The Imposter

by Harold Bindloss

It was a bitter night, for although there was no snow as yet, the frost had bound the prairie in its iron grip, when Rancher Witham stood shivering in a little Canadian settlement in the great, lonely land which runs north from the American frontier to Athabasca. There was no blink of starlight in the murky sky, and a stinging wind that came up out of the great waste of grass moaned about the frame houses clustering beside the trail that led south over the limited levels to the railroad and civilization. It chilled Witham through his somewhat tattered furs, and he strode up and down, glancing expectantly into the darkness, and then across the unpaved street, where the ruts were ploughed a foot deep in the prairie sod, towards the warm, red glow from the windows of the wooden hotel. He knew that the rest of the outlying farmers and ranchers who had ridden in for their letters were sitting snug about the stove, but it was customary for all who sought shelter there to pay for their share of the six o'clock supper, and the half-dollar Witham had then in his pocket was required for other purposes. He had also retained through all his struggles a measure of his pride, and because of it strode up and down buffeted by the blasts until a beat of horse-hoofs came out of the darkness and was followed by a rattle of wheels. It grew steadily louder, a blinking ray of brightness flickered across the frame houses, and presently dark figures were silhouetted against the light on the hotel veranda as a lurching wagon drew up beneath it. Two dusky objects, shapeless in their furs, sprang down, and one stumbled into the post office close by with a bag while the other man answered the questions hurled at him as he fumbled with stiffened fingers at the harness. "Late? Well, you might be thankful you've got your mail at all," he said. "We had to go round by Willow Bluff, and didn't think we'd get through the ford. Ice an inch thick, anyway, and Charley talked that much he's not said anything since, even when the near horse put his foot into a badger hole." Rude banter followed this, but Witham took no part in it. Hastening into the post office, he stood betraying his impatience by his very impassiveness while a sallow-faced woman tossed the letters out upon the counter. At last she took up two of them, and the man's fingers trembled a little as he stretched out his hand, when she said- "That's all there are for you." Witham recognized the writing on the envelopes, and it was with difficulty he held his eagerness in check, but other men were waiting for his place, and he went out and crossed the street to the hotel where there was light to read by. As he entered it a girl, bustling about a long table in the big stove-warmed room, turned with a little smile.

Genres: Canada

230 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1905

About the author

Harold Edward Bindloss (1866 - December 30, 1945) was an English novelist who wrote many adventure novels set in western Canada.

Bindloss was born in Liverpool in 1866. According to his New York Times obituary:

Mr Bindloss was more than 30 years old before he began writing. Previously he had roamed the world, farming in Canada and working in southern climes as a cargo heaver, a planter, and at other jobs.

Broken by malaria he returned to England forty-five years ago and took up office work. But he lost his job when his health broke down and turned to writing in which he found his true vocation. He published some forty novels between the years 1902 and 1943. Many of his books had their locale in Canada. (New York Times, January 2, 1946)

He returned to London. In 1898, he published his first book, a non-fiction account based on his travels in Africa, called In the Niger Country. This was followed by dozens of novels.

Reviews

[Hannah · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was one of the first books I read after discovering Project Gutenberg, and it's the one that introduced me to Harold Bindloss. It's a sweeping moral tale of right and wrong...how even choices made when there seems to be no other option can haunt us for the rest of our lives. It's set in the Canadian prairies in the early 1900s, and you will feel the sting of snow and taste the hunger of desperation as you read.

[Martha · Rating 5 out of 5]

Finding this book on a random search was a happy accident. I had not heard of Bindloss and was not thrilled to read a century old book, but it was a fine story and I enjoyed the old writing style.

[Susan · Rating 2 out of 5]

This simply didn’t hold my attention

[Larry Piper · Rating 4 out of 5]

So, we're back on the Canadian prairie around 1900. This time it's Alberta, I believe. Farmer Witham has worked like a dog for some six years. Initially, he'd had some success making a go of his homesteading, but the past three years resulted in complete disaster, three years of failed crops and all his livestock froze to death. So, he's at the end of his rope. Enter a local ne'er-do-well, Lance Corthorne. Corthorne comes from a line of English "gentlemen", but has been out in the "colonies", gambling, womanizing, and running illegal liquor across the border from Montana. Something like that.

Well, Corthorne and Witham are very much alike in physical appearance. So, Corthorne offers Witham a deal. For $100 (which was a lot of money in those days, especially to one who is down to his last kernel of wheat) he wants Witham to don his, i.e. Corthorne's clothes and ride Corthorne's well known, black horse across into Montana and stay there for a few weeks. He's to make himself sort-of known. The idea is the police will follow Witham, disguised as Corthorne, and leave Corthorne, disguised as Witham alone so that Corthorne can help direct his bootleggers. Something like that.

Witham, having nothing to lose, decides to take up the task offered (and the $100). The cops do chase him, but he manages to lose them. But, unfortunately for Corthorne, some cops also meet up with him, and one recognizes who he actually is, i.e. that he is not Witham. Well, that guy must be silenced, right?, so Corthorne shoots him and flees off and across a river. There are people on the bridge, so he cuts across the river, which is still covered in ice. The ice crumbles and horse and rider tumble into the frigid water, presumably dead. The horse is confirmed dead, but no human body is found.


Well, back in Montana, Witham, still pretending to be Corthorne, finds out about the murder and learns that the cops are looking for him. He also finds out that Corthorne has inherited a bit of an estate in Alberta in a British enclave known as Silverdale. Off he goes to Silverdale to make a go of it there, pretending of course, to be Corthorne.

Silverdale is run by Col. Barrington and his spinster sister, Miss Barrington. He also has a ward, his niece, Maude Barrington. Man oh man! is she a dish. At least that's what Witham thinks. It also seems that Corthorne's tract of land has been carved out of a larger tract, and all of it should have gone to Maude. Then too, Col. Barrington knows Corthorne by reputation, so is not exactly welcoming. Miss Barrington, however, was a great friend of Corthorne's mother and also believes that lost souls are redeemable.

So, Witham, pretending to be Corthorne, manages to make a go with the farming, but begins to feel rather a cad to be defrauding Maude out of a part of her inheritance. Also, because he's an impostor, he can't possibly declare his love. And so things get complicated. Can Col. Barrington learn to accept Witham/Corthorne? Can Witham/Corthorne come clean without losing all respect? Can the two, sort-of lovers become united? What was life like on the prairies back in olden times?

So much to learn/find out. It's well worth the read.