"In the first place, I'll ride over to the Butte and have supper with
Taunton, as soon as I can find the time."
"Thanks," responded Edgar gratefully; "you won't have any doubts after that." Then he broke into laughter. "You'll excuse me, but it's really funny, George."
"I don't see the joke," George said shortly.
Edgar tried to look serious, and failed.
"I can imagine your trying to weigh up Helen; starting a subtle conversation to elucidate her character, and showing what you were after and your profound ignorance with every word; though you mustn't suppose I'd be afraid of submitting her to the severest test. Why, you wouldn't even know when a girl was in love with you, unless she told you so. Perhaps it's some excuse that your mind's fixed on one woman to the exclusion of all the rest, though one could imagine that, as you think of her, she's as unreal and as far removed from anything made of flesh and blood as a saint in a picture. After all, I dare say it's a very proper feeling."
George left him, half amused and half disturbed. He did not resent Edgar's freedom of speech, but the latter had a way of mixing hints that were not altogether foolish with his badinage, and his comrade was inclined to wonder what he had meant by one suggestive remark. It troubled him as he strolled along the edge of the tall green wheat, but he comforted himself with the thought that, after all, Edgar's conversation was often unworthy of serious consideration.
A week later George rode over to the store at the settlement, feeling a little diffident, because he had undertaken the visit only from a sense of duty. He was cordially received, and was presently taken in to supper, which was served in a pretty room and presided over by a very attractive girl. She had a pleasant voice and a quiet face; though he thought she must have guessed his errand, she treated him with a composure that set him at his ease. Indeed, she was by no means the kind of girl he had expected Edgar to choose; but this was in her favor. George could find no fault in her.
Shortly after the meal was finished his host was called away, and the girl looked up at George with a flush of color creeping, most becomingly, into her face.
"Edgar told me I needn't be afraid of you," she said.
George smiled.
"I can understand his confidence, though it had a better foundation than my good-nature. I wonder whether I might venture to say that he has shown remarkably good sense?"
"I'm glad you don't think he has been very foolish," replied the girl, and it was obvious to George that she understood the situation.
He made her a little grave bow.
"What I've said, I'm ready to stick to. I'm a friend of Edgar's, and that carried an obligation."
"Yes," she assented, "but it was because you are a friend of his and, in a way, represent his people in England, that I was a little uneasy."
Her speech implied a good deal and George admired her candor.
"Well," he said, "so far as I am concerned, you must never feel anything of the kind again. But I think you should have known it was quite unnecessary."
She gave him a grateful glance and soon afterward her father came in.
"Guess we'll take a smoke in the back office," he said to George.
George followed him, and thought he understood why he was led into the little untidy room strewn with packets of goods, though his host had a fine commodious house. Taunton would not attempt to dissociate himself from his profession; he meant to be taken for what he was, but he knew his value. He was a gaunt, elderly man: as far as his general appearance went, a typical inhabitant of a remote and half-developed western town, though there was a hint of authority in his face. Giving George an excellent cigar, he pointed to a chair.
"Now," he began, "we must have a talk. When your partner first came hanging round my store, buying things he didn't want, I was kind of short with him. Helen helps me now and then with the books, and he seemed to know when she came in."
"I noticed he came home in a rather bad temper once or twice," George said with a laugh. "I used to wonder, when he produced sardine cans at supper, but after a while I began to understand."
"Well," continued Taunton, "I didn't intend to have any blamed Percy trying to turn my girl's head, until I knew what he meant. I'd nobody to talk it over with—I lost her mother long ago—so I kind of froze him out, until one day he came dawdling in and asked if he might take Helen to Jim Haxton's dance.
"'Does she know you have come to me about it?' I said.
"'Can't say,' he told me coolly, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. 'I haven't mentioned the matter yet; I thought I'd ask you first.'
"'S'pose I object?' I said.
"'Then,' he allowed quite tranquil, 'the thing will have to be considered. There's not the slightest reason why you should object.'
"I'd a notion I could agree with him—I liked the way he talked—and I told him Helen could go, but the next time he called he was to walk right into the office instead of hanging round the counter. I asked him what he'd done with all the canned truck he'd bought, and he said he was inclined to think his partner had eaten most of it. Since then he's been over pretty often, and I figured it was time I gave you a hint."
"Thanks," responded George. "He was, in a way, placed in my hands, but
I've no real control over him."
"That's so; he's of age. What I felt was this—I've nothing against West, but my girl's good enough for anybody, and I can't have his people in England looking down on her and making trouble. If they're not satisfied, they had better call him back right now. There's to be no high-toned condescension in this matter."
"I don't think you need be afraid of that," said George. "It would be altogether uncalled for. It's very likely that I shall be consulted, and I'll have pleasure in telling his people that I consider him a lucky man."
"There's another point—has West any means?"
"I believe about five thousand dollars could be raised to put him on a farm."
Taunton nodded.
"It's not very much, but I don't know that I'm sorry. I'll see they're fixed right; whatever West gets I'll beat. My girl shan't be indebted to her husband's folks. But there's not a word to be said about this yet. West must wait another year before we decide on anything."
George thought the storekeeper's attitude could not be found fault with, and when he drove home through the soft dusk of the summer night, he was glad to feel that there was no need for anxiety about the choice Edgar had made.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE LEADING WITNESS
Three or four weeks passed quietly without any news from Flett until one evening when Edgar sat talking to Miss Taunton in the office of her father's store at Sage Butte. The little, dusty room was unpleasantly hot and filled with the smell of resinous pine boards; there was a drawl of voices and an occasional patter of footsteps outside the door; and a big book, which seemed to have no claim on her attention, lay open on the table in front of the girl.
She was listening to Edgar with a smile in her eyes, and looking, so he thought, remarkably attractive in her light summer dress which left her pretty, round arms uncovered to the elbow and displayed the polished whiteness of her neck. He was expressing his approval of the current fashions, which he said were rational and particularly becoming to people with skins like ivory. Indeed, he was so engrossed in his subject that he did not hear footsteps approaching until his companion flashed a warning glance at him; and he swung round with some annoyance as the door opened.
"I guessed I would find you here," said the station-agent, looking in with an indulgent smile.
"You're a thoughtful man," retorted Edgar. "You may as well tell me what you want."
"I've a wire from Flett, sent at Hatfield, down the line."
"What can he be doing there?" Edgar exclaimed; and Miss Taunton showed her interest.
"He was coming through on the train. Wanted Mr. Lansing to meet him at the station, if he was in town. Hadn't you better go along?"
"I suppose so," said Edgar resignedly, glancing at his watch. "It looks as if your men had taken their time. Flett should be here in about a quarter of an hour now."
"Operator had train orders to get through; we have two freights side-tracked," the agent explained. "Don't be late; she's coming along on time."
He hurried out, and a few minutes later Edgar crossed the street and strolled along the low wooden platform, upon which a smart constable was waiting. A long trail of smoke, drawing rapidly nearer, streaked the gray and ochre of the level plain, and presently the big engine and dusty cars rolled into the station amid the hoarse tolling of the bell. As they ran slowly past him, Edgar saw a police trooper leaning out from a vestibule, and when the train stopped the constable on the platform hurried toward the car. A hum of excited voices broke out and Edgar had some difficulty in pushing through the growing crowd to reach the steps. A constable, who had hard work to keep the others back, let him pass, and he found Flett standing on the platform above, looking rather jaded, with a pistol loose in his holster.
"Isn't Mr. Lansing here?" Flett asked eagerly, and then turned to the trooper. "Keep those fellows off!"
"No," answered Edgar; "he hasn't come into town. But what's the cause of this commotion? Have you got your men?"
"Three of them," said Flett, with a look of pride. "I expect we'll get the fourth. But come in a minute, out of the noise."
The car was besieged. Curious men were clambering up the side of it, trying to peer in through the windows; others disputed angrily with the trooper who drove them off the steps. Eager questions were shouted and scraps of random information given, and groups of people were excitedly running across the street to the station. It was, however, a little quieter in the vestibule when Flett had banged the door. He next opened the inner door that led to the smoking compartment of the Colonist car. In spite of its roominess, it was almost insufferably hot and very dirty; the sunlight struck in through the windows; sand and fine cinders lay thick upon the floor. A pile of old blue blankets lay, neatly folded, on one of the wooden seats, and on those adjoining sat three men. Two wore brown duck overalls, gray shirts, and big soft hats; one was dressed in threadbare cloth; but there was nothing that particularly suggested the criminal in any of their sunburned faces. They looked hot and weary with the journey, and though their expression was perhaps a little hard, they looked like harvest hands traveling in search of work. One, who was quietly smoking, took his pipe from his mouth and spoke to Flett.
"Can't you get us some ice?" he asked. "The water in the tank isn't fit to drink."
"They haven't any here. You'll have to wait until we get to the junction," Flett told him, and drew Edgar back into the vestibule.
"We're taking them right along to Regina," he explained. "I'm sorry I couldn't see Mr. Lansing, but I'll ride over as soon as I'm sent back. If he's likely to be away, he'd better send word to the station."
"I don't expect he'll leave the farm during the next few weeks," said
Edgar.
Then one of the constables looked in.
"Conductor says he can't hold up the train."
"I'll be off," said Edgar, with a smile at Flett. "This should mean promotion; it's a fine piece of work."
He jumped down as the train pulled out and hurried back to the store where Miss Taunton was eagerly awaiting news. Soon afterward he left; and as he rode up to the homestead day was breaking, but he found George already at work in the stable.
"It's lucky we don't need your horse. If you're going to keep up this kind of thing, you had better buy an automobile," he remarked.
Edgar laughed.
"I don't feel remarkably fresh, but I'll hold out until to-night. There's the fallowing to be got on with; I suppose nothing must interfere with that. But aren't you up a little earlier than usual?"
"I want to haul in the posts for the new fence. Grierson has his hands full, and now that there are four of us, Jake spends so much time in cooking."
"A reckless waste of precious minutes!" Edgar exclaimed ironically. "If one could only get over these troublesome bodily needs, you could add hours of work to every week and make Sylvia Marston rich. By the way, Jake's cooking is getting awful."
He put up his horse and busied himself with several tasks before he went in to breakfast. When it was finished, and the others went out, he detained George.
"What did you think of that meal?" he asked.
"Well," said George, "it might have been better."
Edgar laughed scornfully.
"It would take some time to tell you my opinion, but I may as well point out that you're paying a big bill for stores to Taunton, though we never get anything fit to eat. Helen and I were talking over your account, and she wondered what we did with the things, besides giving me an idea. It's this—why don't you tell Grierson to bring out his wife?"
"I never thought of it. She might not come; and she may not cook much better than Jake."
"She certainly couldn't cook worse! I expect she would save her wages, and she would set a hired man free. Jake can drive a team."
"It's a good idea," George agreed. "Send Grierson in."
The man came a few minutes later.
"We get on pretty well; I suppose you are willing to stay with me?"
George said to him.
Grierson hesitated and looked disturbed.
"The fact is, I'd be very sorry to leave; but I'm afraid I'll have to by and by. You see, I've got to find a place I can take my wife to."
"Can she cook?"
"Yes," said Grierson, indicating the remnants on the table with contempt. "She would do better than this with her eyes shut! Then," he continued eagerly, "she can wash and mend clothes. I've noticed that you and Mr. West throw half your things away long before you need to."
"That's true," Edgar admitted. "It's the custom of the country; time's too valuable to spend in mending anything, though I've noticed that one or two of the people who tell you about the value of time get through a good deal of it lounging round the Sachem. Anyway, amateur laundering's an abomination, and I'm most successful in washing the buttons and wrist-bands off." He turned to his companion. "George, you'll have to send for Mrs. Grierson."
The matter was promptly arranged, and when Grierson went out with a look of keen satisfaction, Edgar laughed.
"I feel like pointing out how far an idea can go. Helen only thought of making me a little more comfortable, and you see the result of it—Grierson and his wife united, things put into shape here, four people content! Of course, one could cite a more striking example; I mean when Sylvia Marston thought you had better go out and look after her farm. There's no need to mention the far-reaching consequences that opinion had."
"I volunteered to go out," George corrected him.
"Well," said Edgar, "I quite believe you did so. But you're no doubt pining to get at the fence."
They went off to work, but Edgar, driving the gang-plow through the stubble under a scorching sun, thought that Sylvia's idea might bear more fruit than she had calculated on, and that it would be bitter to her. His mind, however, was chiefly occupied with a more attractive person, and once when he turned the heavy horses at the end of the furrows he said softly, "May I deserve her!" and looked up with a tense expression in his hot face, as if making some firm resolve, which was a procedure that would have astonished even those who knew him well.
A week passed, each day growing brighter and hotter, until the glare flung back by sandy soil and whitening grass became painful, and George and his assistants discarded most of their clothing when they went about their tasks. The oats began to show a silvery gleam as they swayed in the strong light; the wheat was changing color, and there were warm coppery gleams among the heavy ears; horses and cattle sought the poplars' shade. Then one evening when the Grants had driven over, Flett arrived at the homestead, and, sitting on the stoop as the air grew cooler, related his adventures.
"I guess my chiefs wouldn't be pleased to hear me; we're not encouraged to talk, but there's a reason for it, as you'll see when I'm through," he said, and plunged abruptly into his narrative.
It proved to be a moving tale of weary rides in scorching heat and in the dusk of night, of rebuffs and daunting failures. Flett, as he admitted, had several times been cleverly misled and had done some unwise things, but he had never lost his patience nor relaxed his efforts. Slowly and doggedly, picking up scraps of information where he could, he had trailed his men to the frontier, where his real troubles had begun. Once that he crossed it, he had no authority, and the American sheriffs and deputies were not invariably sympathetic. Some, he concluded, were unduly influenced by local opinion, which was not in favor of interfering with people who confined their depredations to Canadian horses. Others, who acknowledged past favors from Regina, foresaw troublesome complications before he could be allowed to deport the offenders; but some, with a strong sense of duty, offered willing help, and that was how he had been able to make the arrests on Canadian soil.
"Now," he concluded, "we tracked these men from point to point and I've evidence to prove most of their moves, but they never had the four horses in a bunch until they made Montana, which is a point against us. We can show they were working as a gang, that they were altogether with the horses on American soil, but as we haven't corralled the only man Mr. Grant could swear to, there's only one way of proving how they got them. You see where all this leads?"
"It looks as if you depended on my evidence for a conviction," said
George.
Flett nodded.
"You saw Mr. Grant attacked and the horses run off. You can identify one man, and we'll connect him with the rest."
He took out a paper and handed it to George.
"It's my duty to serve you with this; and now that it's done, I'll warn you to watch out until after the trial. If we can convict these fellows, we smash the crowd, but we'd be helpless without you."
George opened the document and found it a formal summons to attend the court at Regina on a date specified. Then he produced another paper and gave it to Flett with a smile.
"The opposition seem to recognize my importance, and they move more quickly than the police."
The trooper took the letter, which was typed and bore no date or name of place.
"'Keep off this trial and you'll have no more trouble,'" he read aloud. "'Back up the police and you'll be sorry. If you mean to drop them, drive over to the Butte, Thursday, and get supper at the Queen's.'"
"Yesterday was Thursday, and I didn't go," George said after a moment's silence.
The quiet intimation was not a surprise to any of them, and Flett nodded as he examined the letter.
"Not much of a clue," he remarked. "Toronto paper that's sold at every store; mailed two stations down the line. Nobody would have met you at the Queen's, but most anybody in town would know if you had been there. Anyway, I'll take this along." He rose. "I can't stop, but I want to say we're not afraid of your backing down."
He rode off in a few more minutes and after a while the Grants took their leave, but Flora walked down the trail with George while the team was being harnessed.
"You'll be careful, won't you?" she said. "These men are dangerous; they know yours is the most important evidence. I shall be anxious until the trial."
There was something in her eyes and voice that sent a curious thrill through George.
"I don't think that's needful; I certainly won't be reckless," he said.
Then Flora got into the vehicle; and during the next week or two George took precautions. Indeed, he now and then felt a little uncomfortable when he had occasion to pass a shadowy bluff. He carried a pistol when he went around the outbuildings at night, and fell into a habit of stopping to listen, ready to strike or shoot, each time he opened the door of one in the dark.
For all that, nothing occurred to excite suspicion, and after a while he felt inclined to smile at his nervousness. At length, one day when the trial was close at hand, and Edgar had gone to the Butte, the mail-carrier brought him a note from Grant.
It consisted of a couple of lines asking him to come over during the evening, and as supper had been finished two hours before, George realized that there was not much time to spare. Laying down the note, he walked to the door and called his Canadian hired man.
"Put the saddle on the brown horse, Jake; I'm going to Grant's."
The man did as he was bidden, and when George was about to mount handed him a repeating rifle.
"Better take this along; cylinder's full," he said. "It will be dark before you get there."
George hesitated. The rifle was heavy, but it was a more reliable weapon than a pistol, and he rode off with it. The sun had dipped when he started, the air was rapidly cooling, and after spending the day sinking holes for fence posts in the scorching sun, he found the swift motion and the little breeze that fanned his face pleasant. To the northwest, a flush of vivid crimson glowed along the horizon, but the sweep of grass was growing dim and a bluff he reached at length stood out, a sharp-cut, dusky mass, against the fading light. He pulled up his horse on its outskirts. A narrow trail led through the wood, its entrance marked by a dark gap among the shadowy trees, and it somehow looked forbidding. The bluff, however, stretched across his path; it was getting late, and George was a little impatient of the caution he had been forced to exercise. Laying his rifle ready across the saddle, he sent his horse forward.
It was quite dark in the bluff, though here and there he could see a glimmer of faint red and orange between the trees, and the stillness had a slightly disturbing effect on him. Not a leaf moved, the beat of his horse's hoofs rang sharply down the narrow trail above which the thin birch branches met. He wanted to get out into the open, where he could see about, as soon as possible. There was, however, no ostensible cause for uneasiness and he rode on quietly, until he heard a soft rustling among the slender trunks. Pulling up the horse, he called out, and, as he half expected, got no answer. Then he cast a swift glance ahead. There was a gleam of dim light not far away where the trail led out of the bluff. Throwing the rifle to his shoulder, George fired into the shadows.
The horse plunged violently and broke into a frightened gallop. George heard a whistle and a sharper rustling, and rode toward the light at a furious pace. Then his horse suddenly stumbled and came down. The rifle flew out of George's hand, and he was hurled against a tree. The next moment he felt himself rudely seized, and what he thought was a jacket was wrapped about his head. Shaken by his fall, he could make no effective resistance, and he was dragged a few yards through the bush and flung into a wagon. He tried to pull the jacket from his face, and failed; somebody brutally beat him down against the side of the vehicle when he struggled to get up. He heard a whip crack, the wagon swayed and jolted, and he knew the team was starting at a gallop.
CHAPTER XXIX
FLORA'S ENLIGHTENMENT
It was nearly midnight when Edgar returned from the settlement and saw, to his surprise, lights still burning in the homestead. Entering the living-room, he found Grierson sitting there with Jake, and it struck him that they looked uneasy.
"What's keeping you up?" he asked.
"I thought I'd wait for the boss," said the Canadian. "He went over to
Grant's after supper, and he's not come back."
"That's curious. He said nothing about going."
"A note came by the mail. It's lying yonder."
Edgar picked it up and brought it near the lamp. The paper was good and printed with Grant's postal address, which was lengthy.
"I figured I'd go and meet him," Jake resumed, "Took the shot-gun and rode through the bluff. Didn't see anything of him, and it struck me Grant might have kept him all night, as it was getting late. He's stayed there before."
Edgar examined the note, for he was far from satisfied. George had only twice spent a night at Grant's, once when he was driving cattle, and again when it would have been risky to face the weather. The paper was undoubtedly Grant's, but Edgar could not identify the farmer's hand; the notes that had come over had been written by Flora. Then he remembered that George had bought some implements from Grant, and had filed the rancher's receipt. Edgar hurriedly found it and compared it with the letter. Then his face grew troubled, for the writing was not the same.
"I'm afraid Mr. Lansing never got to Grant's," he said. "I'll ride over at once."
"Then I'm coming," Jake said shortly. "I'll bring the gun along."
Grierson lifted a clenched brown hand.
"So am I! If Mr. Lansing's hurt, somebody's got to pay!"
Edgar was stirred by something in their looks and voices; George had gained a hold on these men's loyalty which the regular payment of wages could never have given him. He merely signified assent, and, running out, sprang into the saddle. The others had evidently had their horses ready, for he heard them riding after him in a minute or two, though he was galloping recklessly through the bluff when they came up. The homestead was dark when they reached it, and they shouted once or twice before Grant came down.
"Is George here?" Edgar asked.
"No," said Grant, "we didn't expect him."
"Then get on your clothes quick! There's work on hand!"
Grant brought him in and struck a light, then hurriedly left the room; and Flora came with him, fully dressed, when he reappeared. Edgar supposed she had heard his sharp inquiry at the door, and he noticed that her expression was strained. He threw the note on the table.
"After what you said, I needn't ask if you wrote that."
"I didn't," Grant told him. "It's not like my hand. I suppose Lansing started when he got it and has not come back?"
"You have guessed right. Where are they likely to have waylaid him, and where will they probably take him?"
"The bluff, sure. They might head north for empty country, or south for the frontier."
"The frontier," Flora broke in.
"It's what I think," said Edgar. "Shall I send a man for Flett, or will you?"
"That's fixed, anyway," said a voice outside the open door. "We're not going."
It was obvious that the hired men had followed them as far as the passage, for Grierson, entering the room, explained:
"He means we've made up our minds to look for Mr. Lansing."
Grant nodded in assent.
"Then my man goes. Turn out the boys, Jake; you know the place. I want three horses saddled, quick."
"Four," said Flora, firmly. "I'm coming."
Grant did not try to dissuade her.
"Write to Flett," he said.
He went out hastily in search of blankets and provisions, and when he returned, his hired men had gathered about the door and the note was finished. He threw it to one of them.
"Ride with that as hard as you can," he said, and called another,
"You'll come with us."
"We're a strong party already," Edgar broke in. "You're leaving the place poorly guarded, and the rustlers may have counted on something of the kind. Suppose they finish their work by driving off every beast that's left as soon as we have gone."
"I've got to take my chances; we'll want the boys to make a thorough search."
Grant swung round toward the remaining men.
"You two will watch out behind the woodstack or in the granary. No stranger's to come near house or stable."
"The woodpile," said Flora, with a hard white face and an ominous sparkle in her eyes. "You would command the outbuildings there. If anybody tries to creep up at night, call once, and then shoot to kill."
Edgar saw that she meant her instructions to be carried out; but he forced a smile.
"And this is the Canadian wheat-belt, which I was told was so peaceful and orderly!"
"It looks as if you had been misinformed," Flora rejoined with a cold collectedness which he thought of as dangerous. "One, however, now and then hears of violent crime in London."
They were mounted in a few minutes, and after a hard ride the party broke up at dawn, dispersing so that each member of it could make independent search and inquiries at the scattered homesteads. Meeting places and means of communication were arranged; but Flora and her father rode together, pushing on steadily southward over the vast gray plain. Little was said except when they called at some outlying farm, but Grant now and then glanced at the girl's set face with keenly scrutinizing eyes. In the middle of the scorching afternoon he suggested that she should await his return at a homestead in the distance, but was not surprised when she uncompromisingly refused. They spent the night at a small ranch, borrowed fresh horses in the morning, and set out again; but they found no trace of the fugitives during the day, and it was evening when Edgar and Grierson joined them, as arranged, at a lonely farm. The two men rode in wearily on jaded horses, and Flora, who was the first to notice their approach, went out to meet them.
"Nothing?" she said, when she saw their dejected faces.
"Nothing," Edgar listlessly answered. "If the people we have seen aren't in league with the rustlers—and I don't think that's probable—the fellows must have gone a different way."
"They've gone south!" Flora insisted. "We may be a little too far to the east of their track."
"Then, we must try a different line of country tomorrow."
The farmer's wife had promised to find Flora quarters, the men were offered accommodation in a barn, and when the air cooled sharply in the evening, Edgar walked out on to the prairie with the girl. She had kept near him since his arrival, but he was inclined to believe this was rather on account of his association with George than because she found any charm in his society. By and by, they sat down on a low rise from which they could see the sweep of grass run on, changing to shades of blue and purple, toward the smoky red glare of sunset on its western rim. To the south, it was all dim and steeped in dull neutral tones, conveying an idea of vast distance.
Flora shivered, drawing her thin linen jacket together while she buttoned it, and Edgar noticed something beneath it that broke the outline of her waist.
"What's that at your belt?" he asked.
"A magazine pistol," she answered with a rather harsh laugh, producing the beautifully made weapon,
"It's a pretty thing. I wonder whether you can use it?"
"Will you stand up at about twenty paces and hold out your hat?"
"Certainly not!" said Edgar firmly. "I wouldn't mind putting it on a stick, only that the shot would bring the others out. But I've no doubt you can handle a pistol; you're a curious people."
He thought the last remark was justified. Here was a girl, as refined and highly trained in many ways as any he had met, and yet who owned a dangerous weapon and could use it effectively. Then there was her father, an industrious, peaceable farmer, whose attention was, as a rule, strictly confined to the amassing of money, but who was nevertheless capable of riding or shooting down the outlaws who molested him or his friends. What made the thing more striking was that neither of them had been used to alarms; they had dwelt in calm security until the past twelve months. Edgar, however, remembered that they sprang from a stock that had struggled sternly for existence with forest and flood and frost; no doubt, in time of stress, the strong primitive strain came uppermost. Their nature had not been altogether softened by civilization. The thought flung a useful light upon Flora's character.
"If the trial's a lengthy one and these fellows hold him up until it's over, it will be a serious thing for George," he resumed, by way of implying that this was the worst that could befall his comrade. "The grain's ripening fast, and he hasn't made his arrangements for harvest yet. Men seem pretty scarce around here, just now."
"It's a good crop; I'm glad of that," said Flora, willing to avoid the graver side of the topic. "Mr. Lansing was anxious about it, but this harvest should set him on his feet. I suppose he hasn't paid off the full price of the farm."
"As a matter of fact, he hasn't paid anything at all."
"Then has he only rented the place?"
There was surprise and strong interest in the girl's expression and Edgar saw that he had made a telling admission. However, he did not regret it.
"No," he said; "that's not the case, either. The farm is still Mrs.
Marston's."
"Ah! There's something I don't understand."
Edgar was sorry for her, and he felt that she was entitled to an explanation. Indeed, since George was strangely unobservant, he thought it should have been made earlier; but the matter had appeared too delicate for him to meddle with. Now, however, when the girl's nature was strongly stirred, there was a risk that, supposing his comrade was discovered wounded or was rescued in some dramatic way, she might be driven to a betrayal of her feelings that would seriously embarrass George and afterward cause her distress.
"George," he explained, "is merely carrying on the farm as Mrs.
Marston's trustee."
"But that hardly accounts for his keen eagerness to make his farming profitable. It strikes one as springing from something stronger than his duty as trustee."
Edgar nodded.
"Well, you see, he is in love with her!"
Flora sat quite still for a moment or two, and then laughed—a little bitter laugh; she was overstrained and could not repress it. A flood of hot color surged into her face, but in another moment she had recovered some degree of composure.
"So that is why he came out?" she said.
"Yes; he was in love with her before she married Marston. At least, that's his impression."
"His impression?" echoed Flora, keenly anxious to cover any signs of the shock she had received and to learn all that could be told. "Do you mean that Mr. Lansing doesn't know whether he is in love with her or not?"
"No, not exactly!" Edgar felt that he was on dangerous ground. "I'm afraid I can't quite explain what I really do mean. George, of course, is convinced about the thing; but I've a suspicion that he may be mistaken; though he'd be very indignant if he heard me say so."
He paused, doubtful whether he was handling the matter prudently, but he felt that something must be done to relieve the strain, and continued:
"George has the faculty of respectful admiration highly developed, but he doesn't use it with much judgment; in fact, he's a rather reckless idealist. There are excuses for him; he was never much thrown into women's society."
"You think that explains it?" Flora forced a smile. "But go on."
"My idea is that George has been led by admiration and pity, and not by love at all. I don't think he knows the difference; he's not much of a psychologist. Then, you see, he's thorough, and having got an idea into his mind, it possesses him and drives him to action. He doesn't stop to analyze his feelings."
"So he came out to look after Mrs. Marston's property because he felt sorry for her, and believed her worthy of respect? What is your opinion of her?"
"I'll confess that I wish she hadn't captivated George."
Flora's face grew very scornful.
"I haven't your chivalrous scruples; and I know Mrs. Marston. She's utterly worthless! What is likely to happen when your comrade finds it out?"
Then she rose abruptly.
"After all, that's a matter which chiefly concerns Mr. Lansing, and I dare say the woman he believes in will be capable of dealing with the situation. Let's talk of something else."
They turned back toward the farm, but Edgar found it difficult to start a fresh topic. All the workings of his mind centered upon George, and he suspected that his companion's thoughts had a similar tendency. It was getting dark when they rejoined the rest of the party, and the next morning Flett and another constable rode in. They had discovered nothing, but as they were ready to take up the trail, Grant left the task to them and turned back with his men.
Flora long remembered the dreary two day's ride, for although she had borne it with courage, Edgar's news had caused her a painful shock. She had, from the beginning, been strongly drawn to George, and when he had been carried off the knowledge that she loved him had been brought home to her. Now, looking back with rudely opened eyes, there was little comfort in recognizing that he had made no demands on her affection. Bitter as she was, she could not blame him; she had been madly foolish and must suffer for it. She called her pride to the rescue, but it failed her. The torturing anxiety about the man's fate remained, and with it a humiliating regret, which was not altogether selfish, that it was Sylvia Marston he had chosen. Sylvia, who was clever, had, of course, tricked him; but this was no consolation. It was, however, needful to hide her feelings from her father and assume an interest in his remarks, though, when he spoke, it was always of Lansing and what had probably befallen him.
The prairie was dazzlingly bright, the trail they followed was thick with fine black dust, and most of the day the heat was trying; the girl felt utterly jaded and very heavy of heart, but when it appeared desirable she forced herself to talk. Her father must never suspect her folly, though she wondered uneasily how far she might have betrayed it to West. Reaching the homestead at length, she resumed her duties, and anxiously waited for news of George. Once that she heard he was safe, it would, she thought, be easier to drive him out of her mind forever.
As it happened, George had received only a few bruises in the bluff, and, after realizing that there was no chance of escape for the present, he lay still in the bottom of the wagon. He blamed himself for riding so readily into the trap, since it was obvious that his assailants had known he was going to visit Grant, and had stretched a strand of fence wire or something of the kind across the trail. They would have removed it afterward and there would be nothing left to show what had befallen him. This, however was a matter of minor consequence and he endeavored to determine which way his captors were driving. Judging the nature of the trail by the jolting, he decided that they meant to leave the wood where he entered it, which suggested that they were going south, and this was what he had anticipated. Though he was sore from the effect of his fall and the rough handling which had followed it, he did not think he would suffer any further violence, so long as he made no attempt to get away. The men, no doubt, only intended to prevent his giving evidence, by keeping him a prisoner until after the trial.
When morning came, the wagon was still moving at a good pace, though the roughness of the motion indicated that it was not following a trail. This was all George could discover, because one of the men tied his arms and legs before removing the jacket which had muffled his head.
"I guess you can't get up, but it wouldn't be wise to try," the fellow pointed out significantly.
George took the hint. He meant to escape and attend the court, but he had no wish to ruin any chance of his doing so by making a premature attempt. His captors meant to prevent his seeing which way they were going, but he could make out that the sky was brightest on the left side of the wagon, which indicated that they were heading south. They stopped at noon in a thick bluff, from which, when he was released and allowed to get down, he could see nothing of the prairie. Only one man remained to watch him; but as he was armed, and George could hear the others not far away, he decided that his escape must be postponed.
During the afternoon, they went on again, George occupying his former position in the bottom of the wagon, where it was unpleasantly hot; but the strongest glare was now on his right side, which showed him that they were still holding south. Their destination was evidently the American frontier. In the evening they camped near a thicket of low scrub, and after supper George was permitted to wander about and stretch his aching limbs. It was rolling country, broken by low rises, and he could not see more than a mile or two. There was nothing that served as a, landmark, and as soon as he began to stroll away from the camp he was sharply recalled. In the end, he sat down to smoke, and did not move until he was told to get into the wagon, where a blanket was thrown him. So far, he had been permitted to see only one of his captors near at hand.
The next morning they set out again. George thought that fresh horses had been obtained in the night, because they drove at a rapid pace most of the day; and he was tired and sore with the jolting when they camped in another bluff at sunset. Two more days were spent in much the same way; and then late at night they stopped at a little building standing in the midst of an unbroken plain, and George was released and told to get out. One of the men lighted a lantern and led him into an empty stable, built of thick sods. It looked as if it had not been occupied for a long time, but part of it had been roughly boarded off, as if for a harness room or store.
"You have got your blanket," said his companion. "Put it down where you like. There's only one door to this place, and you can't get at it without passing me. I got a sleep in the wagon and don't want any more to-night."
George heard the vehicle jolt away, and sat down to smoke while the beat of hoofs gradually sank into the silence of the plain. Then he wrapped his blanket about him and went to sleep on the earthen floor.
CHAPTER XXX
THE ESCAPE
George got up the next morning feeling cramped and sore after his journey, and carefully looked about. The building had solid walls of sod; such rude stalls as it had been fitted with had been removed, perhaps for the sake of the lumber. He could not reach the door without alarming his jailer, who had taken up his quarters behind the board partition; and there was only one small window, placed high up and intended mainly for ventilation. The window was very dusty, but it opened and George could see out by standing up, though the aperture was not large enough to squeeze through.
Outside stood some timbers which had once formed part of a shack, and a few strands of fence wire, trailing from tottering posts, ran into the grass. The place appeared to have been a farm, whose owner had, no doubt, abandoned it after finding the soil too light, or after losing a crop by frost; but George was more curious to discover if there were any other homesteads in the vicinity. His view was restricted, but there was no sign of life on the quarter-circle it commanded. A flat, grassy waste, broken only by a few clumps of brush, ran back to the horizon, and by the cold blue of the sky and the drift of a few light clouds floating before the prevalent westerly wind, he knew he was looking north. This was the way he must take if he could escape, but there was no house in which he could seek refuge, and scarcely any cover. It was clear that he must obtain a good start before he was missed. He had an idea that he would escape, though he admitted that it was more optimistic than rational.
Then he turned with a start, to see his jailer standing beside him, grinning. The man had a hard, determined face.
"Guess you can't get out that way; and it wouldn't be much use, anyhow," he drawled. "The country's pretty open; it would take you a mighty long while to get out of sight."
"That's how it struck me," George confessed with an air of good-humored resignation. "Do you mean to keep me here any time?"
"Until the trial," the other answered, standing a little away from him with his hand thrust suggestively into a pocket. "We'll be glad to get rid of you when it's finished, but you certainly can't get away before we let you go."
George cast a glance of keen but unobtrusive scrutiny at the man. They were, he thought, about equal in physical strength; the other's superiority consisted in his being armed, and George had no doubt that he was proficient with his weapons. He had seen a rifle carried into the building, the man's hand was now resting on a pistol, and there was a light ax outside. It looked as if an attempt to escape would be attended with a serious risk, and George realized that he must wait until chance or some slackening of vigilance on his custodians' part equalized matters.
He was given breakfast, and afterward told that he could go out and split some wood, which he was glad to do. There was a pile of branches and a few rotten boards that had once formed part of the shack, and he set to work to break them up, while the rustler sat and smoked in the doorway. The man ran no risk in doing so; there was not a bush within a quarter of a mile, and George knew that a bullet would speedily cut short his flight. He could see nothing that promised a secure hiding place all the way to the skyline, and he thought that the plain ran on beyond it, as little broken. When he had cut some wood, he turned back toward the door, and the man regarded him with a meaning smile.
"Come in, if you want; but leave the ax right there," he said.
He moved back a few paces, out of reach of a sudden spring, as George entered, and the latter realized that he did not mean to be taken by surprise. During the afternoon, another man arrived on horseback with some provisions and remained until George went to sleep. The following morning, the stranger had disappeared, but he came again once or twice, and this was all that broke the monotony of the next few days. George, however, was beginning to feel the strain; his nerves were getting raw, the constant watchfulness was wearing him. The trial would now be beginning, and it was time the binders were driven into his grain; the oats would be ripe, and his neighbors would pick up all the Ontario hands who reached the settlement. Another day passed, and he was feeling desperate when the relief watcher arrived in the afternoon. Listening with strained attention, he heard the men talking outside. Only a few words reached him, but one was "adjourned," and it filled him with fresh determination. If he could escape, it might not be too late.
It was an oppressive afternoon; the fresh northwest breeze had dropped, the sky was clouded, the air hot and heavy. Both men remained about the building, but George sat quietly on the earth floor, smoking and waiting for night. A few large drops of rain fell, splashing upon roof and grass while he ate his supper, but it stopped, and the evening was marked by a deep stillness. He felt listless and disinclined to move; his guards, to judge by their voices, for they were playing cards outside, were languidly irritable.
Dusk came and a thick obscurity, unlike the usual clearness of the summer nights, shut in the lonely building. It was intensely dark in the stable; George could not see the relief man's horse, though he could now and then hear it move. Voices rose at intervals from beyond the partition, but they ceased at last and only an occasional crackle of the dry grass that served for seats and bedding told that one at least of the rustlers was keeping watch. George felt his limbs quiver while he waited, and he was conscious of an unpleasant tension on his nerves. There was thunder brewing, and he thought the storm might offer him an opportunity for getting out.
At length it struck him that the silence was unusually deep. Rising to his feet he moved about. There was no challenge; and by way of further experiment, he kicked his tin plate so that it rattled. Still nobody called to him, though the horse made a little noise in moving. George sat down and took off his boots while his heart throbbed painfully. It looked as if his guards had gone to sleep. He moved a few yards, stopped to listen, and went on for several paces more. There was no sound yet beyond the partition, and he crept softly past the horse; he longed to lead it out, but decided that the risk would be too great.
Then he stood in the gap between the wall and the partition, straining eyes and ears, and wondering where the rifle lay. He could see nothing, however; and, creeping on cautiously, with tingling nerves and an intolerable feeling of suspense, he drew level with the doorway. It was hard to refrain from leaping out, but this might make some noise. Crossing the threshold with careful movements, he made for the spot where he had cut the wood. He struck something that rattled, but he found the ax and the feel of it sent a thrill through him. It was light enough to be carried easily; and he did not mean to be recaptured.
For some minutes he moved straight on, hurting his feet on the stronger grass stalks; and then, sitting down, he hastily put on his boots. After that he broke into a steady run, which he meant to keep up as long as possible. He was now anxious that the threatened storm should not break, because if the rustlers had gone to sleep, the longer they remained so the better. He failed to understand how he had escaped; perhaps his guards had been lulled into false security by his tranquil demeanor; perhaps they had trusted to each other; or one, rendered listless by the tension in the air, had relaxed his watchfulness for a few moments. This, however, did not matter. George was free; and he only wished that he had some idea as to where he was heading. He wanted to place a long distance between him and the stable by morning.
Dripping with perspiration, breathing hard, he kept up a steady pace for, so he thought, an hour, after which he walked a mile or two, and then broke into a run again. The grass was short; he struck no brush, and the ax did not encumber him. He imagined that dawn must be getting near when a dazzling flash swept the prairie and there was a long reverberatory rumbling overhead. He was almost blinded and bewildered, doubly uncertain where he was going; and then a great stream of white fire fell from the zenith. The thunder that followed was deafening, and for the next few minutes blaze succeeded blaze, and there was a constant crashing and rumbling overhead. After that came a rush of chilly wind and the air was filled with falling water.
A hot, steamy smell rose about him; but George, who had been walking again, began to run. He must use every exertion, for if he were right in concluding that he had been detained on American soil, his pursuers would follow him north, and when daylight came a mounted man's view would command a wide sweep of level prairie. The storm passed away, muttering, into the distance; the rain ceased, and the air was fresh and cool until the sun sprang up. It was on his right hand, he thought he had kept his line; but he stopped to consider on the edge of a ravine. The sides of the hollow were clothed with tall, wet grass and brush; it would offer good cover, but he could hardly avoid leaving a track if he followed it, and his pursuers would search such spots. It seemed wiser to push on across the plain.
Descending through the thinnest brush he could find, he stopped for a drink from the creek at the bottom, and then went on as fast as possible. He was becoming conscious of a pain in his left side; one foot felt sore; and as the sun got hotter a longing to lie down a while grew steadily stronger. Still, he could see nothing but short, gray grass ahead; he must hold on; there might be bluffs or broken country beyond the skyline.
At length a small square block cut against the dazzling brightness and slowly grew into a lonely homestead. After some consideration, George headed for it, and toward noon reached a little, birch-log dwelling, with a sod stable beside it. Both had an uncared-for appearance, which suggested their owner's poverty. As George approached the door, a gaunt, hard-faced man in dilapidated overalls came out and gazed at him in surprise. George's clothing, which had been torn when he was seized in the bluff, had further suffered during the deluge. He looked a weary, ragged outcast.
"Can you give me something to eat and hire me a horse?" he asked.
The farmer seemed suspicious.
"Guess I want my horses for the binder; I'm harvesting oats."
"I'll pay you well for the time you lose," George broke out.
"How much?"
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, George found with dismay that his wallet, which contained some bills, was missing.
"Anything you ask in reason, but you'll have to take a check on a
Brandon bank. Have you got a pen and paper in the house?"
"How am I to know your check's good?" The farmer laughed ironically.
George was doubtful of the man, but he must take a risk.
"My name's Lansing, from the Marston homestead, beyond Sage Butte.
It's a pretty big place; any check I give you will be honored."
The farmer looked at him with growing interest.
"Well," he said, "you can't have my horse."
It was evident from his manner that reasoning would be useless.
"How does Sage Butte lie from here?" George asked him.
"Can't tell you; I've never been in the place."
George realized that he had blundered, both in calling at the homestead and in mentioning his name, which had figured in the newspaper account of the attack on Grant. The farmer, it seemed, had a good idea of the situation, and if not in league with the rustlers, was afraid of them. George was wasting time and giving information that might put his pursuers on his trail. In the meanwhile he noticed a face at the window and a voice called to the man, who stepped back into the house and appeared again with a big slab of cold pie.
"Take this and light out," he said.
Having eaten nothing since his supper, George was glad of the food; but he walked on smartly for an hour before he sat down in a clump of brush and made a meal. Then he lighted his pipe and spent a couple of hours in much needed rest. Haste was highly desirable; he had no doubt that he was being followed, but he could go no farther for a while.
It was very hot when he got up; he was sore all over, and his foot was paining, but he set off at a run and kept it up until he had crossed a rise two miles away. The country was getting more broken, which was in his favor, because the clumps of bush and the small elevations would tend to hide him. He went on until dusk, without finding any water; and then lay down among some tall grass in the open. There was a little bluff not far off, but if the rustlers came that way, he thought they would search it. It grew cold as darkness crept down; indeed he imagined that the temperature had fallen to near freezing-point, as it sometimes does on the plains after a scorching day.
Part of the night he lay awake, shivering; but during the rest he slept; and he rose at dawn, very cold and wet with dew. His foot was very sore, and he had a sharp pain in his side. For the first hour, walking cost him an effort; but as he grew warmer it became less difficult, and his foot felt easier. Then, as he crossed a slight elevation, he saw a faint gray smear on the far horizon and it sent a thrill through him. Canadian locomotives burning native coal pour out clouds of thick black smoke which can be seen a long way in the clear air of the prairie. George was thirty or forty feet, he thought, above the general level of the plain, the light was strong, and he imagined that it would take him most of the day to reach the spot over which the smoke had floated. He was, however, heading for the track, and he gathered his courage.
He saw no more smoke for a long time—the increasing brightness seemed to diminish the clarity of the air. Before noon the pain in his side had become almost insupportable, and his head was swimming; he felt worn out, scarcely able to keep on his feet, but again a gray streak on the horizon put heart into him. It did not appear to move for a while, and he thought it must have been made by a freight-engine working about a station. Then, as he came down the gradual slope of a wide depression, a long bluff on its opposite verge cut the skyline, a hazy smear of neutral color. He determined to reach the wood and lie down for a time in its shadow.
It scarcely seemed to grow any nearer, and an hour had passed before it assumed any regularity of outline. When it had grown into shape, George stopped and looked about. It was fiercely hot, the grass was dazzlingly bright, there was no house or sign of cultivation as far as his sight ranged; but on glancing back he started as he saw three small mounted figures on the plain. They had not been there when he last turned around, and they were moving, spread out about a mile apart. It was obvious that the rustlers were on his trail. For another moment he looked at the bluff, breathing hard, with his lips tight set. If he could reach the wood before he was overtaken, it would offer him cover from a bullet, and if he could not evade his enemies, he might make a stand with the ax among the thicker trees. It was an irrational idea, as he half recognized; but he had grown savage with fatigue, and he had already suffered as much as he was capable of bearing at the hands of the cattle thieves. Now he meant to turn on them; but he would be at their mercy in the open.
His weariness seemed to fall away from him to give place to grim fury as he broke into a run, and he did not look back for a while. When he did so, the figures had grown larger; one could see that they were moving swiftly; and the bluff was still far away. George believed that he had been noticed and he strove to quicken his pace. The beat of hoofs was in his ears when he next looked around; the three horsemen were converging, growing more distinct; and the bluff was still a mile ahead. He was stumbling and reeling, his hat fell off, and he dared not stop to pick it up.
A mile was covered; he would not look back again, though the thud of hoofs had swelled into a sharp staccato drumming. With face fiercely set and the perspiration dripping from him, he held on, scorched and partly dazzled by the glare. The wood was getting closer; he thought it was scarcely a quarter of a mile off. His heart throbbed madly, the pain in his side had grown excruciating; but somehow he must keep going. His eyes smarted with the moisture that ran into them, his lips and mouth were salty; he was suffering torment; but he kept on his feet.
At length, when the trees were close ahead, a faint smudge of smoke appeared on the edge of them; there was a report like a whipcrack, and he stopped in despair. His last refuge was held against him. Then, as he turned in savage desperation to meet the rustlers' onslaught with the ax, he saw there were only two horsemen, who pulled up suddenly, about sixty yards away. The third was not visible, but his horse, which had fallen, was struggling in the grass. As the meaning of this dawned on George he broke in a wild, breathless yell of exultation; there was another crack behind him, and the two horsemen wheeled. They were not too soon, for a mounted man in khaki with something that flashed across his saddle was riding hard from behind the bluff to cut them off. Another appeared, going at a furious gallop, and George stood watching while the four figures grew smaller upon the prairie.
Turning at a shout he saw Flett and Edgar walking toward him, and he went with them to the fallen horse. A man lay, gray in face, among the grass, held down by the body of the animal which partly rested upon him.
"Get me out," he begged hoarsely. "Leg's broke."
George felt incapable of helping. He sat down while the other two extricated the man; then Flett placed his carbine against the horse's head, and after the report it ceased its struggling.
"She came down on me sudden; couldn't get my foot clear in time," the rustler explained.
"You had to be stopped. I sighted at a hundred; a quick shot," Flett remarked. "Is there anything else the matter except your leg?"
"I guess it's enough," said the helpless man.
Flett turned to George.
"Walk into the bluff and you'll strike our camp. West must stay with me until we put on some fixing that will hold this fellow's leg together."
George did as he was bidden, and sat down again limply when he reached an opening in the wood where a pile of branches, with a kettle suspended over them, had been laid ready for lighting. Presently the others rejoined him.
"The fellow can't be moved until we get a wagon," said Flett. "We've been looking for you all over the country, but it was quite a while before we got a hint that sent us down this way. We had stopped in the bluff when we saw a fellow running with three mounted men after him, and we lay close, expecting to get the bunch. It's unfortunate they got too near you and I had to shoot, but I guess the boys will bring them back."
Edgar looked at his comrade reproachfully.
"If you could only have sprinted a little and kept ahead, we would either have outflanked them or have had the finest imaginable ride with every chance of running the fellows down. As things turned out, I couldn't go off with the troopers until I found that you had got through unhurt."
"I'm sorry," George told him, with a little dry laugh. "But I don't think I spared any effort during the last quarter of a mile."
Then he related his adventures, and answered a number of questions.
"You'll take my horse," said Flett, "and start for the railroad as soon as you feel able. Get on to Regina by the first train; judging by the last wire I got, you'll still be in time. West had better go with you to the station, and he can send a wagon for the man who's hurt. Now I guess we'll get you something to eat."
"I shouldn't mind," said George. "It's twenty-four hours since my last meal, and that one was remarkably small."
He drank a canful of cold tea, and then went suddenly to sleep while the others lighted the fire.