Snorting with fear, and trembling in every limb, the gallant beast struggled on. He _must_ go on! To stop would be fatal. Benumbed as he was by the intense cold, bewildered by the storm, with hand and voice Jim cheered on his steed, and nobly it responded.

Suddenly it sank under him. A hollow, treacherously concealed by the snow, had received them both into its chilly depths.

'Up again, old boy!' cried Jim, springing from the saddle, and tugging at the rein, sinking to the waist in the soft snow as he did so. 'Now then, one more try!'

The faithful horse struggled desperately to respond to the words. But its strength was spent; its utmost exertions would not suffice to extricate it. The soft snow gave way under its hoofs; deeper and deeper it sank. With a despairing scream it made a last futile effort, then it stretched its neck along the snow, and with a sob lay down to die. Further efforts to move it would be thrown away, and Jim knew it. In a few minutes it would be wrapped in its winding-sheet.

With a lump in his throat Jim turned away--whither? His own powers had nearly ebbed out. Of what use was it to battle further against the gale, when he knew not in which direction to go?

With a sharp setting of the teeth he set himself to stimulate into activity his benumbed faculties. Where was he? What was he doing there? Ah, yes, he was after those stampeded horses. Well, he would never come up with them now. He had done his best, and he had failed.

Taking out his notebook, as well as his benumbed powers would let him, Jim scrawled a few words in the darkness. The powers of nature had been too strong for him. What was a man to set himself against that tempest?

But stay! there was One stronger than the gale. Man was beyond hearing, but was not God everywhere? Now, if ever, was the time to call upon Him.

No words would come but the familiar 'Our Father,' which Jim had said every night for longer than he could remember. He had no power to think out any other petition. 'Our Father,' he muttered drowsily, 'which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done. . . .'

The murmur ceased; the speaker was asleep.

They found him a few days later, when the snow had ceased to fall, and the wind swept over the prairie, stripping off the deadly white covering, and leaving the khaki jacket a conspicuous object. The sergeant saw it, and pointed--he could not trust his voice to speak. Eagerly the little band bent over the body of their comrade.

'Why, he's smiling! And see here! he's been writing something in his notebook. What is it?'

Reverently they took the book from the brown hand, and the sergeant read the words aloud:

'Lost, horse dead. Am trying to push on. Have done my best.'

'That he did. There was good stuff in him, lads, and perhaps he was wanted up aloft!'

A solemn hush held the party. ''I did my best,'' said a trooper softly at length. 'Ah, well, it'll be a good job for all of us, if when our time comes we can say that with as much truth as he!'