CHAPTER I
The Home Land of Little Jim Hartigan
A burnt, bare, seared, and wounded spot in the great pine forest ofOntario, some sixty miles northeast of Toronto, was the little town ofLinks. It lay among the pine ridges, the rich, level bottomlands, andthe newborn townships, in a region of blue lakes and black loam that wasdestined to be a thriving community of prosperous farmer folk. Thebroad, unrotted stumps of the trees that not so long ago possessed theground, were thickly interstrewn among the houses of the town and in thelittle fields that began to show as angular invasions of the woodland,one by every settler's house of logs. Through the woods and through thetown there ran the deep, brown flood of the little bog-born river, andstreaking its current for the whole length were the huge, fragrant logsof the new-cut pines, in disorderly array, awaiting their turn to beshot through the mill and come forth as piles of lumber, broad wasteslabs, and heaps of useless sawdust.
Two or three low sawmills were there, each booming, humming, busied allthe day. And the purr of their saws, or the scream when they struck someharder place in the wood, was the dominant note, the day-longlabour-song of Links. At first it seemed that these great, wastefulfragrant, tree-destroying mills were the only industries of the town;and one had to look again before discovering, on the other side of theriver, the grist mill, sullenly claiming its share of the water power,and proclaiming itself just as good as any other mill; while radiatingfrom the bridge below the dam, were the streets--or, rather, the roughroads, straight and ugly--along which wooden houses, half hidden by tallsunflowers, had been built for a quarter of a mile, very close togethernear the bridge, but ever with less of house and sunflower and more ofpumpkin field as one travelled on, till the last house with the lastpumpkin field was shut in by straggling, much-culled woods, alternatingwith swamps that were densely grown with odorous cedar and fragranttamarac, as yet untouched by the inexorable axe of the changing day.
Seen from the road, the country was forest, with about one quarter ofthe land exposed by clearings, in each of which were a log cabin and thebarn of a settler. Seen from the top of the tallest building, the skyline was, as yet, an array of plumy pines, which still stood thick amongthe hardwood trees and, head and shoulders, overtopped them.
Links was a town of smells. There were two hotels with their complex,unclean livery barns and yards, beside, behind, and around them; and onevery side and in every yard there were pigs--and still more pigs--anevidence of thrift rather than of sanitation; but over all, and in theend overpowering all, were the sweet, pervading odour of the new-sawnboards and the exquisite aroma of the different fragrant gums--of pine,cedar, or fir--which memory will acknowledge as the incense to conjureup again in vivid actuality these early days of Links.
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It was on a sunny afternoon late in the summer of 1866 that a littleknot of loafers and hangers-on of the hotels gathered in the yard of thetown's larger hostelry and watched Bill Kenna show an admiring world howto ride a wild, unbroken three-year-old horse. It was not a very badhorse, and Bill was too big to be a wonderful rider, but still he stayedon, and presently subdued the wild thing to his will, amid the brief,rough, but complimentary remarks of the crowd.
One of the most rapt of the onlookers was a rosy-cheeked, tow-topped boyof attractive appearance--Jim; who though only eight years old, wasblessed with all the assurance of twenty-eight. Noisy and forward,offering suggestions and opinions at the pitch of his piping voice, heshrieked orders to every one with all the authority of a young lord; asin some sense he was, for he was the only son of "Widdy" Hartigan, theyoung and comely owner and manager of the hotel.
"There, now, Jim. Could ye do that?" said one of the bystanders,banteringly.
"I couldn't ride that 'un, cause me legs ain't long enough to lap round;but I bet I could ride _that_ 'un," and he pointed to a little foalgazing at them from beside its dam.
"All right, let him try," said several.
"And have his brains kicked out," said a more temperate onlooker.
"Divil a bit," said big Bill, the owner of the colt. "That's the kindestlittle thing that ever was born to look through a collar," and hedemonstrated the fact by going over and putting his arms around theyoung thing's gentle neck.
"Here, you; give me a leg up," shouted Jimmy, and in a moment he wasastride the four-month colt.
In a yard, under normal kindly conditions, a colt may be the gentlestthing in the world, but when suddenly there descends upon its back awild animal that clings with exasperating pertinacity, there is usuallybut one result. The colt plunged wildly, shaking its head andinstinctively putting in practice all the ancient tricks that its kindhad learned in fighting the leopard or the wolf of the ancestral wildhorse ranges.
But Jim stuck on. His legs, it was true, were not long enough to "lapround," but he was a born horseman. He had practised since he was ableto talk, never losing a chance to bestride a steed; and now he was inhis glory. Round and round went the colt, amid the laughter of theonlookers. They apprehended no danger, for they knew that the youngstercould ride like a jackanapes; in any case the yard was soft with litter,and no harm could happen to the boy.
The colt, nearly ridden down, had reached the limit of its youngstrength, and had just about surrendered. Jim was waving one hand intriumph, while the other clutched the fuzzy mane before him, when a newand striking element was added to the scene. A rustle of petticoats, awhite cap over yellow hair, a clear, commanding voice that sent the menall back abashed, and the Widdy Hartigan burst through the littlecircle.
"What do ye mean letting me bhoy do that fool thing to risk his life andlimb? Have ye no sense, the lot of ye? Jimmy, ye brat, do ye want tobreak yer mother's heart? Come off of that colt this holy minute; orI'll--"
Up till now, Jim had been absolute dominator of the scene; but thepowerful personality of his mother shattered his control, dethroned him.
As she swept angrily toward him, his nerve for the time was shaken. Thecolt gave a last wild plunge; Jim lost his balance and his hold, andwent down on the soft litter.
As it sprang free from its tormenter, the frightened beast gave vent toits best instinctive measure of defense and launched out a final kick.The youngster gave a howl of pain, and in a minute more he was sobbingin his mother's arms, while one of the crowd was speeding for thedoctor.
Yes, the arm was broken above the elbow, a simple fracture, a matter ofa month to mend. The bone was quickly set, and when his wailing had in ameasure subsided, Jim showed his horseman soul by jerking out: "I couldhave rode him, Mother. I'll ride him yet. I'll tame him to a finish, thelittle divil."