The Black Creek Stopping-House | Page 3

sheet-iron camp-stove, no bigger than a
biscuit- box.
The next year, when the railroad came to Brandon, and the wheat was
drawn in from as far south as Lloyd's Lake, the Black Creek Stopping-
House became a far-famed and popular establishment.
CHAPTER II.

THE HOUSE OF BREAD.
Across the level plain which lies between the valley of the Souris and
the valley of the Assiniboine there ran, at this time, three trails. There
was the deeply-rutted old Hudson Bay trail, over which went the
fabulously heavy loads of fur long ago--grass-grown now and broken
with badger holes; there was "the trail," hard and firm, in the full pride
of present patronage, defying the invasion of the boldest blade of grass;
and by the side of it, faint and shadowy, like a rainbow's understudy,
ran "the new trail," strong in the certainty of being the trail in time.
For miles across the plain the men who follow the trail watch the steep
outlying shoulder of the Brandon Hills for a landmark. When they
leave the Souris valley the hills are blue with distance and seem to
promise wooded slopes, and maybe leaping streams, but a half-day's
journey dispels the illusion, for when the traveller comes near enough
to see the elevation as it is, it is only a rugged bluff, bald and bare, and
blotched with clumps of mangy grass, with a fringe of stunted poplar at
the base.
After rounding the shoulder of the hill, the thick line of poplars and
elms which fringe the banks of Black Creek comes into view, and
many a man and horse have suddenly brightened at the sight, for in the
shelter of the trees there stands the Black Creek Stopping-House, which
is the half-way house on the way to Brandon. Hungry men have
smelled the bacon frying when more than a mile away, and it is only
the men who follow the trail who know what a heartsome smell that is.
The horses, too, tired with the long day, point their ears ahead and step
livelier when they see the whitewashed walls gleaming through the
trees.
The Black Creek Stopping-House gave not only food and shelter to the
men who teamed the wheat to market--it gave them good fellowship
and companionship. In the absence of newspapers it kept its guests
abreast with the times; events great and small were discussed there with
impartial deliberation, and often with surprising results. Actions and
events which seemed quite harmless, and even heroic, when discussed
along the trail, often changed their complexion entirely when Mrs.

Maggie Corbett let in the clear light of conscience on them, for even on
the very edge of civilization there are still to be found finger- posts on
the way to right living.
Mrs. Maggie Corbett was a finger-post, and more, for a finger-post
merely points the way with its wooden finger, and then, figuratively,
retires from the scene to let you think it over; but Maggie Corbett
continued to take an interest in the case until it was decided to her
entire satisfaction.
Black Creek, on whose wooded bank the Stopping-House stands, is a
deep black stream which makes its way leisurely across the prairie
between steep banks. Here and there throughout its length are little
shallow stretches which show a golden braid down the centre like any
peaceful meadow brook where children may with safety float their little
boats, but Black Creek, with its precipitous holes, is no safe companion
for any living creature that has not webbed toes or a guardian angel.
The banks, which are of a spongy black loam, grow a heavy crop of
coarse meadow grass, interspersed in the late summer with the
umbrella- like white clusters of water hemlock.
* * * * *
About a mile from the Stopping-House there stood a strange log
structure, the present abode of Reginald and Randolph Brydon, late of
H.M. Navy, but now farmers and homesteaders. The house was built in
that form of architecture known as a "Red River frame," and the
corners were finished in the fashion called "saddle and notch."
Whatever can be done to a house to spoil its appearance had been done
to this one. There was a "join" in each side, which was intended, and a
bulge which was accidental, and when the sailor brothers were unable
to make a log lie comfortably beside its neighbor by using the axe, they
resorted to long iron spikes, and when these split the logs, as was
usually the case, they overcame the difficulty by using ropes.
What had brought the Brydon brothers to Manitoba was a matter of

conjecture in the Black Creek neighborhood. Some said they probably
were not wanted at home; others, with deeper meaning, said they
probably were wanted at home; and, indeed, their