"If you were at the cotton mill and claimed your proper post, all would be easier," she said. "Your uncles could not then dispute your right to marry whom you liked."
Jimmy's laugh was scornful. "My uncles control my fortune for a year or two; that's all. However, if you hesitate, I won't urge you to marry me yet. If you engage to do so when I get my inheritance, I'll be satisfied."
The blood came to Laura's skin. Jimmy's keenness was not remarkable, but she knew his sincerity and she forced a smile.
"You are philosophical."
"Oh, well," said Jimmy with some embarrassment, "I feel I ought not to urge you now. I wanted to know you belonged to me, and then I needn't bother when I'm at the ranch— The trouble is, if I waited, somebody might carry you off. So long as you agree—"
Laura's look got rather hard. When she wanted him to go back to England she was not altogether selfish. Although she did not love him, she liked Jimmy, and felt he ought not to stay in Canada with Stannard and Deering.
"Then, you mean to go on at the ranch?" she said.
"Of course. You declare I'm young. I feel I must take a useful job and, so to speak, make good. Besides, I can't go back to Lancashire to be ruled by Uncle Dick. When I take my inheritance, it will be another thing. Then, when you own a ranch, there's something about the woods that calls. You get keen; to plan and work is not a bother."
"But is the reward for your labor worth while?"
"In money, the reward is not worth while; but that's not important. Somehow I know Dick Leyland is not carrying on the house's business as it ought to be carried on. We are getting rich, but we cannot much longer use his old-fashioned parsimonious rules. Jim's at Bombay, and there's no use in my making plans for Dick to oppose. You see, I have nothing to go upon. For five years I was a clerk, like our other clerks; afterwards I was a careless slacker, and Dick would sternly put me down. But I've stated something like this before. You ought to see—"
Laura saw he had some grounds for his resolve to remain. Still she did not see herself helping at the ranch and to wait, for perhaps three or four years, while he carried out his rash experiment was not her plan. She imagined his trustees would not approvehis marrying her and they controlled his fortune and were clever business men. Yet had she loved Jimmy, she might have agreed. In the meantime, he studied her with keen suspense, and getting up, she gave him a quiet resolute look.
"You must let me go," she said. "I like you, Jimmy, but I am not the girl for you."
Jimmy tried to brace himself and advanced as if he meant to touch her, but she stopped him.
"I ought not to return to Lancashire yet; but if that's the obstacle, I'll start when you like," he said, in rather a hoarse voice.
Laura was moved. In fact, she was moved to generosity. Now she had conquered, the strange thing was, she knew she must not use her triumph. Although Jimmy was beaten, she admitted his firmness at the beginning was justified, and she thought he would after a time repent.
"I see some other obstacles," she replied. "Since you are satisfied that your proper job is in Canada, you must carry it out. There is no use in talking, Jimmy. I am not at all the girl for you."
Her resolution was obvious, and Jimmy stepped back. Laura gave him a friendly smile and went off. Jimmy frowned, for although he had doubted if he could persuade her, he had got a nasty knock. At the other end of the terrace Stannard joined Laura and indicated Jimmy.
"Well?" he said.
"Jimmy wanted me to marry him. I refused."
"Ah," said Stannard. "I suppose you had some grounds for your refusal?"
"I imagine he does not love me," Laura replied in a quiet voice.
Stannard studied her. Her color was rather high, but she was calm. In some respects, she was like her mother and not like him. Stannard was satisfied it was so.
"Yet he asked you to marry him!"
"Perhaps I am attractive; but now I think about it, he did not urge me much. For all that, Jimmy is a good sort."
For a few moments Stannard said nothing. Laura imagined he had meant her to marry Jimmy and her refusal bothered him. Yet his look rather indicated resignation than anger. She really did not know her father, but he was kind.
"Jimmy is a good sort," he remarked. "He has some other advantages."
"His advantages are obvious; he's sincere and frank and generous," Laura agreed with a touch of emotion. "Had he not been like that, I might have risked it."
Stannard shrugged. "Perhaps you're not altogether logical; but it's done with."
"I'm sorry, father," said Laura in a gentle voice and went up the steps.
Stannard stopped and his look was sternly thoughtful. He was an adventurer and his scruples were not numerous, but he had not used his daughter's beauty as he might have used it. Now he knew he ran somerisks and, for her sake, he had wanted her to marry Jimmy. Well, she had refused, and Jimmy owed him much, but for some time could not pay. Stannard lighted a cigar and knitted his brows.
At the end of the small open glade the pack-horses dragged about their ropes. A short distance in front, the thick timber stopped and a mountain spur went up to the dim white peaks. The sun had gone and the sky was calm and green. One heard a river brawl and a faint wind in the trees. Deering lay in the pine needles and rubbed his neck.
"The mosquitoes are fierce. Throw some green stuff on the fire and make a smoke," he said. "I don't want to get up."
Jimmy, sitting on a log, pushed green branches into the flames, and then turned his head and looked about. Two Indians were cutting poles and putting up a tent. In the gaps between the trunks the gloom got deep, and although the sharp top of the spur was distinct, Jimmy only saw a few small pines and junipers. Stannard and Okanagan Bob, who had gone up in the afternoon to look for a line to the high rocks, were not coming yet. The horses could not go farther and in the morning the hunting party would leave them behind.
"They recently let me join a highbrow mountain club; but when I start for the rocks I hesitate," Deering resumed. "To boost two hundred pounds up cragsand glaciers is a strenuous job, and I allow I'd sooner Stannard had brought the hotel guides. When I camp I like two blankets and a square meal. A good guide can carry a lot of useful truck."
"Their charges are high and Okanagan claims he knows the big-horn's haunts."
"Somehow I reckon Bob knows too much," Deering rejoined. "Well, I allow to let you break your neck wouldn't pay Stannard."
"In one sense, it wouldn't cost him much," said Jimmy, with a laugh. "You see, I insured my life in his favor some time since."
"Ah," said Deering, thoughtfully. "That was when he took you down to Vancouver?"
"I went down. The plan was mine. After I fell into the gully, I saw Stannard ran some risk."
Deering grinned. "I like you, Jimmy! You're sure an honest kid." Then his glance got keen and he resumed: "Say, are you going to marry Laura?"
"Miss Stannard refused to marry me," Jimmy replied in a quiet voice. "But we were talking about the insurance. I rather urged Stannard—"
"Exactly! Stannard's a highbrow Englishman," said Deering, but somehow Jimmy thought his remark ironical. "Well, you urged, and since Stannard is not rich, he agreed? Perhaps the strange thing is, he was able to lend you a pretty good sum. Do you know where he gets the money?"
"I don't know. It's not important."
"Oh, well! You have insured your life and MissLaura has refused you! She's a charming girl, but since I don't see her helping you run a bush ranch, perhaps her refusal was justified. However, I think somebody's coming down the ridge."
Not long afterwards Stannard and Bob reached the camp and Stannard said, "We have found a line and we'll start at daybreak. Bob now declares he expects a reward for each good head we get."
"You can promise him his bonus. If we shoot a big-horn, we're lucky; the tourist sports have scared them back to the North," Deering remarked.
They got supper and went to bed. The spruce twigs were soft and the Hudson's Bay blankets were warm, but for a time Jimmy did not sleep. The tent door was hooked back and the night was not dark. He saw the smoke go up and the mist creep about the trunks. Sometimes a horse broke a branch and sometimes the river's turmoil got louder, but this was all and Jimmy missed the cow-bells that chimed at Kelshope ranch.
Perhaps it was strange, but Laura's refusal had not hurt him very much. In fact, he began to feel that so long as she did not marry Dillon he would be resigned. Now Jimmy came to think about it, Deering's hint that she attracted Frank to some extent accounted for his resolve to marry Laura. Anyhow, Laura was his friend, and Stannard had used tact. He was quietly sympathetic and soon banished Jimmy's embarrassment. Then the noise of the river got indistinct and Jimmy thought he heard cow-bellsring. Branches cracked and somebody called, "Oh, Buck! Oh, Bright!"
At daybreak Bob sent off two Indians to wait for the party at another spot. He and an Indian carried heavy loads, but all carried as much as possible, because Bob declared the party was rather large for good hunting and refused to take another man. When they stopped at noon Deering's face was very red and Jimmy was satisfied to lie in the stones while Bob brewed some tea.
After lunch they pushed through a belt of timber. The trees were small, but some had fallen and blocked the way. Others, broken by the wind, had not reached the ground and the locked branches held up the slanted trunks. Where the underbrush below was thick, one must crawl along the logs.
On the other side of the timber an avalanche had swept the slope, carrying down soil and stones, and the party was forced to cross steep rock slabs. Jimmy carried a rifle, a blanket, and a small bag of flour and admitted that he had got enough. To pitch camp at sunset behind a few half-dead spruce was a keen relief.
They had not a tent and the cold was keen, but where one can find wood one can build a shelter. Supper was soon cooked and when they had satisfied their appetite all were glad to lie about the fire. Some distance above them, untrodden snow, touched with faint pink by the sunset, glimmered against the green sky. Below, rocks and gravel went down to the forest, across which blue mist rolled. Sometimes a belt of vapor melted and one saw a vast dim gulf and a winding line that was a river. The austere landscape rather braced than daunted Jimmy. He knew the Swiss rocks and the high snows called.
Two days afterwards Jimmy, one afternoon, got his first shot at a mountain-sheep. Until the big-horn moved, it looked like a small gray stone, but it did move and when it vanished they studied the ground. There was no use in trying a direct approach, but the rocky slope was broken and Bob imagined they could climb a gully and come down near the animal farther on. They must, however, take their loads, because he had not yet found a spot to pitch camp.
To climb the gully, embarrassed by a heavy pack, and a rifle, was hard, and for some time afterwards they crawled across the top of a big buttress. When they reached another gully the sun was gone, but Bob thought they would find the sheep not far from the bottom. He said two might go, and when they had spun a coin Stannard and Jimmy took off their packs.
The gully was very steep and they used some caution. Near the bottom Jimmy slipped and might have gone down had not Stannard steadied him. Bob, carrying the glasses, went a short distance in front. At the bottom he got behind a stone and presently waved his hand.
When Jimmy reached the spot he saw a horseshoe slope of rock and gravel that fell sharply for five orsix hundred feet and then stopped, as if at the edge of a precipice. He thought if the big-horn went down there, they must let it go. Then Bob touched his arm and indicated a spot level with them, but some distance off. Something moved and Jimmy, taking the glasses, saw it was a sheep.
"Your shot. Use a full sight; it's farther than you think," said Stannard in a low voice, and when Jimmy had pulled up the slide he rested the rifle barrel on the rock.
His arm was on the stone; he knew he ought to hold straight, but the shot was long and the hole in the telescopic sight was small. Perhaps he was too keen, for although Stannard had got a noble head, he himself had not yet fired a shot, but when he began to pull the trigger his hand shook. He stopped and drew his breath, and the sheep moved.
"He's going," said Bob, and Jimmy crooked his finger.
The rifle jerked. In the distance, a small shower of dust leaped up and the sheep jumped on a stone. In a moment it would vanish and Jimmy savagely snapped out the cartridge. Then he saw a pale flash and knew the report of Stannard's English rifle. The sheep plunged from the stone, struck the ground, and began to roll down the incline. Its speed got faster and Jimmy thought it went down like a ball. In a few moments it would reach the top of the precipice, and if it plunged across they would not find its brokenbody. Then it struck a rock and stopped, so far as one could see, a few yards from the edge. Stannard gave Bob his rifle and picked up the glasses.
"A fine head! Call Deering, Jimmy. I think we can get down."
Jimmy thought not, but he shouted and Deering arrived and studied the ground.
"Looks awkward, but perhaps we can make it."
"You have got to make it! You don't want to leave a sheep like that about," said Bob.
Stannard gave him a keen glance, but Deering said, "Let's try; I've brought the rope. If you'll lead, Stannard, I'll tie on at the top. We'll leave Jimmy."
"Since I missed my shot, I ought to go," Jimmy objected.
"My weight's a useful anchor and you're not up to Stannard's form," Deering rejoined and they put on the rope.
They started and Jimmy lighted his pipe. He had wanted the noble head and Stannard had got another, but Jimmy was not jealous. Although Stannard had hardly had a moment before the sheep went off, he had seized the moment to shoot and hit. In the meantime, however, the others were getting down the slope and Jimmy used the glasses.
The job was awkward. Sometimes the stones ran down and Stannard hesitated; Deering stopped and braced himself, ready to hold up his companions. Bob was at the middle of the rope and, so far as one could see, was satisfied to follow Stannard. They reachedthe sheep, and Bob got on his knees by the animal. His knife shone and after a few minutes he gave Stannard the head.
Then it looked as if they disputed, but Bob got up and began to drag the sheep to the edge. Jimmy was puzzled, for stones were plunging down and it was plain the fellow ran some risk. One could not see his object for resolving to get rid of the headless body. After a minute or two he pushed the sheep over the edge and the party began to climb the slope.
They got to the top, and going up the gully, after a time found a corner in the rocks and pitched camp. Bob and the Indian had carried up a small quantity of wood and when they cooked supper Stannard remarked: "I expect you're satisfied nobody in the valley could see our fire?"
"Nobody's in the valley, anyhow," said Bob.
"Then, my seeing smoke was strange," Stannard rejoined.
"But suppose somebody had camped in the trees? Why shouldn't the fellow see our fire?" Jimmy inquired.
"Perhaps Bob will enlighten you," said Stannard coolly.
"Ah," said Deering, "he didn't mean to leave the sheep around, and although I didn't get his object for pushing the body off the rocks, I reckon it went down a thousand feet into the timber—" He stopped and looking hard at Bob resumed: "What was your object?"
Bob's dark face was inscrutable.
"I saw smoke. When we got busy, I calculated the game-warden had located at the other end of the range."
"You greedy swine!" said Stannard, and Deering began to laugh.
"Jimmy doesn't get it! Well, Bob meant to earn his bonus, and since he took us shooting on a government game reserve, I admit his nerve is pretty good. Anyhow, I won't grumble because I haven't killed a big-horn. Stannard's may cost him two or three hundred dollars."
"Why did you play us this shabby trick, Bob?" Jimmy asked in a stern voice.
Bob gave him a rather strange look.
"I sure wanted the bonus and the reserve is new. I allowed I'd beat the warden and you wouldn't know. He got after me another time and I had to quit and leave a pile of skins."
"You wanted to get even?" Deering remarked and turned to Stannard. "What are you going to do about it? In a way, the thing's a joke, but our duty's obvious. We ought to give up the heads and take Bob along to the police."
Stannard said nothing, but Jimmy imagined he did not mean to give up the heads. Bob's calm was not at all disturbed.
"Shucks!" he said. "You're pretty big, Mr. Deering, but I reckon the city man who could take me where I didn't want to go isn't born. Why, you can'tget off the mountains unless I help you fix camp and pack your truck!"
"I don't like packing a heavy load," Deering admitted. "We'll talk about it again, and in the meantime you had better take the frying-pan from the fire. I hate my bannocks burned."
At Kelshope ranch fodder was scarce and so long as the underbrush was green Jardine let his cattle roam about. The plan had some drawbacks, and Jardine, needing his plow oxen one afternoon, was forced to search the tangled woods. Sometimes he heard cow-bells, but when he reached the spot the animals were gone. A plow ox is cunning and in thick timber moves much faster than a man.
Jardine, however, was obstinate and for an hour or two he pushed across soft muskegs and through tangled brushwood. When at length he stopped he saw he had torn his new overalls and broken an old long boot. Besides, he hated to be baffled and since he could not catch the oxen he could not move some logs.
When he got near the ranch he stopped. Somebody was quietly moving about the house, as if he wanted to find out who was at home, and Jardine, advancing noiselessly, saw it was Bob. He admitted he had expected something like that, for Bob's habits were not altogether a white man's. Jardine imagined he did not know Margaret had gone to the railroad.
Had he found his team, he might have given Bob supper and sent him off before Margaret arrived, but he had not found the team and Bob's creeping aboutthe house annoyed him. In the Old Country Jardine was a poacher, but he sprang from good Scottish stock and he hated to think Bob bothered Margaret. Moving out of the shadow, he went up the path.
He did not make a noise, but Bob turned, and Jardine thought had the fellow been altogether a white man he would have started. Bob did not start. His look was calm, like an Indian's, and his pose was quiet.
"Hello!" he said. "I reckoned you'd gone after your plow team."
"Ye didna reckon I'd come back just yet!"
Bob smiled, but his eyes got narrower and his mouth went straight. He was a big man and carried himself like an athlete.
"Well," he said, "I allowed Miss Margaret was around and I'd wait a while."
Jardine wondered whether Bob meant to annoy him. As a rule the fellow was not frank and now his frankness was insolent.
"If ye come another time, ye'll come when I'm aboot. What have ye in yon pack?"
"Berries," said Bob, opening a cotton flour bag. "I reckoned Miss Margaret wanted some. Then I brought a pelt; looked the sort of thing to go round her winter cap."
In the woods, the Indians dry the large yellow raspberries and Bob had brought a quantity to the ranch before. Now he pulled out a small dark skin that Jardine imagined was worth fifty dollars. The value of the present was significant.
"Ye can tak' them back. We have a' the berries we want."
"Anyhow, I guess Miss Margaret would like the skin."
"She would not. Margaret has nae use for ony pelts ye bring."
For a few moments Bob was quiet. Then he said, "Sometimes I blew in for supper and you let me stay and smoke. When you put up the barn, you sent for me to help you raise the logs. The English tenderfoot hadn't located in the valley then."
The blood came to Jardine's skin. To some extent Bob's rejoinder was justified; but Jardine had not until recently imagined Margaret accounted for the fellow's coming to the ranch.
"When we put up the barn ye got stan'ard pay. I allow ye're a useful man to handle logs, but I'm no' hiring help the noo."
"You reckoned me your hired man?" said Bob in an ominously quiet voice. "That was all the use you had for me?"
"Just that!" Jardine agreed. "Margaret has nae use for ye ava'."
"Then, if you reckon you're going to get my highbrow English boss for her, you're surely not very bright. His sort don't marry—"
"Tak' your pack and quit," said Jardine sternly. "Get off the ranch, ye blasted half-breed!"
Bob was very quiet, but his pose was alert and somehow like a hunting animal's. Perhaps instinctively, he felt for his knife. Jardine's ax leaned against a neighboring post. If he jumped, he could reach the tool, but he did not move. For a moment or two they waited, and then Bob picked up the flour bag and went down the path. Jardine went to the kitchen and lighted his pipe. Bob was gone, and Jardine hardly thought he would come back, but he was not altogether satisfied he had taken the proper line. Indian blood ran in Bob's veins; an Indian waits long and does not forget. For all that, Jardine did not see himself warning Leyland and enlightening Margaret.
A week afterwards, Stannard one evening occupied a chair at his table on the terrace. He had returned from the mountains with two good big-horn heads and nothing indicated that the game-warden knew the party had poached on the reserve. Stannard, however, was not thinking about the hunting excursion. The English mail had arrived and sometimes he studied a letter and sometimes looked moodily about.
Laura, Dillon, and two or three young men were on the steps that went down to the woods. Laura wore her black dinner dress and Stannard thought she had not another that so harmonized with her beauty. Dillon obviously felt her charm. He was next to Laura, and since it looked as if the others were ready to dispute his claim to the spot, Stannard imagined Frank would not have occupied it unless Laura meant him to remain.
After a time Stannard pushed the letter into hispocket and gave himself to gloomy thought, until Deering came along the terrace and asked him for a match.
"You look as if you were bothered," Deering remarked.
"Sometimes one is bothered when one's mail arrives."
"That is so," said Deering, with a sympathetic nod. "Opening your mail is like dipping in a lucky bag; your luck's not always good. I got some bills in my lot."
"I got a demand for a sum I cannot pay. I expect you haven't two thousand dollars you don't particularly need?"
Deering laughed. "Search me! All I've got above five hundred dollars you can have for keeps. Looks as if you must put the fellow off."
"He's obstinate and unless I can satisfy him it might be awkward for me."
"Then, you had better try Dillon. The kid's rich and sometimes generous," Deering remarked. "In a sense, he's mine, but since you're up against it, I'll lend him to you."
He went off and Stannard frowned. For him to be fastidious was ridiculous, but Deering's frankness jarred. Still he needed a large sum, and although he could borrow for Jimmy, he could not borrow for himself; the fellow who supplied him was a keen business man. Stannard lived extravagantly, but the money he used was not his, and unless he justified the speculationsupplies would stop. So far, the speculation had paid and he owned he ought not to be embarrassed. The trouble was, he squandered all he got.
He weighed Deering's plan. Dillon's father was rich and indulged the lad. Stannard had stopped at his ambitious house on Puget Sound, and imagined the old lumber man approved Laura. In fact, the drawback to Deering's plan was there. Stannard had not bothered much about Laura and was willing for his wife's relations to undertake his duty, but he did not mean to put an obstacle in her way. She must make a good marriage; after all, her aunts were poor.
By and by the group on the steps broke up and Laura came to Stannard's table. He noted that her eyes sparkled and her color was rather high. It looked as if she had triumphed over another girl; Stannard admitted the others were attractive, but none had Laura's charm.
"You have soon forgotten Jimmy," he remarked.
"No," said Laura, "I have not forgotten Jimmy. Although I did not want him for a lover, he's my friend. But he really was not my lover. That accounts for much."
"Yet I imagine, if he had been persuaded to go back to the cotton mill—"
Laura blushed, but she gave Stannard a steady look. "I liked Jimmy, Father, and I was not altogether selfish. I felt he ought to go back."
"To lead a young man where he ought to go is rather an attractive part," Stannard remarked."Jimmy wanted to marry you. What about Frank Dillon?"
"Ah," said Laura. "Frank is not as rash as Jimmy! Jimmy doesn't ponder. He plunges ahead."
"You imply that Frank uses caution."
"Oh, well," said Laura, smiling, "perhaps I use some reserve."
Stannard thought her voice was gentle, and turning his head, he studied Dillon. The young fellow stood at the top of the steps as if he wanted to follow Laura, but waited for her to indicate that he might. Stannard reflected with dry amusement that Laura kept her lovers in firm control. Frank was rather a handsome fellow and Stannard knew him sincere and generous. Perhaps it was strange, but a number of the young men he admitted to his circle were a pretty good type. Although Stannard was not bothered by scruples, he was fastidious.
"But I want to know— It's important," he said. "Suppose Frank is as rash as Jimmy? Will you refuse him?"
Laura blushed, but after a moment or two she looked up and fronted her father.
"Why is it important for you to know?"
Stannard hesitated. He had not used his daughter for an innocent accomplice, and had she married Jimmy he would have tried to free the lad from his entanglements. Now, if she loved Frank, he must not embarrass her.
"Well," he said, "I rather think I must give you myconfidence. I need money and it's possible Frank would help."
"Oh, Father, you mustn't use Frank's money!" Laura exclaimed and, since her disturbance was obvious, Stannard's curiosity was satisfied. "He's your friend and trusts you," she resumed. "I think you ought to force Deering to leave him alone."
For a few moments Stannard was quiet. Laura loved Frank; at all events she was willing to marry him, and it looked as if she knew more about her father than he had thought. Well, Laura was not a fool.
"Sometimes your tact is rather marked," he said. "I wonder whether you really think Deering a worse friend for Frank than me? However, we'll let it go. If you marry the young fellow, he, of course, ought not to be my creditor."
Laura gave him a grateful look and when she replied her voice was apologetic. "Perhaps I wasn't justified, but I felt I was forced— I mean, I didn't want you to bother Frank, and one cannot trust Deering."
"I imagine I see," Stannard rejoined. "Well, perhaps Deering's a better sort than you think. He stated, rather generously, that he would lend me Frank, but if it's some comfort, I'll engage not to bother the young fellow."
"You're a dear!" said Laura with a touch of emotion.
Stannard shrugged. "I have not carried out my duty and you do not owe me much, but after all it wasfor your sake I sent you to your aunts. Since your father was a bad model, I hoped your mother's sisters would help you to grow up like her. Well, since I long neglected you, I must not now put an obstacle in your way."
"You are kind," said Laura. "Perhaps I'm cold and calculating. I know my shabbiness, but I did not love Jimmy and I think I do love Frank."
She touched Stannard's arm gently and went into the hotel. A few moments afterwards, Dillon crossed the terrace and went up the steps. Stannard smiled, but by and by threw away his cigar and knitted his brows. He thought he need not bother about Laura, but he saw no plan for meeting his importunate creditor's demands.
Stannard and a party from the hotel were in the mountains, and Laura and Mrs. Dillon one morning occupied a bench on the terrace. Mrs. Dillon had arrived a few days since, and when Stannard returned Laura was going back with her to Puget Sound. Dillon, sitting on the steps, tranquilly smoked a cigarette. Laura had engaged to marry him and he had refused to join Stannard's rather ambitious excursion to a snow peak that had recently interested the Canadian Alpine Club. So far as Dillon knew, nobody had yet got up the mountain, and if its exploration occupied Stannard and Jimmy for some time, he would be resigned. Jimmy was his friend, but on the whole Frank would sooner he was not about.
"Two strangers went into the clerk's office some time since," Laura said presently. "One wore a sort of cavalry uniform. Do you know who they are?"
"One's a subaltern officer of the Royal North-West Mounted Police," Dillon replied. "I expect the other's a small boss in the Canada forestry department, or something like that. Perhaps a careless tourist has started a bush fire."
"They are coming out," said Laura, and added with surprise: "I think they want to see us."
The men crossed the terrace and the young officer gave Laura an envelope.
"I understand you are Miss Stannard and this is your father's."
Laura nodded agreement and studied the envelope. The address was Stannard's and at the top was printed,Sports service. Taxidermy.
"Perhaps you had better open the envelope," the officer resumed.
Laura did so and pulled out a bill. "To preserving and mounting two big-horn heads— To packing for shipment—"
The other man took the bill. He was a big brown-skinned fellow and his steady quiet glance indicated that he knew the woods.
"Sure!" he said. "The charge for packing is pretty steep; but when you mean to beat the export-prohibition— Well, I guess this fixes it!"
"What has Mr. Stannard's bill to do with you?" Laura asked in a haughty voice.
"To begin with, he can't ship those heads out of Canada. Then it looks as if he killed the big-horn on a government game reserve."
"Your statement's ridiculous," said Laura angrily. "My father is an English sportsman, not a poacher."
"Anyhow, he killed two mountain sheep not long since."
"You cannot force Miss Stannard to admit it," Dillon interrupted.
"Not at all," the young officer agreed politely."Still I think some frankness might pay. My companion is warden Douglas, from the reserve, and the game laws are strict, but it's possible some allowance would be made for tourists who did not know the rules. If Miss Stannard does reply, it might help."
"Very well," said Laura. "My father and a party went shooting and he brought back two big-horn heads, but I'm satisfied he did not know he trespassed on a game reserve."
"His partners were Leyland and Deering," warden Douglas remarked. "I expect they took a guide, although they didn't hire up the men at the hotel."
"Mr. Leyland's man, Okanagan, went."
Douglas looked at the officer and smiled meaningly. "Now I get it! I reckon Bobplayedthem fellers."
"Mr. Stannard is again in the mountains?" the officer said to Laura. "I don't urge you to reply, but although my duty's to find out all I can, I don't think your frankness will hurt your father."
Laura said Stannard had gone to climb a famous peak and admitted that he had taken Okanagan.
"They'll hit the range near the head of the reserve and a hefty gang could get down the Wolf Creek gulch," Douglas observed. "Looks as if Bob had gone back for another lot! I guess an English sport would put up fifty dollars for a good head."
"Thank you, Miss Stannard," said the officer. "The department will claim the heads and perhaps demand a fine, but the sum will depend upon Mr. Stannard's statements. This, however, is not my business."
He bowed and went off, but he stopped Douglas on the veranda.
"If you want to go after the party, I'll give you trooper Simpson."
"I'm going after Okanagan and I mean to get him," said Douglas grimly. "I reckon he fooled the tourists, but they've got to pay the fine. Can't you give me a bushman trooper? Okanagan's a tough proposition and he doesn't like me."
The officer said he had not another man and must go off to make inquiries about a forest fire. He sent for his horse and the group on the terrace saw him ride down the trail.
"I'm sorry for Father and know he'll hate to give up the heads; but I think the men were satisfied Jimmy's helper cheated him," Laura remarked.
A few days afterwards, Stannard's party stopped one evening at a small, empty homestead. Thin forest surrounded the clearing, but on one side the trees were burned and the bare rampikes shone in the sun. In places the crooked fence had fallen down, tall fern grew among the stumps, and willows had run across the cultivated ground. For all that, the loghouse was good, and since the horses could not go much farther, Stannard resolved to use the ranch for a supply depot. On the rocks the climbing party could not carry heavy loads.
When the sun got low they sat on the veranda and smoked. They did not talk much, and Jimmy felt the brooding calm was melancholy. Somebody, perhapswith high hope, had cleared the ground the forest now was taking back. Labor and patience had gone for nothing; the grass was already smothered by young trees. It looked as if the wilderness triumphed over human effort.
"How long do you think its owner was chopping out the ranch? And why did he let it go?" Jimmy asked.
"I reckon nine or ten years," Deering replied. "Maybe he speculated on somebody's starting a sawmill or a mine. Maybe the block carried a mortgage and he pulled out to earn the interest. As a rule, the small homesteader takes any job he can get, and when his wallet's full comes back to chop, but a railroad construction gang's the usual stunt and some don't come back. I expect the fellow was blown up by dynamite or a rock fell on him. Anyhow, when you hit a deserted ranch, the owner's story is something like that. Canada's not the get-rich country land boomers state."
Then Deering turned to Stannard. "Did you find a good line to the ridge from which we reckon to make the peak?"
"I found a line I think will go. You follow the ridge until a big buttress breaks the top some distance above the snow level. Acolgoes down to a glacier and one might get across to another ridge that would help us up the peak. Still I doubt if our map's accurate, and my notion is to climb the buttress."
Deering took the map. "Good maps of the backcountry are not numerous, but if thecol's where you locate it, I reckon the old-time miners shoved up the glacier when they came in from the plains. Some made the Caribou diggings from Alberta long before the railroad was built."
"Their road was rough," said Stannard and lighted his pipe.
He was not keen to talk. For one thing, he was tired, and he did not yet know where to get the sum he needed. The sum, however, must be got. So long as he belonged to one or two good clubs and visited at fashionable country houses, the allowance on which he lived would be paid; but if he did not satisfy his creditor he must give up his clubs and would not be wanted at shooting parties.
By and by Deering turned to Bob, who was cleaning a rifle.
"We have guns. Have you got a pit-light?"
Bob grinned. "You can't use a pit-light. Some cranks at Ottawa allow they're going to carry out the law."
"It depends," said Deering dryly. "I wouldn't go still-hunting if I thought a game-warden was about, but we oughtn't to run up against a warden in this neighborhood. Anyhow, I see the deer come down to feed on the fresh brush, and some venison would help out our salt pork. Say, have you got a light?"
"I've got one," Bob admitted. "We brought some candles, and I guess I could cut two or three shields from a meat can."
"Then you can get to work," said Deering, and turned to the others. "The sport's pretty good. You hook a small miner's lamp in your hat and pull out the brim, but you can use a candle and a bit of tin. Since the lamp's above the tin shield, the deer can't see you. They see a light some distance from the ground and, if you're quiet, they come up to find out what it's doing there. When their eyes reflect the beam, you shoot."
"I don't suppose we'd run much risk, but a still-hunt is poaching and I doubt if it's worth the bother," Stannard replied carelessly.
"When you start poaching, you don't know where to stop. Not long since we shot two big-horn on a game reserve," said Deering with a laugh. "The strange thing is, although I quit ranching for the cities, I want to get back and play in the woods. Give me an ax and a gun and I'm a boy again. Say, let's try the still-hunt!"
The others agreed and after supper the party waited for dark. The green sky faded and the trees were very black. Then their saw-edged tops got indistinct and gray mist floated about the clearing in belts that sometimes melted and sometimes got thick. The resinous smell of the pines was keen and all was very quiet but for the turmoil of the river. An owl swooped by the house, shrieked mournfully, and vanished in the gloom.
At length Jimmy fixed his candle in a rude tin shield, felt that his rifle magazine was full, and waited forBob to take the others to their posts. So long as they went away from him, all he saw was a faint glimmer, but sometimes one turned at an obstacle and a small bright flame shone in the mist. It looked as if the light floated without support and Jimmy could picture its exciting the deer's curiosity. One could not use a pit-lamp in the tangled bush, but the clearing was some distance across and the deer came to feed on the tender undergrowth that had sprung up since the trees were chopped.
After a time Bob returned, but now Jimmy must go to his post he admitted he would sooner go to bed. He was tired and still-hunting with a light was forbidden; besides, they had not long since poached on a game reserve. Had not Deering bothered them, Jimmy thought Stannard would not have gone, but in the woods Deering's mood was a boy's. The packers and the horses were in a barn some distance back among the trees, and they had not got a light at the house. Somehow the quiet and gloom were daunting, but to hesitate was ridiculous and Jimmy went off with Bob.
In North America, trees are not cut off at the ground level and the clearing was dotted by tall stumps. Fern grew about the roots, and tangled vines and young willows occupied the open spaces. At a boggy patch the grass was high, and a ditch went up the middle and into the bush. The ditch was deep and Jimmy knew something about the labor it had cost. To see useful effort thrown away disturbed him and he speculated about the lonely rancher's stubborn fight. The manwas gone; perhaps he knew himself beaten before he went, and the forest reclaimed the clearing.
They crossed the ditch and Bob stationed Jimmy behind a big stump at the edge of the trees. He said quietness was important, and if Jimmy left his post and did not take his light, he might get shot. Moreover, he must not shoot unless he saw a deer's eyes shine; he must wait until he thought the animal near enough and then aim between the two bright spots. He might soon get a shot, but he might wait until daybreak and see nothing.
Then Bob went off and Jimmy was sorry he could not light his pipe. The night was cold and waiting behind the stump soon got dreary. Sometimes the mist was thick and sometimes it melted, but one could not see across the clearing and nothing indicated that the others were about. Jimmy did not know their posts; he imagined Bob had put them where they would not see each other's lights. He wondered whether the deer would soon arrive. If he did not see one before his candle burned out, he would lie down at the bottom of the stump and go to sleep.
Jimmy imagined he did for a few minutes go to sleep, because he did not know when the noise began. Branches cracked as if a deer pushed through the brush a short distance off. Jimmy was not excited; in fact, he was cold and dull, and he used some effort to wake up.
The noise stopped and then began again. It now looked as if a large animal plunged across the clearing. Jimmy did not think a deer went through the brush like that, but for a moment he saw a luminous spot in the dark. Something reflected the beam from his candle and he threw the rifle to his shoulder.
His hand shook and he tried to steady the barrel. He felt a jerk and was dully conscious of the report. As a rule, when one concentrates on a moving target one does not hear the gun; the strange thing was Jimmy imagined he heard his a second before the trigger yielded.
The deer did not stop and he pumped in another cartridge. He heard nothing, but red sparks leaped from the rifle and then all was dark. A heavy object rolled in the young willows and somebody shouted. Lights tossed and it looked as if people ran about.
Jimmy shouted to warn the others and left thestump. When he jumped across the ditch his candle went out, and on the other side his foot struck something soft. Stooping down, he felt about and then got up and gasped. His heart beat, for he knew the object he had touched was not a deer.
After a moment or two Stannard joined him and took a miner's lamp from his hat. Jimmy shivered, for the light touched a man who lay in the willows. His arms were thrown out, and as much of his face as Jimmy saw was very white. The other side was buried in the wet grass.
"Is he dead?" Jimmy gasped.
"Not yet, I think," said Stannard, and Deering, running up, pushed him back and got on his knees.
Using some effort, he lifted the man's head and partly turned him over. The others saw a few drops of blood about a very small hole in the breast of his deerskin jacket.
"A blamed awkward spot!" Deering remarked and gave Jimmy a sympathetic glance. "Your luck's surely bad, but get hold. We must carry him to the house."
Stannard got down; he was cooler than Jimmy, but they heard an angry shout, and Deering jumped for the lamp. When he ran forward the others saw a young police-trooper crawl from the ditch. Stopping on the bank, he looked down into the mud, and Bob, a few yards off, studied him with a grim smile. Jimmy remarked that Okanagan had not a rifle.
"If you try to get your blasted gun, I'll sock myknife to you," said Bob. "Shove on in front and stop where the light is."
The trooper advanced awkwardly. His Stetson hat was gone and his head was cut. When he saw the man on the ground he stopped.
"You've killed him," he said. "Put up your hands! You're my prisoners!"
Bob laughed.
"Cut it out! That talk may go at Regina; we've no use for it in the bush."
"An order from the Royal North-West goes everywhere. Quit fooling with that knife. My duty is—"
"Oh, shucks!" said Bob, and turned to the others. "The kid fell on his head and is rattled bad."
"He's hurt; give him a drink, Stannard," said Deering. "We must help the other fellow. Lift his feet; I'll watch out for his head. Get hold, Bob."
They carried the man to the house. When they put him down he did not move, but Jimmy thought he breathed. Deering pushed a folded coat under his neck and held Stannard's flask to his mouth. His lips were tight and the liquor ran down his skin.
"A bad job!" said Deering, who opened the man's jacket. "All the same, his heart has not stopped."
The packers from the barn were now pushing about the door and he beckoned one.
"Take the best horse and start for the hotel. Get the clerk to wire for a doctor and bring him along as quick as you can make it."
The packer went off and Deering asked the policeman: "Who's your pal?"
"He's Douglas, the game-warden. Looks as if you'd killed him."
"He's not dead yet," Deering rejoined, and pulled out some cigarettes. "He may die. I don't know, but we'll give him all the chances we can. In the meantime, take a smoke and tell us what you were doing at the clearing."
The trooper lighted a cigarette and leaned against the wall. Somebody had fixed two candles on the logs and the light touched the faces of the group. All were quiet but Deering, and Jimmy noted with surprise that Stannard let him take control. Stannard's look was very thoughtful; Bob's was keen and grim. The trooper had obviously got a nasty knock. At the door the packers were half seen in the gloom, but Jimmy felt the unconscious man on the boards, so to speak, dominated the picture. Although Jimmy himself was highly strung he was cool.
"My officer sent me to help the warden round you up for poaching on the reserve," said the trooper. "When we hit the clearing we saw you were out with the pit-light and Douglas reckoned we'd get Okanagan first; the rest of you were tourists and wouldn't bother us. Douglas calculated Okanagan knew the best stand for a shot and would go right there. His plan was to steal up and get him. I was to watch out and butt in when I was wanted."
"It didn't go like that!" Bob remarked. "When you saw me by the ditch had I a gun?"
"So far as I could see you had not. You began to pull your knife."
Stannard motioned Bob to be quiet and the other resumed: "I heard Douglas shout and I got on a move. In the dark, I ran up against a stump, pitched over, and went into the ditch. I heard a shot—"
"You heardoneshot?" said Deering.
"I don't know—I'd hit my head and was trying to find my rifle. Well, I guess that's all!"
"I shot twice," said Jimmy, in a quiet voice. "I don't think Bob used a gun. All the same, when I pulled the trigger I imagined I heard another report; but perhaps it was my rifle. I really don't know."
"The number of shots is important," Stannard observed.
Deering looked up sharply. "To find out is the police's job. Ours is not to help."
"We ought to help," Jimmy rejoined. "I thought a deer was coming; I had no object for shooting the warden, but if my bullet hit him, the police must not blame Bob." He turned to the others. "How many shots did you hear?"
Perhaps it was strange, but nobody knew. A packer thought he heard three shots, although he admitted he might have been cheated because the reports echoed in the woods. After a few moments they let it go and Deering glanced at the man on the floor.
"Maybe he knows. I doubt if he will tell!"
The trooper advanced awkwardly. "Give me a light. I'm going across the clearing; I want to see your stands."
For the most part, the others went with him. Their curiosity was keen and it looked as if nobody reflected that the lad was their antagonist. In fact, since they carried in the warden, all antagonism had vanished. Jimmy, however, remained behind. He was on the floor and did not want to get up. After the strain, he was bothered by a dull reaction and felt slack. By and by Stannard returned and sat down on the boards.
"Well?" said Jimmy. "Have you found out much?"
"The trooper found your two cartridges and the posts Bob gave us. You were at a big stump, Bob a short distance on your left, although he declares he had not a gun. My stand was on your other side. The warden's track across the brush was plain. He was going nearly straight for the stump and the bullet mark is at the middle of his chest."
"It looks as if I shot him," Jimmy said and shivered.
"Then you must brace up and think about the consequences!"
"Somehow I don't want to bother about this yet. Besides, it's plain I thought I aimed at a deer."
"I doubt," Stannard remarked, with some dryness. "For one thing, the police know we killed the big-horn on the reserve, and since we took Bob again, to state he cheated us would not help. The fellow's a notorious poacher, and when the warden arrived he found ususing the pit-light, which the game laws don't allow. On the whole, I think the police have grounds to claim Douglas was not shot by accident."
"But he may get better."
"It's possible; I think that's all. But suppose he does get better? Do you imagine his narrative would clear you?"
Jimmy pondered. Until Stannard began to argue, all he had thought about was that he had shot the warden, but now he weighed the consequences. He was young and freedom was good. Moreover, he had seen men, chained by the leg to a heavy iron ball, engaged making a road. A warden with a shot-gun superintended their labor, and Jimmy had thought the indignity horrible. He could not see himself grading roads, perhaps for all his life, with a gang like that.
"What must I do about it?" he asked.
"I'd put up some food and start for the rocks. Take a rifle and the Indian packer, and try to get down the east side of the range by the neck below the buttress. Then you might perhaps push across to the foothills and the plains. The police will, no doubt, reckon on your going west for the Pacific coast, and, if you tried, would stop you. As far as Revelstoke, the railroad follows the only break in the mountains, and orders will be telegraphed to watch the stations. No; I think you must steer for the Alberta plains."
Jimmy knitted his brows. If he could reach the coast, he might get into the United States or on boarda ship, but he must cross British Columbia and, for the most part, the province was a rugged, mountainous wilderness. The northern railroads were not yet built; the settlements were along the C. P. R. track and the lake steamboat routes. He dared not use the railroad; but when he thought about the rocks and broken mountains he must cross to reach the plains he shrank.
"I could not carry the food I'd need," he said.
"You have a rifle, and must take the packer. So long as deer and grouse are in the woods, an Indian will not starve," Stannard replied and gave Jimmy his wallet. "Offer the fellow a large sum and he'll see you out. But you must start!"
"Thank you; I'll risk it," said Jimmy, and giving Stannard his hand, went off.
Not long afterwards the others returned and Deering looked about the room.
"Where's Jimmy?" he asked.
"He went out a few minutes since," Stannard replied in a careless voice and Deering turned to the trooper.
"Somebody must watch Douglas, but you're knocked out and Mr. Stannard and I will undertake the job until sun-up. It's obvious our interest is to keep him alive."
The lad agreed. His head was cut and he had not found his rifle. To imagine he could control a party of athletic men was ridiculous, and since they were friendly he must be resigned.
Not long before daybreak Deering woke up and looked about. Bob's pit-lamp, hanging from a beam, gave a dim light.
"Hello! Jimmy's not back!"
Stannard looked at the others and thought them asleep. Motioning to Deering to follow, he went to the door. He had pulled off his boots and Deering trod like a cat.
"Jimmy will not come back. He started for the plains, across the neck."
"You sent the kid across the hardest country in Alberta?"
"I don't know that I did send him; but we'll let it go. Jimmy's a mountaineer and he took the Indian."
"Shucks!" said Deering. "The Indian's a coast Siwash and not much use on the rocks. Jimmy's an English tenderfoot and has noChinook. He can't talk to the Indian. I doubt if he's got a compass or a map."
"He has my map and I imagine an Indian does not need a compass," Stannard rejoined. "At all events, I didn't see another plan."
Deering looked at him hard. "Well, perhaps Jimmy's lucky because I was born and raised in the bush. Fix up a plausible tale for the policeman. When he wakes I'll be hitting Jimmy's trail."
He turned and his bulky figure melted in the dark. Stannard knew he was going to the barn to get food, and for a few moments knitted his brows. Then he shrugged philosophically and went back to the house.
Day broke drearily across the clearing. Mist rolled about the dark pines and when the wind got stronger the dark branches tossed. The loghouse was cold and trooper Simpson, turning over on the hard boards, shivered. Then he remarked that although the pit-lamp had gone out the room was not dark and he was dully conscious that he had slept longer than he ought. After a few moments, his glance rested on an object covered by blankets at the other end of the room and he got up with a jerk.
His head hurt and he was dizzy. He now remembered that he had run against a stump and fallen into the ditch; but he must brace up and with something of an effort he crossed the floor. So far as he could see, the warden's eyes were shut and his face was pinched. All the same, Simpson thought he breathed and when he touched him his skin was not cold.
"Hello!" he said, and Stannard, sitting by Douglas, turned.
"He's very sick," Simpson resumed. "What are we going to do about it?"
"We must try to keep him warm and when he can swallow give him a little weak liquor and perhaps some hot soup. I expect that's all, but I have sent for a doctor."
"I see you have given him good blankets," said Simpson, who looked about. "Leyland's not back; you allowed he had gone out for a few minutes. Then where's the big man?"
"I stated Leyland went out a few minutes before Deering inquired for him," Stannard said dryly. "Some time after Leyland went, Deering started for the bush."
"Then, I've got stung! You knew I'd lost my rifle and you helped my prisoners get off!"
Stannard smiled. "To talk about your prisoners is ridiculous; I imagine we are rather your hosts. I am not a policeman, and when my friends resolved to leave the camp I had no grounds to meddle. However, if it will give you some satisfaction, I'll lend you a rifle."
"I'm going to get mine," said Simpson and started across the clearing.
He came back before long, carrying a wet rifle. His clothes were muddy and his mouth was tight.
"I found her in two or three minutes, but when I was in the ditch last night I felt all about."
"To find an object in the dark is awkward," Stannard remarked.
Simpson gave him an angry glance. "The magazine's broke and the ejector's jambed. I don't see how she got broke. I didn't hit the stump with my gun; I hit it with my head."
"The thing is rather obvious. The cut ought to satisfy your officer," said Stannard soothingly.
"If you hadn't let your partners go, I wouldn't havehad to satisfy my officer. Now I sure don't see where I am."
"The situation is embarrassing," Stannard agreed. "My friends have been gone some time and are pretty good mountaineers; it's possible they could go where you could not. Then, if you went after Deering and Leyland, I might go off another way. I don't want to persuade you, but perhaps you ought to stop and take care of Douglas."
Simpson frowned and put down his damaged rifle.
"Looks as if you had got me beat and I've no use for talking. Now the light's good, I'll take a proper look at your party's tracks."
Stannard let him go and soon afterwards Bob came in. Sitting down on the boards, he struck a pungent sulphur match and lighted his pipe. Stannard's glance got hard. He knew the Western hired man's independence, but he thought Bob truculent.
"The warden's very ill and your tobacco's rank," he said.
"He's sick all right. I doubt if he'll get better," Bob agreed in a meaning voice, although he did not put away his pipe.
For a few moments Stannard pondered. To baffle the young trooper had rather amused him, but to dispute with Bob was another thing.
"If Douglas does not get better, it will be awkward," Stannard said.
"It will sure be awkward for Mr. Leyland."
"Or for you!"
"Shucks! You know I was sort of superintending and hadn't a gun."
"I don't know," said Stannard. "You stated you had not a gun. In the meantime, I imagine Simpson is measuring distances and fixing angles, or something like that. I can't judge if he knows his job; perhaps you can."
Bob's glance was a little keener. "Huh!" he said scornfully, "the kid's from the cities and can't read tracks. All the same, somebody shot Douglas, and if the police can't fix it on Leyland, they'll get after me."
"I don't see where I can help. For one thing, Mr. Leyland is my friend. Then all I can state is, I didn't see you carry a gun. On the whole, I don't think the police have much grounds to bother you."
"Well, I don't take no chances; the police would sooner I was for it. They can't claim Leyland meant to kill the warden, but they might claim I did. Gimme a hundred dollars and I'll quit."
Stannard smiled. "I have not got ten dollars; I gave Jimmy my wallet. He's your employer."
"Then, if I run up against Mr. Leyland, I'll know he carries a wad and I guess I can persuade him to see me out," said Bob. "Now I'm going to take all the grub I want. So long!"
He went off and Stannard shrugged; but a few moments afterwards he rested his back against the wall and shut his eyes, as if he were tired. By and by Simpson returned and met Bob near the door. Bob carried a big pack, a cartridge belt, and a rifle.
"Hello!" said Simpson. "Another for the woods? Well, you got to drop that pack. You're not going."
"You make me tired.Mygun's not broke," Bob rejoined and shoved the muzzle against Simpson's chest. "Get inside, sonny. Get in quick!"
The Royal North-West Police do not enlist slack-nerved men and Simpson's pluck was good. For all that, he was lightly built and was hurt, while Bob was big and muscular. When Simpson seized the rifle barrel Bob pushed hard on the butt. The trooper staggered back, struck the doorpost, and plunged into the house. Bob laughed.
"Your job's to help cure your partner. Maybe he knows who shot him," he remarked, and started across the clearing.
Simpson leaned against the wall and gasped. When he got his breath he turned to Stannard savagely. "Where's your rifle?"
"In the corner behind you," Stannard replied, and Simpson, seizing the rifle, jerked open the breech.
"My cartridge shells won't fit."
"It's possible," said Stannard. "I didn't engage to lend you ammunition, but if you go to the barn, you'll find a brown valise. Bring me the valise and I may find you a box of cartridges."
"Do you reckon Bob is going to wait until I get all fixed?"
"That's another thing," said Stannard pleasantly.
Simpson put down the rifle. "In about a minute thefellow'll hit the timber and his sort don't leave much trail. Then you have not pulled out yet."
"You imagine if you went after Bob and did not find him, you might not find me when you came back?"
"That's so," Simpson agreed. "Not long since I reckoned I'd got the gang. Now you're all that's left. The packers don't count."
"Oh, well," said Stannard, smiling. "I'll agree to remain. I expect to pay a fine for poaching, although I didn't know I was on the reserve. Since I'm resigned, it doesn't look as if my friends had an object for shooting Douglas. You see, I killed the big-horn."
"All the same, three have lit out."
"There's the puzzle; the warden was hit by one bullet. I own I don't see much light; but I think you sketched the clearing."
Simpson pulled out a note-book and Stannard remarked that the plan of the ground was carefully drawn. He thought the spots the sportsmen had occupied were accurately marked; distances and the lines of the warden's and Simpson's advance were indicated.
"The thing's like a map," he said. "How did you fix the positions?"
"I carry a compass and can step off a measurement nearly right. At Regina they teach us to study tracks, but I was at a surveyor's office before I joined up."
"Then, you are a surveyor?" said Stannard with keen interest, for he saw the accuracy of the plan was important.
Simpson smiled. "Surveying's a close profession. I was a clerk, but I copied plans and sometimes the boss took me out to help pull the measuring chain. Well, I guess that plan will stand!"
When Stannard gave back the book his look was thoughtful, but he said, "Until the doctor arrives, we must concentrate on keeping Douglas alive. To begin with, we'll get the packers to make a branch bed and light a fire."
Douglas lived, but, so far as the others could see, this was all. He hardly moved and he did not talk, but sometimes at night his skin got hot and he raved in a faint broken voice. A packer shot some willow grouse and they made broth, and Stannard put away the party's small stock of liquor and canned delicacies for his use. Sometimes he swallowed a little food, but for the most part he lay like a log in blank unconsciousness.
Simpson, Stannard, and a packer watched, and before long Stannard knew the trooper was his man. He had qualities that attracted trustful youth and used his talent cleverly. For all that, when the doctor and an officer of the mounted police arrived, Stannard's look was worn and Simpson's relief was keen. The officer sent Stannard from the room, but ordered him to wait at the barn.
After some time Simpson came to the barn and Stannard, returning to the house, saw the officer's brows were knit. The doctor put some instrumentsinto a case and then turned his head and looked at his companion. Stannard imagined they had not heard his step and for the moment had forgotten about him.