CHAPTER XXMURIEL RELIEVES HER MIND
On the Monday morning, Jernyngham was shown into the parlor of the hotel where a commissioned officer of the police sat waiting for him. He had keen, observant eyes, but his manner was quiet, and Jernyngham endeavored to control his impatience.
“I suppose you know that Prescott has returned to his farm?” he said, taking the chair the other pointed to.
“I have been informed so,” the officer replied.
“Then may I ask what you mean to do?”
“We have come to no decision.”
“But your men have a warrant for him!”
The officer changed his position and his expression hinted at forbearance.
“That is so. On the whole, I think it should not have been issued.”
“You must not let the fellow’s return influence you unduly.”
“Very true,” said the other with a calm which Jernyngham found maddening. “It would be unwise to infer too much from that.”
“He is a bold man; he has, no doubt, counted on the effect his coming back would have,” Jernyngham urged.
“It’s possible,” the officer agreed.
Jernyngham’s nerves had given way beneath the strain he had borne, and he now stood up, trembling with anger.
“Am I to understand that you intend to leave the fellow alone? Now, when he is within your reach, you will not arrest him? The scoundrel killed my son!”
“Might I suggest your sitting down again?” said the officer calmly. “Let me try to put the matter before you as we look at it. To begin with, we can’t very well press the charge you make against Prescott without some proof of the victim’s death, which has not been discovered yet. The muskeg, I must remind you, was drained and nothing found. The handsome reward you offered led to no result, though every man in the district who had any time to spare spent it in searching the bluffs. Corporal Curtis has made systematic investigations, but they have been fruitless.”
“Corporal Curtis is a man of whose intelligence I have a very poor opinion!” said Jernyngham hotly.
His companion smiled.
“That’s a point upon which I don’t altogether share your views.”
“In short, you intend to let the matter drop! I must protest against such a scandalous failure of justice! But you shall not let it drop; I warn you that I shall apply to Ottawa, where there are people who can put upon you the pressure that seems to be needed!”
A look of weariness crept into the officer’s face.
“You have my sympathy, Mr. Jernyngham, but you can’t be allowed to interfere with the Northwest Police.”
Jernyngham pulled himself together.
“I had no wish to be offensive, though I meant what I said. Suppose this fellow goes off again—for good—as soon as he has sold his wheat?”
“That will have to be guarded against. He will be watched; if he leaves his farm, he will be followed.”
“He gave you the slip neatly on a previous occasion.”
“Quite true,” said the officer. “Our men are not infallible. I think I can promise that it will not happen again.” Then he rose. “I have some business waiting and you must excuse me. I can assure you that nothing which promises to throw any light upon the matter will be neglected.”
He opened the door and politely but firmly bowed out his visitor. Then he called Curtis, who was waiting below.
“I dare say you can guess Mr. Jernyngham’s errand,” he said. “Unless we can hit on the truth before long, you’ll have that gentleman in the guard-room.”
Curtis looked astonished and his superior smiled compassionately.
“I mean as a sufferer from mental derangement. Don’t be communicative, and confine yourself to reassuring generalities, if you come across him. His mind’s morbidly fixed on punishing Prescott. I don’t think he can be convinced that the man is innocent.”
“I can’t help meeting him, sir. He spends his time following me about. In a way, one can’t blame him for what he thinks.”
“Though it doesn’t agree with your conclusions? Sit down; we have a number of things to talk about.”
“Well, sir,” said Curtis, “this is certainly a mixed-up case. I’ve said nothing all along to disturb people’s belief that it was Prescott we were after, but if I had to corral one of the two, I’d get Wandle. The land agency man gave us a good description of him.”
His superior nodded thoughtfully.
“Prescott impersonated Cyril Jernyngham before his supposed death, and Wandle personated him afterward;the latter with the more obvious motive. The point is that there’s no evidence of collusion, but rather disagreement, between the two. Of course, we could arrest Wandle now.”
“Yes, sir. As soon as the agent identified him, we could prove forgery and falsification of the land sale record. He’d be safe in the guard-room or a penitentiary.”
“Just so; we will have him there sooner or later, but if he’s guilty of the more serious charge, he’d have no opportunity for giving himself away. I’d rather he was left at large and you kept your eye on him. The same applies to Prescott. Now I’ve been making a fresh study of the diagram of the footsteps near the muskeg, and I can see no fault in the conclusions you arrived at—only the remains can’t be found.”
“Sure, that’s a weak point, sir. But I might mention the case of the person who was found in a bluff a few miles from home after they’d searched the district for six months.”
“It has been in my mind. But you have other matters to report on. What about the disturbance on the Indian reservation?”
While they discussed it, Jernyngham set out for the Leslie homestead and on his arrival found Gertrude alone. Sitting down with a shiver, he looked at her dejectedly.
“I have failed again. They will do nothing; there’s no satisfaction to be had,” he said. “I drove out my son by arbitrary harshness, and now the only reparation I might have made is denied me.”
“You were harsh,” assented Gertrude. “I have begun to realize it since we came to Canada—one sees things differently here. But, in a sense, I think youwere not to be blamed; you acted in the belief that you were right.”
She had seldom ventured to address him with so much candor and she was surprised at his calmness.
“Yes,” he said, “it is some relief to remember that; but I was wrong.”
“Then shouldn’t it make you more careful not to fall into a similar error again? You have a fixed idea in your mind and the way you dwell on it is breaking you down; seeing you suffer is wearing me. Can’t you believe that there is room for doubt?”
“I wish I could,” he said with some gentleness, recognizing the anxious appeal in her voice. “But I imagined you were as convinced as I am of Prescott’s guilt.”
“Oh,” she replied miserably, “I believed I was; but I don’t know what to think!”
He noticed the distress in her face with uncomprehending sympathy. He was fond of her, in his stern, reserved fashion, and knew she must deeply feel the loss of her brother.
“As soon as he saw he was suspected, Prescott ran away,” he continued. “That must count against him. If he had had any motive except the wish to escape, he would have mentioned it.”
Gertrude sat silent, tormented by confused emotions. Prescott had told her he was going to hunt for Cyril, and until she had seen his devotion to Muriel she had felt that she must believe in him; then her mind had been filled with jealousy and doubt. She thought she hated him; after all, he might be guilty. It was not her part to speak in his defense; though she felt she was acting treacherously, she could not stand up for him.
“It is possible that the police were wrong about Cyril,” she said at length.
“I’m afraid not,” said Jernyngham. “It might be urged that Prescott has come back; but I believe that was only to sell his wheat.” He broke into a harsh laugh. “One must admit that the fellow has courage; but he won’t find it easy to escape again. Every move of his will be watched.”
Gertrude sat very still for a few moments, her lips tightly pressed together. Then she made a gesture of weariness.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s all so hard to bear! There’s nothing but doubt and suspense; not a ray of comfort!”
Getting up languidly she went out and left her father lost in thought.
An hour or two afterward, Prescott sat near the stove in his homestead, moodily making entries in an account-book, when he heard voices in the passage and looked up with a start. The next moment the door opened and Muriel Hurst came in. His heart throbbed furiously at the sight of her; she looked excited and eager; her rich furs enhanced her charm. He thought she made a wonderfully attractive picture in the small, simply furnished room, but he laid a strong restraint upon himself as he rose.
“I felt that I had to come; I wanted to show that your friends still trusted you,” she said impulsively.
He made no move to bring her a chair.
“It was a generous thought, but, considering everything, I don’t know that it was wise. Did you tell Colston or your sister that you were coming?”
“No,” she answered with a trace of confusion; “I left rather in a hurry.” Then she broke into a forced laugh. “This isn’t the welcome I expected!”
Prescott’s eyes gleamed.
“You know I’m glad to see you.”
“Well,” she said, sitting down with a hint of defiance in her air, “that’s the most important thing; though the confession had to be extorted from you. It looked as if you wanted to get rid of me.”
“I felt I ought to.”
Muriel looked at him with amusement.
“Duty against inclination! It’s a pity the former was beaten. But aren’t you falling into our way of thinking rather fast?”
“That isn’t strange. I’ve had English ideas impressed on me pretty forcibly during the last few months. But you made a statement that surprised me. Does Colston trust me?”
“He wants to.”
“That implies a doubt. And your sister; is she on my side?”
“She’s reserving her opinion.”
“You can’t say that the Jernynghams are convinced of my innocence.”
“No,” said Muriel. “I think they’re cruelly and unreasonably bitter.”
“Then that leaves only one person with unshaken faith.” His eyes rested on the girl with deep gratitude and tenderness. “Miss Hurst, I think I may say it’s quite enough.”
She looked up fearlessly, with heightened color.
“We won’t pay each other compliments. Will you tell me why you went away?”
“Yes; I went to look for Cyril Jernyngham.”
Muriel made an abrupt movement and her eyes sparkled with relief which she did not try to hide.
“Oh,” she said, “that’s such a complete explanation; it answers everything! But why didn’t you tell people the reason you were going? You must have known that stealing away, as you did, would count against you!”
“I told Miss Jernyngham.”
“Gertrude knew?” Muriel started. Then her face hardened. “After all, that doesn’t matter; there are much more important things. You didn’t find Cyril?”
“I followed him across three provinces and lost him in the end.”
“Ah!” she said. “How unfortunate, how terribly disappointing! But tell me all you did; I’m not asking from mere curiosity.” She hesitated. “I think you owe me that.”
He told her the story of his wanderings and what he had learned about Kermode’s adventures. She listened with eager attention, and laughed now and then.
“It’s convincing on the face of it,” she declared. “One feels that everything is exactly what Cyril Jernyngham must have done. Will you tell his father?”
“No,” Prescott answered gravely. “He wouldn’t believe the tale.”
“But I feel it can’t be doubted, after what I have heard of Cyril’s character and his conduct in England.”
“You have an open mind. I think you hate injustice; you try to be fair. That, I guess, is why you came to see me.”
Muriel glanced at him sharply, and then smiled.
“I suppose it was; I felt that you have been badly treated. But I only meant to stay a minute or two, and you seem to be busy.”
He did not deny it. Conscious as he was of hercharm and his longing for her, he feared to detain her lest he should be driven into some rash avowal.
“I’m very grateful for your confidence,” he answered slowly.
“Well,” said Muriel, “I must go.” She rose, but stood still a moment. “Mr. Prescott, it hurts me to see suspicion fall on my friends. You must clear yourself somehow.”
“Ah,” he said moodily, “how am I to set about it?”
“For one thing, you must not go away again. That would look bad.” She hesitated. “And, from a few words I heard, I fear it would bring the police after you.”
“It seems very probable; I’ll stay while I’m allowed,” he said with some bitterness and turned toward the door with her. Then a little color crept into his face as she held out her hand. “Miss Hurst,” he added, “you are a very staunch friend.”
Muriel smiled.
“It really looks as if staunchness were one of my virtues; but you see I venture to act on my opinions without paying much attention to what other people think. After all, that would be foolish, wouldn’t it?”
Then she got into the sleigh and left him wondering what she could have meant. He knew her friends regarded him as a man of inferior station, who, if cleared from suspicion, might perhaps be tolerated so long as he recognized his limitations and did not presume. Had Muriel wished to hint that she differed from them in this respect? The thought of it set his heart to beating fast and when he went back to his books he found it singularly difficult to fix his mind on them.
Muriel drove rapidly to the Leslie homestead and, reaching it after dark, joined the others at supper. Duringthe meal, a reference to Jernyngham’s interview with the police officer gave her the opportunity she was waiting for.
“When Mr. Prescott went away it told badly against him, because people didn’t know what his object was,” she said.
She fixed her eyes on Gertrude, but the latter’s face was expressionless as she moved her plate.
“He went to find Cyril,” she added.
Mrs. Colston looked up sharply; her husband started.
“If true, it’s a strong point in his favor,” Colston declared.
Gertrude still made no sign; but her father broke into an incredulous smile.
“An excellent motive! It’s a pity he didn’t mention it before he went! It would have carried more weight then!”
There was an awkward silence; and then Muriel said firmly:
“Still, that was why he went away.”
Jernyngham looked hard at her and made a gesture which suggested that the matter would not bear discussion. Then Colston began to talk to her, and he was glad when the meal was finished. Muriel waited until she found Gertrude alone in her room.
“You knew Mr. Prescott went to look for your brother, and yet you would not say a word,” she said.
“Ah!” exclaimed Gertrude sharply. “So you have seen him! You drove over this afternoon—one might have expected that.”
Muriel’s eyes sparkled, but she answered calmly:
“Yes, I went to see him; but you’re evading the point. What reason could you have had for trying to injure an innocent man?”
Gertrude made an uneasy movement.
“Aren’t you taking too much for granted? To begin with, his innocence is very doubtful.”
“Yet, I think you must have been convinced of it. That he told you why he was going proves that you were on friendly terms, which would have been impossible if you had thought him guilty. What has made you change?”
The girl’s voice was stingingly scornful. It looked as if she suspected something, and Gertrude broke into a cold smile.
“Oh,” she said, “the man is clever; he has a way of creeping into one’s confidence. He appears to have had no trouble in gaining yours. After all, however, if my father is right, I have a duty to my brother’s memory.”
“Your father is so possessed and carried away by an idea that one can almost forgive him his injustice and cruelty. You have not the same excuse!”
Gertrude turned toward her with a formal manner.
“I think you have gone far enough. Do you intend to tell the others what you have said to me?”
“Oh, no,” answered Muriel. “It would serve no purpose. But I feel that sooner or later you will be sorry for what you have done.”
Then she went out, leaving Gertrude alone with her reflections.
CHAPTER XXIWANDLE TAKES PRECAUTIONS
Bright sunshine streamed down upon the glittering plain, tempering the frost, when Wandle stood outside his house one morning, wondering how he should employ himself during the day. He had hauled his wheat in to the elevators, and when that is done the western farmer has now and then some leisure, because the frozen ground renders many of his usual operations impossible. Wandle had a stack of cordwood ready cut, and though he needed some logs for an addition to his stable which he meant to build, the thinness of the snow, which had been disturbed by a strong wind, would make the work of hauling them home too difficult. He was, however, an active man, who rarely wasted time or money; and as he looked about, the ash-heap caught his eye. It was rather large and near his house, and he determined to remove it, now that he had nothing better to do.
In a few minutes he was hard at work with a pick, and succeeded, with some difficulty, in breaking through the frozen crust. The moisture, however, had not penetrated far enough into the fine wood-ash for the rest to freeze, so that he was soon able to use the shovel and during the next half-hour he flung a quantity of the stuff into his wagon. As he did so he looked out for Jernyngham’s cash-box, and grew surprised when it did not appear. When he had hauled the load away and deposited it in a swampy place he was getting anxious. The box couldnot have escaped his notice, because he had spread the ash thinly; he had, he thought, dug far enough into the pile to have reached it; but there was still no sign of it. This was disconcerting, and he worked until he had largely reduced the heap, and he scattered the next load so that every bit of rubbish among it could be seen. Then he stopped in dismay to think. He had certainly thrown the box among the ash, and it was gone; the only inference was that somebody had afterward dug it up and taken it away.
Wandle realized this with a shock, but he was too keen-witted to give way to alarm and leave his task unfinished. He must remove the whole pile, in order to give no cause for suspicion that he had been excavating in search of something; and the sooner it was done the better. It was noon when the work was finished and he entered the house, where there was something else to be done. He was a methodical man and had a place for each of his belongings. He began by examining the position of every article in a cupboard. None seemed to have been disturbed, which was reassuring, and Wandle proceeded to empty a chest in which he kept his clothing. He had reached the bottom of it when a pair of light summer shoes caught his eye and his face became intent. They were not where he had placed them; he remembered having fitted them in between some other things at the opposite end of the chest. This confirmed his worst suspicions, but he carefully laid back each garment before he sat down to consider.
It was obvious that the police had searched his house, and had taken the cash-box away, but he was careful not to let his fears overcome his judgment. The box was of a cheap and common pattern; it would be difficult to identify it as having belonged to Jernyngham. He wasmore troubled by the evidence that he was being watched by the police because it might result in their discovering the sale of land he had made. This must be guarded against, as the offense was serious, and would, moreover, connect him with Jernyngham’s disappearance; but Wandle would not be driven into any rash and precipitate action by his alarm. He was a cool, ready-witted, avaricious man, who had found industry profitable, and he had no intention of leaving the farm he had spent so much work on. Flight would mean ruin: he could not dispose of his property before he went without attracting attention, and it would, in all probability, lead to his arrest. He must stay and face the matter out.
First of all, he tried to estimate the risk of his being recognized as the man who had sold Jernyngham’s land. If the suspicions of the agent he had dealt with were aroused, he might describe his customer to the police. Wandle was glad his appearance was by no means striking. When he sold the land, he had, however, worn a newly made suit of a rather vivid brown, which the man would probably remember. Wandle had bought it on a business visit to Brandon, which was a long way off, and the police could not have seen it when searching his house, because they had done so in his absence and when he left the farm to drive in to the settlement he had put on the clothes. There was a risk that somebody in Sebastian might remember how he was dressed, but, as he had been there only once or twice in the past few months, he did not think it was likely.
The garments would have to be sacrificed, which was unfortunate, because clothing is dear in western Canada; but Wandle thought of a better means of getting rid of them, than destroying them. It was obvious that thesuspicions of the police must fall on himself or Prescott, and he preferred that the latter should be implicated. After a while, he saw what could be done, provided there was wind enough to obliterate his footsteps in the snow or there should be another fall.
He had to wait a few days; and then one evening he made up the clothes into a bundle, saddled a horse, and rode off across the prairie toward the Prescott homestead. It was very cold and he would have been more comfortable wrapped in a driving-robe in his buggy; but the moon now and then shone through the rifts in the clouds, and a rig could not be hidden or driven in among thick trees.
A long bluff ran close up to the homestead, and when Wandle reached its outer end he got down and walked beside his horse, keeping the wood between him and the farm trail. It was important that he should not be seen. The horse would attract no attention, because Prescott had a number, and hardy, range-bred horses are often left to run loose through the winter. Still, clear moonlight streamed through between the slender trees, and there was a glow from the windows of the house. As Wandle drew nearer it he moved with greater caution. He was fortunate in having done so, for he stopped with a start as two black mounted figures cut against the sky not far in front of him. They were clearly visible as they crossed an opening, and though he stood in shadow beside a denser growth of trees his heart beat faster as he watched them. They were riding slowly, keeping out of view of the house, which was significant, because had they been neighbors of Prescott’s returning from a visit to him they would have taken no trouble to avoid being seen. These were police troopers, watching the homestead.
Presently one of them spoke to the other, and Wandlerecognized Private Stanton’s voice. Indeed, it was ominously distinct, and Wandle, standing very still with a firm hand on the bridle, passed a few anxious moments; a movement of his horse might betray him. The troopers, however, drew abreast without glancing toward him and the tension slackened as they slowly moved away. What they expected to find he could not tell, but he was on the whole pleased to see them hanging round the bluff. He waited a while after the faint sound they had made died away; and then, tying his horse to a branch, he crept quietly into the bluff.
There were belts of shadow among the trees; he got entangled among nut bushes and thickets, but creeping on toward the house, he reached a more open space and found a hollow nearly filled with withered leaves. There he stopped, wondering whether it would be safe to strike a match; but he knew that something must be risked and he got a light and bent down, shielding it with his hands. The leaves lay thickly together, a foot or two in depth, and the place looked suitable for his purpose.
A stream of light suddenly broke out from the door of the homestead and Wandle’s hand closed quickly on the match; somebody was crossing from the house to the stable with a lantern. He could see the man’s dark figure plainly, though he could not recognize him, and he waited until a door was noisily opened. Then he scraped the leaves aside and laid the brown clothes in the hollow. He stayed beside it until the man with the lantern returned to the house, and then he crept back through the bluff and led his horse toward its end, where he mounted and rode to the next farm. After spending an hour with its owner, arranging for a journey to a bluff where unusually large logs could be found, he rodehome content. Everything had gone as he wished; there would, he thought, be snow enough before morning to cover any tracks he had left, and he could, if necessary, account for his having been in the neighborhood of the Prescott farm.
During the next week, Wandle watched the weather, which continued fine after a few snow showers. A heavy fall might hide the clothes until spring, but he could think of no means of leading up to their discovery. To give the police a hint would fix their suspicions on himself, and he wondered how one could be conveyed to them indirectly. Chance provided him with an opportunity.
Gertrude Jernyngham borrowed Leslie’s team one afternoon and set out for a drive. Troubled as she was, she had of late found the strain of maintaining a tranquil demeanor before her friends growing too much for her, and it was trying to spend the greater portion of her time in Muriel’s society. She was filled with a jealous hatred of the girl, and felt that it would be a relief to be alone a while. The air was still, bright sunshine flooded the plain, the thick driving-robe kept her comfortably warm; and, lost in painful thought, she had driven farther than she intended when she turned back. On doing so, she noticed that she had left the beaten trail and she looked about timidly. The sun was low, a gray dimness had crept across the eastern half of the prairie where the homestead lay and a piercing wind was springing up. There was nobody in sight and no sign of a house, and she could not remember which of the bluffs that stretched in wavy lines across the waste she had passed.
She drove on toward the east, eagerly looking for the trail, while the horse broke through the thin snow-crustand the sleigh ran heavily, until she reached a slope leading to a frozen swamp. It was of some extent, and she grew anxious, for she had not seen the spot before. The country ahead was more broken, rolling in low rises with short pines on their summits, and it was with unfeigned satisfaction that she saw a man crossing one of the ridges. He answered when she called and in a few minutes she stopped close beside him. He was a tall man, wearing an old fur coat and dilapidated fur cap; a rancher, she thought.
“Can you tell me where Leslie’s house is?” she asked.
“Sure,” said Wandle, pointing toward the east. “But as it will be dark before you get there, you had better let me put you on the trail. You’ll have to cross these sandhills, and as the snow’s blown off in places, it’s rough traveling.”
Gertrude thanked him, and she was glad that he led the team as they crossed the broken belt, picking out the smoothest course among the clumps of birches and low steep ridges. At times he had difficulty in urging the horses up a bank of frozen sand, but after a while he looked around at her.
“You’re Miss Jernyngham?” he said. “Guess you must have had a mighty trying time?”
His tone was respectful and, though he was a stranger, Gertrude could not resent the allusion to her troubles. She had generally found the western ranchers blunt.
“Yes,” she replied; “my father and I have had much to bear.”
Wandle made a gesture of sympathy.
“The mystery’s the worst—it’s easier to face a trouble one knows all about. What have the police been doing lately?”
“I don’t know; they have told us nothing for some time.”
“You find them kind of disappointing?”
“I believe my father does.”
The man said nothing for a while, and then looked around again.
“Well,” he ventured, “it strikes me there’s one man Curtis ought to keep his eye on.”
Gertrude started and Wandle studied her face. He was observant and quick to draw a conclusion, and he read something that surprised him in her eyes. It was, he thought, a deeper feeling than suspicion; Miss Jernyngham knew whom he meant and had some reason for being very bitter against Prescott.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“All I’ve heard looks black against him,” he answered with an air of reflection. “What does your father think?”
“He is perplexed and distressed,” said Gertrude coldly, deciding that the man must not be allowed to go too far.
Wandle guessed her thoughts, but he was not to be daunted.
“That’s natural. He must be anxious to learn the truth, and the police haven’t found out much yet—looks as if they were getting tired.”
Gertrude hesitated, while he led the horses round a clump of birches. It was painful and undignified to discuss the matter with a stranger, but his manner was suggestive; she felt that he had something to tell. Perhaps it was her duty to encourage him, and her suspicions of Prescott drove her on. Wandle waited, knowing that she would speak.
“Is there anything that might be useful they have neglected doing?”
“It’s hard to say. I’ll allow that they’ve worked through the muskeg and the bluffs pretty thoroughly; but do you know if they’ve made a good search round Prescott’s house?”
“No,” said Gertrude eagerly; “I can’t tell you that. But why should they look there?”
Wandle considered. It would be awkward if she mentioned that she had had a hint from him, but he did not think this would happen. There was a greater probability of her acting as if the idea had originated with her. He let the team stop and looked at her impressively.
“It strikes me as quite a likely place. I’ve heard of people hiding things they wanted to get rid of in a bluff. You put it to your father and see how the notion strikes him.”
“I’ll think of it,” Gertrude replied coldly; but Wandle knew that she would do as he had suggested.
He said nothing further until they had crossed another rise or two, when he stopped and pointed to a bluff not far away.
“When you make those trees you’ll strike the trail and it’s pretty well beaten. It will take you straight in to Leslie’s.”
Gertrude thanked him and drove on. It was getting dark, and a bitter wind swept the waste, but at first she was scarcely conscious of the cold, for her thoughts were busy. She felt that she had done wrong in allowing the man to make the suggestion. Somehow it seemed to involve her in a plot against Prescott; but of late she had tried to convince herself of his guilt. After all, it was her duty to have the fullest investigation made and thefellow had spoken in a significant manner. One could imagine that he knew more than he had said.
Darkness closed in on the empty plain, the wind stung her face, the loneliness grew intense, and she began to shiver in a mood of black depression. The mystery of her brother’s disappearance filled her with keen anxiety; now she could no longer believe Prescott’s assurance that he was not dead. A little while ago she had trusted him and her cold nature had suddenly expanded in the warmth of love, but the transforming glow had suddenly died out, leaving her crushed, humiliated, and very bitter. Even if her fears about Cyril proved unfounded, she had nothing to look forward to except a life that had grown meaningless and dreary; the brief passion she had yielded to would never be stirred again. She was growing hard and cruel; her keenest desire was to punish the man who had, as she thought of it, deceived her.
At length a light began to blink in the gloom ahead and soon afterward she got down at the homestead, feeling very cramped and cold; but an hour or two passed before she had an opportunity for speaking to her father alone. It was easy to lead him on to talk of Cyril’s disappearance, and by and by she asked if the neighborhood of Prescott’s homestead had been searched. He caught at the idea.
“It’s hard to understand why I didn’t think of that!” he cried. “I have lost all confidence in Curtis. What he is doing, or if he means to let the matter drop, I don’t know; but if Prescott has hidden anything that might tell against him, it will of course be in the bluff! I’ll go over and examine every hollow among the bushes, without the police.”
His expression grew eager and Gertrude, knowing that she had said enough, left him quietly.
CHAPTER XXIIJERNYNGHAM MAKES A DISCOVERY
A piercing wind swept the lonely waste when Jernyngham left the homestead in the afternoon. He went on foot, because it was no great distance to the Prescott farm, and he had no wish to attract notice by driving up in the sleigh. It was his intention to enter the bluff quietly a little while before it got dark and, after searching it, to walk home. By doing so he would run less risk of being seen, for it was undesirable that he should put Prescott on his guard. He had said nothing about his plan to any one except Gertrude, which was unfortunate, because Leslie, who could read the signs of the weather, would have dissuaded him.
Jernyngham felt uneasy as he glanced across the plain. There was something unusual in the light: every clump of scrub and bush in the foreground stood out with a curious hard distinctness, though the distance was blurred and dim. There was no horizon; the bluffs a few miles off had faded into a hazy shapelessness. The sky was uniformly gray, except in the north, where it darkened to a deep leaden color; the cold struck through the man like a knife. He was, however, not to be deterred; snow was coming and a heavy fall might make an effective search impossible for the remainder of the winter. There was something inexorable in his nature; his views were narrow, but he was true to them and ruled himself and his dependents in accordancewith a few fixed principles. This was why he had driven out his son, and was now with the same grim consistency bent on avenging him. He had a duty and he meant to discharge it, in spite of raging blizzard or biting frost. Indeed, if need be, he was willing to lay down the dreary life which had of late grown valueless to him. Yet he was not without tenderness, and as he plodded on over the frozen snow, he thought of the lost outcast with wistful regret.
He reached the bluff, and stopped a few moments, slightly breathless, among the first of the trees. They were small and their branches cut in sharp, intricate tracery against the sky; farther back, the rows of slender trunks ran together in a hazy mass, though they failed to keep out the wind, and once or twice a fine flake touched the old man’s face with a cold that stung. He pulled his fur cap lower down and set about the search. For half an hour he scrambled among thick nut bushes, kicking aside the snow beneath them here and there; and then he plunged knee-deep into the withered grass where a sloo had dried. The snow was thin in the wood, but it hid the iron-hard ground so that he could not tell if it had been disturbed. It was obvious that the chances were against his discovering anything, but he persevered, working steadily nearer to the homestead, of which he once or twice caught a glimpse where the trees were thinner.
At length he stopped suddenly and cast a quick glance around. He had heard a sharp crack behind him, but it was not repeated and there was little to be seen. While he listened, the wind wailed among the branches and the sloo grass rustled eerily. The patch of sky above him was growing darker, and the wood looked,inexpressibly dreary; but as the light was going, there was more reason for his making use of it. Though he was getting tired, he pushed on; avoiding fallen trunks and branches where he could, and floundering through thickets, he came to a small hollow which traversed the bluff. As it was nearly filled with drifted snow, he stepped down upon its white surface and, breaking through, sank above his boots in withered leaves. These, he thought, would effectively hide anything laid among them until it rotted and crumbled into their decay. He followed up the hollow, kicking the snow aside. He fancied that he heard the snapping sound again; but he was too eager to feel much curiosity about the cause of it, and there was nothing to be seen. The light was dying out rapidly, heavy snow was coming, and he must make the best use of his time.
After a while, his foot struck something which did not yield as the leaves had done, and dropping on his knees he dragged it out. A thrill of excitement ran through him as he saw that is was a suit of clothes and made out in the gathering dusk that their color was brown. Then, as he rose with grim satisfaction, he saw with a start two indistinct figures watching him a dozen yards away. They moved forward, and he recognized the first of them as Curtis.
“Mr. Jernyngham?” said the corporal.
“Yes,” said Jernyngham. “Who did you think it was?”
“Well,” returned Curtis dryly, “we didn’t expect to find you. What brought you here?”
“I’ve been doing your work with more success than seems to have attended your efforts.” He pointed to the clothes. “To my mind, this is conclusive.”
An icy blast that set them shivering went roaring through the wood, but they were too intent to heed it, and Curtis picked up one of the garments. He could see only that it was a jacket, for darkness was closing in suddenly.
“I’ll allow it’s kind of suggestive,” he admitted guardedly.
Jernyngham broke into a contemptuous laugh.
“How was the man who sold my son’s land dressed?”
“Smartly, in new clothes. The land agent remembered that they were a reddish brown.”
“That’s the color of the thing in your hand. There was more light when I pulled it out of the leaves yonder. Are you convinced now?”
“It’s certainly enough to make one think.”
“To think, but not to act! You seem strangely content with the former! Isn’t it plain that Prescott sold the land, and then, remembering that he had worn a suit of rather unusual color which might help to identify him, hid it in the bluff? Having other people in the house, he was, no doubt, afraid to burn the clothes.”
Curtis folded up the garments and laid them on his arm.
“Well,” he said, “it sounds quite probable; but there are discrepancies. I’ll take these things along, and I guess you had better make for the homestead and ask them to let you in. We’ll have a lively blizzard down on us very soon.”
The trees bent above him as he spoke, the wood was filled with sound, and fine flakes drove past in swirls. Then, as the wild gust subsided, they heard a galloping horse going by outside the bluff and Curtis swung sharply round toward his comrade.
“It’s that blamed ranger of yours broken loose!” he cried. “Get after him with my horse!”
The next moment the police had vanished and Jernyngham was left alone, listening to the crackle of undergrowth, which was lost in a furious uproar as the wood was swept by another gust. Then the thrashing trees were blotted out by a white haze which stung his face with an intolerable cold and filled his eyes. For a minute or two he could see nothing, though he was conscious of a tumult of sound and broken twigs came raining down upon him; then, lowering his head, he stumbled forward between blurred trees, ignorant of where he was going. He struck one or two of the trees and blundered into thickets, but at last he struggled out of the wood and stopped for a few moments in dismay.
The light had gone; he could scarcely see a yard ahead, through the thick white cloud that rushed past him. The wind buffeted him cruelly, threatening to fling him down; the awful cold dulled his senses. He had not intended to seek shelter at the homestead—the idea was repugnant—and he hardly thought he meant to do so now, but, overwhelmed by the blizzard, he could not stand still and freeze. Struggling heavily forward, he found himself in the open; all trace of the wood had vanished; he could not tell where he was heading, but he must continue moving to keep life in him. He could no longer reason collectedly. He had not been trained to physical endurance, and he was getting old; in the grip of the storm he was helpless. By and by his steps grew feebler and his breath harder to get. How long he stumbled on he could not remember; but at length he was sensible of a faint brightness in the snow aheadand he made toward it in a half-dazed fashion. It seemed to die out, leaving him in a state of dull despair, but a few moments later something barred his way and stretching out his mittened hand it fell upon the lapped boarding of a house. There must be a door, he reasoned, and he groped along the wall until his hand fell forward into a shallow recess. Then he knocked savagely.
There was no response. The gale shrieked about the building, flinging the snow against it in clouds, and he realized that any noise he made was not likely to be heard. He fumbled for a latch, and found a knob which his numbed fingers failed to turn. Then in a fury he struck the door again, each blow growing feebler than the last, until the cold overcame him and he slipped down into the snow. He could not get up; even the desire to do so grew fainter, and he sank into oblivion.
It did not last, however, and the return to consciousness was agonizing. A strong light shone about him, though he could see nothing clearly, and he felt as if a boiling fluid were trying to creep through his half-frozen limbs; his hands and feet, in particular, tingled beyond endurance, which, had he known it, was a favorable sign. Then somebody gave him a hot drink and he heard voices which he vaguely recognized, though he could not tell to whom they belonged. A little later, he was lifted up and carried into a different room, where somebody laid him down and wrapped clothing about him. The tingling pain passed away, he felt delightfully warm, and that was all that he was conscious of as he sank into heavy slumber.
It was daylight when he awakened, clear-headed and comfortable, and recognized the room as the one he had previously occupied in Prescott’s house. It was obviousthat he had slept for twelve or fourteen hours; and seeing his clothes laid out, dry, upon a chair, he got up and dressed. Then he went down to the living-room, where Prescott rose as he came in.
“You don’t look much the worse,” the rancher said. “You had a fortunate escape.”
“How did I get here?” Jernyngham asked, leaning on the back of a chair, for he felt shaky still.
“That’s more than I can tell. Svendsen found you outside the door when he tried to get across to the stable. You couldn’t have been there long: a few minutes, I guess, though we didn’t hear you. Do your feet and hands feel right?”
Jernyngham was glad that his host made no inquiries as to what had brought him into the neighborhood.
“Thank you, yes,” he said. “I must assure you that I had no intention of seeking shelter in your house.”
“So I should imagine,” Prescott answered smiling. “However, there ought to be a truce between even the deadliest enemies where there’s a blizzard raging and the temperature’s forty below. Though I can’t say you have treated me well, I’m glad you didn’t get frozen, and if you’ll sit down, I’ll tell Mrs. Svendsen to bring you in some breakfast.”
“With what there is between us, you could hardly expect me to sit at your table.”
“That’s a comfortable chair you have your hand on. Bring it nearer the stove and let’s try to look at the thing sensibly,” Prescott persuaded. “I’ll confess that I’d have excused your visit, if it could have been avoided, but as you already owe Svendsen and me something, it would be rather forcing matters for you to drive awayhungry. That strikes me as about the limit of wrong-headedness, particularly as I’m not suggesting that we should make friends.”
The elder man was possessed by a fixed idea and his prejudices were strong, but he was, nevertheless, a judge of character, and the rancher’s manner impressed him. He took the chair.
“I believe I owe my life to you or your hired man. I find the situation embarrassing.”
“It would be intolerable, if you were not mistaken about another point,” Prescott said calmly. “Now I want your attention. I’m not anxious for your good opinion—I don’t know that I’d take it as a gift, after the way you have persecuted me—but I’ve a pity for you that softens my resentment.”
Jernyngham moved abruptly, but Prescott raised his hand.
“Let me get through! I believe you’re honest; you’re acting from a sense of duty, which is why I tell you that you’re tormenting yourself without a cause. I had no hand in your son’s disappearance, and it’s my firm conviction that he’s alive now and wandering through British Columbia with a mineral prospector.”
“What proof have you of this?”
“None that would satisfy you; nothing but my word, and I give you that solemnly. Make your own inquires among my neighbors whether it’s to be believed.”
For several moments Jernyngham fixed his eyes on him, and his suspicions began to melt away. Truth had rung in Prescott’s voice and it was stamped on his face; no man, he thought, could lie and look as this rancher did. Even the discovery of the brown clothes appeared less damaging.
“Then there’s much to be explained,” he said slowly.
“That’s so. It will all come to light some day. And now, it’s a bitter morning, the drifts are deep, and the trail lost in snow; Svendsen will have some trouble in driving you to Leslie’s, and you can’t go without food.”
Prescott called to Mrs. Svendsen, and she presently brought in breakfast. Jernyngham ate a little before he got into the buggy and was driven away. He reached the Leslie homestead greatly disturbed. The painful mystery was as deep as ever, but he was inclined to think he had been following a false clue; the man on whom all his suspicions had centered might be innocent. It was so seldom that he changed his mind that he felt lost in a maze of doubt, and in his perplexity he told Gertrude what he had found and related his conversation with Prescott. They were alone and she listened with fixed attention, studiously hiding her feelings behind an inscrutable expression.
“I don’t know what to think; for perhaps the first time in my life, I’m utterly at a loss and need a lead,” he said. “Everything we have learned about the man tells against him, and yet I felt I could not doubt his unsupported assurance. There was a genuine pride in the way he referred me to his neighbors for his character for truthfulness and one must admit that a number of them have an unshakable belief in him. Then Colston’s wavering; and Muriel has shown her confidence in the fellow in a striking manner.”
“Ah!” said Gertrude sharply. “You have noticed that?”
“I could hardly fail to do so. It is no affair of mine and perhaps a breach of good manners to mention it, but ifI were in Colston’s place, I should feel disturbed about the way in which his sister-in-law has taken Prescott’s part.”
“Why?”
“The reason should be obvious. Leaving the man’s guilt or innocence out of the question, there is his position; I needn’t enlarge on it. Muriel’s family is an old and honored one; it would be insufferable that she should break away from its traditions. Then we know what her upbringing has been. Could one calmly contemplate her throwing herself away on a working farmer?”
He had appealed to his daughter’s strongest prejudices, which had for a while sunk into abeyance and then sprung into life again. All that he had said about Muriel applied with equal force to her. She had yielded to a mad infatuation, and returning sanity had brought her a crushing sense of shame. She might have made a costly sacrifice for the rancher’s sake, flinging away all she had hitherto valued; she had sought him, humbled herself to charm him, and he had never spared a tender thought for her. Despising herself, her jealous rage and wounded pride could only be appeased by his punishment.
“Prescott,” she said coldly, “is a dangerous man; I have never met anybody so insinuating and plausible. When he speaks to you, it’s very hard to disbelieve him; his manner’s convincing.”
“I felt that,” said her father with a troubled air.
“Then shouldn’t it put you on your guard, and make you test his statements? Is it wise to let them influence you before they’re confirmed?”
“It was foolish of me to be impressed; but still——”
Gertrude checked him.
“With us suspicion is a duty. Try to think! Cyrilhad his failings, but you were harsh to him. You showed him no pity; you drove him out.”
“It’s true,” admitted Jernyngham in a hoarse voice. “I’ve regretted it deeply.”
She knew she had not appealed in vain to her father’s grief and she meant to work upon his desire for retribution.
“Cyril came here and fell into Prescott’s hands. Instead of his meeting Colston, the rancher personated him. He was the last man to see him; he knew where he had hidden his money; soon afterward he bought a costly machine.”
“I know all this,” said Jernyngham wearily.
“There seems to be some danger of your forgetting it! Let me go on! Prescott took over control of Cyril’s farm. He passed himself off for him a second time and sold land of his; you found the clothes he wore hidden near his house. Could you have any proofs more conclusive?”
Jernyngham flung her a swift glance.
“You believed him once. You are very bitter now.”
“Yes,” she said, “I have admitted that he is plausible; he deceived me. Perhaps that has made me more relentless; but I have lost my brother, and I loved him.”
Her father’s face grew very stern, and he clenched his hand.
“I have lost my son, and I wronged him.”
Then there was silence for a few moments; but Gertrude knew she had succeeded. Her father had been wavering, but she had stirred him to passion, and his thoughts had suddenly returned to the groove they would not leave again. The fixed idea had once more possessed him; unavailing sorrow and longing for justice would drive him on along the course he had chosen.
“You have reminded me of my duty,” he said with grim forcefulness. “I shall not fail in it.”
Then he got up and left her sitting still, lost in painful reflection. His motives were honest and blameless; but she had not this consolation. She tried to find comfort in the thought that if Prescott were innocent, he had nothing to fear.