Part 10

"This is no place for you," Vassall went on earnestly; "I beg that you will go to Mrs. Worsley, and let us attend to this."

"No place for me?" Linda burst out. "What do you think I am, a doll? I can be as much help to Jack as you can!"

Vassall turned pale at the sound of the familiar name on her lips.

Garrod stood motionless, apparently neither seeing nor hearing.

"He's quiet enough now," said Jack rubbing his chin; "but you can't tell when he may break out again. A tent is no place to keep a madman. We'll have to tie him up, Vassall."

"Oh, we can't do that," murmured the other man. He all but wrung his hands. "This is too dreadful! Miss Linda, I beg of you! What will Sir Bryson say?"

Linda's eyes passed contemptuously over him. "What is there I can do?" she asked Jack.

"Find Jean Paul," he said.

As if evoked by the sound of his name, the half-breed issued at that moment from among the trees on their left, and approached them. If his designs had miscarried, he gave no sign of it. One could hardly have guessed that he harboured designs. His face was as smooth as velvet, his manner calm, respectful, inquiring.

"Wat's the matter?" he asked. He looked at Garrod and appeared to comprehend with a start. "Ah, weh-ti-go!" he said, using the Cree word for madness. He shook his head in sober compassion. "I t'ink so me, before; many days he is act fonny."

It was perfection, and Jack was completely taken in. It seemed good to him to find some one quiet and capable. "He will have to be tied up and watched," said Jack. "He tried to launch me into the canyon."

"Wah! Wah!" exclaimed Jean Paul, holding up his hands at the thought. "I put him in my tent," he went on. "You and I all time watch him."

Thus Garrod was given in charge of Jean Paul, as Jean Paul had designed. He led him away, looking rather amused. White men were so easy to fool.

Jack went back for the gun, and to search up and down in case he might have dropped the precious note-book on the shore. Linda tagged after him, and Vassall followed Linda, because he could not support his bewilderment and dismay alone.

"What are you looking for?" Linda kept asking.

"Something I lost out of my pocket," Jack said; "a note-book." He could not bring himself to tell her more.

It was not there of course. The canyon had it long before this. When they returned to camp Humpy Jull was carrying lunch into the big tent. Linda commanded Jack to change his clothes and come and eat with them. He shook his head.

She stamped her foot. "You must come! Kate has to be told. We need you to hold us together. Kate!" she called out. "Make him come and have lunch with us."

Mrs. Worsley nodded and smiled from the door of the tent.

"Very well," said Jack. "One minute."

Then Linda perversely frowned and bit her lip because Kate could bring him with a nod, where she was unable to command.

It was not a cheerful meal that followed. Jack told Mrs. Worsley briefly what had happened, Vassall supplying a lamentable chorus. Mrs. Worsley took it with raised eyebrows and closed lips. Afterward Jack relapsed into silence. He had difficult matters of his own to think of. None of them knew of his intimate connection with Garrod, and it was impossible for him to speak to them of what concerned him so closely. Meanwhile the three talked as people always talk, of Garrod's strange behaviour during the last few days, and how anybody could have seen what was going to happen, if anybody had thought.

After they had come out of the tent, Jack saw Mary stroll through the trees on the westerly side of camp. His eye brightened. Since they were back so soon they must have been successful. Mary quietly set to work to prepare their dinner. In a little while Davy appeared dragging the saddles.

"What have they been up to?" Linda said curiously. "They've been gone all morning."

"I suppose they have their own matters to attend to," Mrs. Worsley said, relieving Jack of the necessity of answering.

When a decent interval had elapsed Jack strolled over to the Cranston's fire. "Were you in time?" he asked casually.

Mary raised a face as controlled as his own. "Yes," she said. "We did what you told us."

"Did you meet the other party?" he asked anxiously.

She shook her head. "We found your raft," she said; "so we had plenty of time. We landed above Seven-Mile Creek, so they could not see the raft when they came up. After we had marked the posts we crossed the little stream, and came back on that side, as they went up the other. We heard them. The Indians would see our tracks of course, but Sir Bryson pays no attention to them."

"Good!" said Jack. "That has turned out all all right, anyway."

Mary searched his face, and a flash of anxiety appeared in her quiet eyes. "Something has happened here?" she said.

Jack nodded. His constricted breast welled up. Here was somebody he could tell. He did not reflect on the ambiguity of the situation. He only knew instinctively that he needed help, and that help was to be had in those deep eyes. However, he stuck to the bare facts of his narrative.

"There's a good deal beneath that," said Mary.

"Yes," he said. "I'll tell you when I can."

"You must let me help you," she said earnestly. "I understand the people so much better than you can."

"The people?" he said surprised.

"The natives," she said. "I think that Jean Paul is at the bottom of this."

Jack stared at her. This was quite a new thought to him. It required consideration.

Their further talk was prevented by the customary shrill hail from up river, announcing the return of the boat party. Travelling downstream, they were able to make ten miles an hour, consequently they arrived close on the heels of the Cranstons, who had left Seven-Mile Creek an hour before them.

Jack went back to the others at the door of the big tent. Linda received him sulkily, but he made believe not to be aware of it.

"Who will tell Sir Bryson?" murmured Vassall.

"I will," said Jack firmly. "I have to talk to him anyway."

"What about?" demanded Linda.

"Mining claims," said Jack "and other things! There has to be a general showdown to-night." He spoke with affected carelessness, nevertheless his heart was beating at the thought of what he must go through with.

They looked at him questioningly.

"You may as well all know it," said Jack. "I am Malcolm Piers."

Before Mrs. Worsley and Vassall had time to recover from their stupefaction at this announcement, Sir Bryson and Baldwin Ferrie came striding from the river-bank. It appeared as if all Sir Bryson's river expeditions were doomed to disappointment. Again he was in a furious temper, and trying without success to conceal it. He passed inside the tent without noticing anybody. Baldwin Ferrie followed him. Jack, without waiting for a command, went in after them.

Sir Bryson flung himself into a chair, and opened up on Jack without any preliminaries. "You say you have worked up and down this pass," he said. "Did you ever hear the name Malcolm Piers?"

"Yes, sir," he said.

Sir Bryson leaned forward in his chair, and peered at Jack through squeezed-up eyes in a way that he intended to be magisterial and intimidating. "Where is this fellow now?" he barked.

Jack smiled a little grimly. "He is before you," he said quietly. "I am Malcolm Piers."

Sir Bryson fell back in his chair, and puffed. He appeared to have suffered a sudden loss of motive power. "Well, well, I knew that," he said flatly. "But I didn't expect you to have the assurance to admit it to my face."

"I have no reason to conceal my name," said Jack.

Sir Bryson gradually worked himself up again. "No reason?" he cried. "You young blackguard! It was an honourable name until it descended to you! I ought to have guessed the truth from your intimacy with the details of these swindling operations. No reason? We'll see what the law has to say to that!"

"The law?" said Jack, quickly. "The money which I did not take has been paid into the bank. What has the law to do with it?"

Sir Bryson smiled disagreeably. "Apparently you do not know," he said, "that you are under indictment for grand larceny, and that your uncle, Mr. McInnes, directed his executors to see that you were prosecuted whenever you should be found."

This was a staggerer for Jack.

"Aha! that touches you!" said Sir Bryson. "That shakes your impudence, eh? Moreover, I do not think the province of Athabasca, of which I have the honour to be chief executive, will raise any obstacles to giving you up to the province of Quebec!"

Jack felt a little sick with helpless rage. He drew the mask of obstinacy over his face, and held his tongue. What could he say? It would only draw down their ridicule for him to confess that the only witness to his innocence was an insane man.

He submitted to receive a long moral lecture in Sir Bryson's best vein. "Do you realize," the governor said in conclusion, "that as the head of this province it is my duty to put you under arrest, and hand you over to the authorities?"

Jack by this time had been goaded pretty far. "And so prevent me from filing my claim?" he said with a dangerous light in his eyes.

Sir Bryson swelled and puffed. "Tut!" he said. "Naturally the government does not intend that its valuable mining privileges shall fall into the hands of felons."

"I am not yet a felon," said Jack quietly; "and the three claims are not yet yours."

It was Sir Bryson's turn to grow red. There were no papers handy, and he fussed with his watch charm. "As to the other two claims," he said finally, "you have overreached yourself there. The notices on the posts are dated to-day, and it will be easy to prove that your friends could not have got there before we did to-day."

Jack found a momentary pleasure in describing to Sir Bryson how it had been done.

Naturally Sir Bryson was infuriated. "So it appears I have been harbouring a conspiracy!" he shouted.

"Nothing of the kind," said Jack. "The three claims were staked out before you came into the country. Isn't the rest of the creek enough for you? There's plenty of pay dirt. I have worked for five years to find this place, and the best of it belongs to me by right."

"Hold your tongue!" cried Sir Bryson tremblingly. "Don't attempt to bandy words with me! You can go until I decide what is to be done with you!"

It occurred to Jack dimly that he was scarcely acting the part of prudence in thus exasperating his judge to the highest degree, and he cooled down. So they were not going to put him under restraint immediately. It would have been rather difficult anyway. With all his anger there was an uncandid look in the little governor's eye. Jack wondered what he was getting at. Suddenly the idea went through his mind that Sir Bryson hoped he might ride out of camp that night, and never show his face again. In other words, the unspoken proposal was: his liberty in exchange for his claims. Jack smiled a little at the thought, his fighting smile.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Sir Bryson.

"I have something to tell you," Jack said, mildly. "Garrod----"

"What about him?"

"He is very sick. He appears to have gone out of his mind."

"What nonsense is this?" puffed Sir Bryson.

"Mad, insane, crazy; whatever word you like," said Jack.

The little governor was startled out of his pomposity. He turned to Baldwin Ferrie, plucking at his beard. For the moment he forgot his animosity against Jack, and asked him innumerable questions.

"Set you adrift?" he said, when Jack had told his tale. "What could have led him to do that?"

This was the moment Jack had been dreading. He drew a long breath, and, looking Sir Bryson in the eye, told him the whole story of himself and Frank Garrod. Sir Bryson, as Jack expected, sneered and pooh-poohed it throughout. On the face of it, it was a fantastic and improbable tale, but a disinterested person seeing Jack's set jaw and level eyes, and hearing his painstakingly detailed account, could scarcely have doubted he was telling the truth. Baldwin Ferrie was impressed, and he was not altogether disinterested.

"Lost the note-book, eh?" sneered Sir Bryson. "And you expect me to believe this on your unsupported word! Garrod's life has been exemplary!"

"Miss Trangmar saw me when I was cast adrift," said Jack patiently. "As to the rest, I think Garrod will bear me out, if he ever comes to his right senses. Why not have him in here now, and look him over? He may be better."

Sir Bryson was very much excited. He called Vassall into the tent, and the three men held a whispered consultation. Presently Linda came in, pale and charged with emotion. She headed directly for Jack. He fended her off with a look.

"If you give anything away, it will queer me for good with this crowd," he swiftly whispered.

She could not but perceive the force of this. A spasm passed over her face. Turning, she sat in a chair near the door, doing her best to look unconcerned.

When Sir Bryson saw her, he said: "We have important matters to discuss, my dear."

"It's only a tent," said Linda. "You can hear every word outside anyway."

"My dear----" began Sir Bryson.

"I'm going to stay," said Linda tempestuously, and that was the end of it.

The upshot of the consultation was that Jack should be confronted with Garrod. Sir Bryson was opposed to it, but the other two overruled him. Vassall went off to get Garrod, and they waited.

Sir Bryson's table was toward the top of the tent, and as he sat he faced the door. He frowned, and tapped on the table and pulled his beard. Occasionally, in spite of himself, his eyes bolted. It was as if a horrible doubt kept recurring to him that the situation was getting too much for him; that he had stirred up more than he was able to settle. Jack stood to the right of the table, with his upper lip drawn in, his face as hard as a wall. Poor Jack had no ingratiating ways when he was put on the defensive. Mrs. Worsley stole into the tent, and, sitting beside Linda, took her trembling hand. Baldwin Ferrie bent over them, and with a pale face whispered soothing things that they made no pretence of listening to.

At last Vassall pulled the tent flap back, and Garrod came in. He was well-brushed and tended. He walked without assistance, and his face was composed. Manifestly another change had taken place in him during the last few hours, a change for the better. Jack's heart began to beat more hopefully. There was still something queer about Garrod's eyes. Jean Paul Ascota and Vassall followed him in.

The half-breed constituted himself the sick man's nurse. Seeing a chair, he placed it for him at Sir Bryson's left, and Garrod sat down. Garrod had not greeted anybody on entering. Jean Paul stood over him watchful and solicitous. Mary's warning occurred to Jack, but what was he to do? The half-breed's attitude was irreproachable.

"I am sorry to hear that you have been very sick, Mr. Garrod," Sir Bryson began.

"Yes, sir," said Garrod composedly. "My head has been troubling me very much."

There was a curious, stiff quality in Garrod's voice, but that might easily have been accounted for by what he had been through. In spite of the man's apparent recovery, a dull anxiety that he could not explain, began to shape itself in Jack's breast.

"You are quite yourself again?" continued Sir Bryson.

"Yes, sir," said Garrod.

"Do you remember what happened this morning?"

"Yes, sir, up to a certain point. I had a shock."

"Um!" said Sir Bryson. "This man," pointing to Jack, "accuses you of setting him adrift in the current. Is it true?"

There was a slight pause before each of Garrod's answers. This time his hearers held their breaths.

"There is some mistake," he said composedly. "He was working in the boat, and it must have drifted off. I was asleep."

The pent-up breaths escaped. Jack turned a little paler, and set his teeth. He was not surprised; something had warned him of what was coming. Sir Bryson looked at his daughter.

"Linda, I understand that you were present," he said. "Did you see Mr. Garrod push the boat off?"

"He did it," she began excitedly. "I know he did it."

"I asked you if you saw him do it?" Sir Bryson said severely.

"No," she said sullenly. "It was already adrift when I came."

Sir Bryson, with a satisfied air, turned back to Garrod. "Do you know this man?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Garrod. "It is Malcolm Piers. We were friends years ago, before he ran away."

Jack looked at him with a kind of grim surprise.

"He claims," continued Sir Bryson, "that you were the only person who knew of his intention to leave Montreal for good, and that after he had gone you took the money and let the theft be fastened on him. Is that true?"

There was the same tense pause while they waited for the answer.

"It is not true," said Garrod. "I knew he was going away, but I knew nothing about the money until the shortage was discovered." There was a pause, and then Garrod went on in his level, toneless voice, "I never accused him of taking it. I was the only one who stood up for him. You can ask anybody who worked in the bank."

A note of bitter laughter escaped from Jack.

Sir Bryson frowned. "He says," he went on, "that you wrote a statement this morning confessing that you took the money."

There was a longer pause before Garrod spoke. "Before or after the accident of the boat?" he asked.

Sir Bryson looked at Jack.

"Before," said Jack indifferently.

"It is not true," said Garrod. "I remember everything that happened up to that time."

Sir Bryson appealed to the company at large. "Surely we have heard enough," he said. "We have laid bare an impudent attempt on the part of this young man to fasten his crime on one whom he thought incapable of defending himself." He looked at Jack with the most terrible air he could muster. "Have you anything to say for yourself now?" he barked.

Jack screwed down the clamps of his self-control. "No," he said.

"Take Mr. Garrod back to your tent, then, Jean Paul," Sir Bryson said graciously. "Tend him well, and we will all be grateful."

Before any move was made the company was electrified by a new voice: "May I speak if you please, Sir Bryson?" They turned to see Mary Cranston standing within the door, resolute in her confusion.

Linda half rose with an exclamation. At the touch of Kate's hand she sank back, twisting her handkerchief into a rag, her lips trembling, her pained eyes darting from Mary's face to Jack's and back again.

Sir Bryson sneered. "Eavesdropping?" he said.

"I was listening," said Mary firmly. "It is good that I was. You are all blind!"

"Indeed!" said Sir Bryson jocularly, looking all around to share the joke. "Is it possible?"

Nobody laughed, however. Mary was not put out by his sneers. She pointed at Garrod. "He doesn't know what he's saying," she said. "His lips are speaking at the command of another mind! It is hypnotism! If you don't believe, look at him!"

The seven faces turned toward Garrod with a simultaneous start. Jean Paul's astonishment was admirably done.

"See by his eyes, his voice, the whole look of him!" Mary went on. "He doesn't even hear what I am saying now!"

None of those who looked could help but be struck by Garrod's extraordinary apathy. He sat, as he had continued to sit since he came in, looking before him with eyes devoid of all expression.

"Garrod!" said Sir Bryson sharply.

After the usual pause Garrod replied like an automaton without moving his eyes: "Yes, Sir Bryson?"

The governor was very much shaken. "Well, well," he stammered. "If it's hypnotism, who's doing it?"

Mary looked squarely at the man she accused. "Ask Jean Paul Ascota, the wonder-worker, the conjurer, the medicine man!"

Jean Paul started, and looked at her with a deprecating smile. From her he looked at Sir Bryson with the hint of a shrug, as much as to ask him to excuse her for what she was saying. It was almost too well done. Mary's eyes clung to him steadily, and any one who looked hard enough could have seen uneasiness behind the man's smiling mask. Sir Bryson, however, wished to be deceived.

He puffed and blew. "Preposterous!" he cried, casting his eyes around the little circle for support.

"Send Jean Paul away out of sight and hearing, and we will see if I am right," said Mary.

"I'll do no such thing," said Sir Bryson irritably. "We all know what your interest is in this case, my young lady. You are one of the beneficiaries of this young rascal's generosity!"

Jack suddenly came to life. He turned red, and leaned threateningly over Sir Bryson's table. "Sir Bryson----" he began with glittering eyes.

"Stop!" cried Mary in a voice that silenced Jack's own. "It is nothing to me what he thinks of me. I only want to see the truth come out!"

Only Kate Worsley's restraining arm kept Linda from jumping up. She was trembling all over.

"If there is any justice here you can't refuse to do what I ask," Mary continued, with her eyes fixed on Sir Bryson. It appeared that the quiet eyes could flash at need.

The little governor desired strongly to refuse. He pished, and pshawed, and fussed with his watch-chain, avoiding the disconcerting eyes. But the others in the tent were dead against him. They were of Anglo-Saxon stock, and an appeal to justice had been made. Sir Bryson could not support the silent opposition of his whole party.

"Very well, I suppose we must go through with the farce," he said pettishly. "Jean Paul, will you oblige me by stepping outside for a moment?"

"He must go as far away as the river bank," said Mary. "And some one must go with him."

"I'll go," said Vassall.

The two men went out.

"Now ask him questions," said Mary.

Garrod's eyes looked after Jean Paul uneasily. He half rose as if to follow. There was something inhuman in his aspect. Baldwin Ferrie laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. All their hearts were beating fast as they watched and listened.

"Garrod, can--can you remember what happened this morning?" stammered Sir Bryson.

"I want to go," muttered Garrod.

"Frank, don't you know me?" asked Jack.

No reply.

"Frank, didn't you tell me you took the money?" Jack persisted.

Garrod's fingers pulled at his hanging lip, and the vacant eyes remained turned toward the door.

"Garrod, can't you hear me?" demanded Sir Bryson sharply.

"I must go," muttered Garrod.

It was a painful exhibition. The beholders were a little sickened, and none of them wished to prolong it. Baldwin Ferrie went to the opening to call Vassall and Jean Paul back.

"Are you satisfied?" asked Mary of Sir Bryson.

"Satisfied of nothing!" he snapped. "The man is out of his wits. I knew that before. We are just where we started!"

Mary's cheeks reddened with generous indignation. "Not quite," she said quickly. "You were going to believe what he said before. I have shown you that he was irresponsible then as well as now. Let me take care of him," she pleaded. "Perhaps I can nurse him back to his senses."

"Thank you," said Sir Bryson with a disagreeable smile, "but I will see that Mr. Garrod has _disinterested_ care."

Mary's eyes widened with alarm. "Not Jean Paul! After what I have shown you!"

Jean Paul had come in, and was bending solicitously over Garrod.

Sir Bryson glanced at them. "You have shown me nothing to his discredit," he said.

"You won't see anything but what you wish to see!" cried Mary indignantly. "Is this your justice, your disinterestedness?"

Sir Bryson lost his temper. "That will do!" he snapped rapping on the table. "I am the master here and I will do as I see fit. The truth is clear to all reasonable people," he went on, his eyes travelling around the circle again. "Of course I understand that to you and your lover----"