Part 11

"To choose is your part. I rather think Dillon is on the terrace and two or three athletic young sportsmen are at the hotel, but unless you are willing to use your gun, I doubt if Bob would wait until the others arrive. Then, although I don't know where Jimmy is, perhaps for the police to search the neighborhood would have some drawbacks."

Margaret turned to Bob. "Get off! If you come back, I'll send the troopers after you."

Bob went, and when he vanished in the gloom Stannard laughed. "I expect your arrival disturbed the fellow. At the beginning, he tried to force me to give him my wallet; then he took another line and hinted that Leyland was the guilty man. Well, he has gone. Will you come back with me and talk to Laura?"

Margaret noted that he was not curious about her object for stopping at the hotel, but she said, "I wanted to see you. What do you know about the accident?"

"I really don't know much, although I am persuaded accident is the proper word. Jimmy thought the unlucky shot was his and when he resolved to go off I agreed."

"But you knew what the police would think about his running away!"

"That is so," said Stannard coolly. "All the same, Jimmy was with me when I killed the big-horn, and when Douglas found us at the old ranch we were using pit-lights. One of our party shot him, and since we were again poaching, it hardly looked as if the shot were accidental. Jimmy is young and when he saw the risk he ran he was afraid. I thought he did run some risk, but, if he could cheat the police for a time, we might find a clue to the puzzle."

Margaret remarked his frankness. Although she thought he did not know Jimmy had stopped at the ranch, his arguments were the arguments Jimmy stated he had used. Moreover, she admitted the arguments carried some weight.

"We have not yet found a clue," she said drearily. "Still, if the warden gets better---- Do you know where he is?"

For a moment or two Stannard was quiet. Then he said, "We can get no news about Douglas, and perhaps we ought not to expect much from his narrative. When you use a pit-lamp your hat-brim shades your face, and I imagine all Douglas saw was the light. Yet the police's reserve is strange."

"Perhaps they know something we do not," said Margaret. "Well, my father is waiting and I must not stop."

She went off and Stannard went up the steps to the hotel. In a corner of the veranda Dillon talked to Laura, and Stannard remarked the smile she gave the young man. Stannard knitted his brows and did not stop. In some respects, the marriage would be good, but it was not the marriage he had wanted Laura to make. All the same, Jimmy was obviously satisfied with the bush girl and Stannard thought she loved him. Well, he had done with Jimmy.

When Margaret got down at the ranch she went to the kitchen and sat by the fire. For a time she said nothing and Jardine quietly smoked his pipe. Then she looked up with a frown.

"I found Bob," she said. "He was talking to Mr. Stannard outside the hotel."

"In the trees, I'm thinking! Did he tell ye much?"

"He declared when they used the pit-lights he had not a gun and somehow I think he hadn't."

"Maybe!" said Jardine, with some dryness. "Was it all ye got?"

"That was all. I'm not as clever as I thought. Bob wanted Mr. Stannard to give him a hundred dollars."

"Ah!" said Jardine. "Weel, I expect ye see----"

"Stannard _laughed_. It was plain he was not at all afraid of Bob."

"Stannard's no' a fool," Jardine remarked.

"I thought his carelessness sincere. Besides, Bob soon afterwards implied that Jimmy hit Douglas. I imagine Bob really doesn't know who did use his gun."

"It's possible," Jardine agreed. "My notion is, Jimmy had better keep the woods. In the meantime, I've no use for Bob's hanging round the ranch."

"Bob will not bother us; I don't think he'll bother Mr. Stannard again," said Margaret and got some sewing.

XXI

DEERING'S EXCURSION

Rain beat the bark roof and heavy drops splashed on the floor. Sometimes a gust of wind swept the window opening and smoke blew about, but on the whole the shack was dry and warm. Jimmy thought they had made a good job, and sitting by the fire, he tranquilly smoked his pipe. The Indian, opposite him, plaited a snare; Deering studied a card problem in an old newspaper.

"The game's pretty good, but I soon got on to it," he said. "When you locate the bower---- Come across and I'll show you."

"No, thanks," said Jimmy, smiling. "To know where the bower is, is useful, but sometimes you don't know and a ten-spot knocks you out. Things are like that. Anyhow I've not much use for cards."

"You were keen. I reckon your keenness cost you something!"

Jimmy nodded. "That is so; but I really think I wanted to satisfy my curiosity. I wanted the thrills others seemed to get, and I experimented with cards and two or three expensive sports. Now I feel I'd sooner build a shack than win a pot of money on a first-class race. The strange thing is, when I was at the cotton mill and Dick wanted me to study the machinery, I was bored."

"I expect he tried to force you," Deering remarked. "When one is young one doesn't study the things others think one ought----" He frowned and jerked his head. "Another blamed big drop on the back of my neck!"

"When the rain stops I'll mend the roof," said Jimmy. "The shack's a pretty good shack and two or three slabs of bark will cure the leak. Then I must get some green clay and flat stones for the chimney."

"You talk as if you meant to remain in the rocks!"

"It looks as if I might have to stay for some time."

Deering shook his head. "In a proper cold snap you want double windows, but we have got a hole. Then I've not much use for a blanket door. When the frost begins we have got to quit."

"But where can we go?"

"I don't know yet; I have thought about your ranch. Jardine stated the police had searched it, and I reckon they won't come back. However, we'll talk about this again. I think Miss Jardine gave you a needle and thread?"

Jimmy said Margaret had done so and inquired why Deering wanted the thread.

"We can't get out and I guess I'll sew my clothes for you. In the morning I'm going to use Jardine's."

"But why----" Jimmy began.

Deering indicated his torn shooting-jacket, ragged knickerbockers, and soil-stained puttees.

"I must start for Vancouver, to look up a fellow who has got some money of mine. Then I want to find out if the police have cured Douglas and what they are doing. If I wore my clothes, people would speculate about the dead-broke sporting guy."

"Jardine's clothes are not very good; I've worn them for some time in the bush. Then I expect you'll find them tight."

"They're a rancher's clothes and I don't mind looking like a bushman. In fact, until I make Vancouver, the part will go all right."

Jimmy knitted his brows. Perhaps he had thought too much for himself, but he owned he did not want Deering to leave him.

"Well," he said, "I mustn't grumble. But will you be long?"

"When I've fixed my business and found out something useful I'll come right back," Deering replied and threading the needle began to sew. "I was raised in the bush and the small homesteaders are a pretty frugal lot. They don't throw away their old clothes."

"When you reach the settlements, won't you run some risk?" Jimmy inquired.

"I expect the risk will not be altogether mine. So far as I know, the police are not looking for me. The trouble is, I might put them on your track; but so long as I'm steering for the coast this needn't bother us. I don't want them to hit my trail when I'm coming back. Well, I'm pretty big to hide, but if they are after me, they'll watch out for a city sport, not a bushman."

In the morning Deering started, and after a strenuous journey reached a small station some distance from the hotel. He did not buy his ticket from the agent; the conductor would supply him, and when the long train rolled in he got aboard. The porter was making up the second-class berths and when Deering got his he went to bed. So far, his luck was good, but after he had slept for five or six hours he began to doubt.

A savage jolt threw him against the curtain, and the thin material tore from the rings. Deering went through, but came down like a cat on the floor. The brakes jarred and startled passengers ran about. For the most part, they did not wear their proper clothes, but when Deering went to bed he wore all his and he pushed through a group that blocked the vestibule. The train stopped and from the platform he saw a leaping pillar of flame and reflections on rocks and trees. The white beam from the locomotive headlamp melted in the strong illumination, and moving figures cut the dark background. The picture was distinct and vivid like a scene from a film, until a cloud of steam rolled across the light and all was blurred.

Deering heard hammers and the clang of rails. A construction gang was obviously at work and he imagined a trestle had broken or perhaps another train had jumped the track. When he waited at the station, he had not tried to hide himself; to do so was risky, since he imagined the police had warned the agent to study the passengers. If the agent had remarked him, the delay would be awkward and he wondered whether the telegraph wires were broken.

Jumping down, he went along the track and stopped in the strong light a blast-lamp threw across a gap. The road-bed was gone and a great bank of stones and snow rested on the hillside. Bent rails slanted into the hole and a broken telegraph pole hung by the tangled wires. Shovels rattled and a gang of men threw down soil and stones. Deering stopped one.

"How long is it since the land-slide cut the track?"

"About two hours since we got the call."

"Then, they rushed you up pretty quick. I expect you got the call by wire?"

The other indicated the broken post. "Wires went when the track went. The section man came for us on a trolley; we're grading for a new bridge a few miles down the line."

"Are you going to be long filling her up?"

"Three or four hours, I reckon. The boys are loading up the gravel train. But if the boss spots me talking, I'll get fired."

Deering pondered. If the agent had been warned to look out for him, the fellow had had time to telegraph before the wires broke, and the police could arrange to watch the stations or put a trooper on board the train. Deering did not think they had a warrant for his arrest, but they would try to use him in order to get on Jimmy's track. There was not much use in leaving the train, because he would be spotted when he boarded another. He resolved to go back to his berth and soon after he did so he went to sleep.

In the morning the train started. Deering got a good breakfast at a meal station and afterwards occupied a corner of a smoking compartment. Sleep and food had refreshed him and his mood was cheerful. He admitted he was perhaps ridiculous, but he had begun to enjoy his excursion; Deering was marked by a vein of rather boyish humor and to cheat the police amused him. By and by he speculated about his object for going after Jimmy when the warden was shot.

Jimmy had plunged into the gully sooner than let him go, but perhaps this did not account for all. Stannard had urged Jimmy to push for the plains, although Stannard ought to know the lad could not cross the mountains. Then he had indicated a line over the neck and Deering had stopped Jimmy at the top of a pitch that dropped to a horrible crevasse. The thing was strange and sinister, but Jimmy trusted Stannard. Deering did not. He was intrigued, and felt he ought to see Jimmy out.

After a time a police trooper came from the vestibule and stopped for a moment at the door of the smoking compartment. His glance rested carelessly on Deering, and then he went through into the car. At the next station the policeman got down and went to the office. When the train started Deering did not see him get on board, but people moved about and the end cars were behind the water tank.

In the afternoon, when he leaned back, half asleep, in his corner, the trooper came in again. Deering did not move, but his eyes were not altogether shut and he saw the fellow's glance was keen and fixed. In a moment or two the trooper turned his head, and going into the vestibule, did not shut the door quietly. Deering's curiosity was satisfied; the police knew he was on board.

Lighting his pipe, he looked out of the window. The train was speeding down the lower Fraser valley. Orchards, fields with white snake-fences, and wooden homesteads rolled by. The sun was near the hilltops and the shadows of the pines were long. When they reached Vancouver it would be dark and the trooper's duties would be undertaken by the municipal police. The Royal North-West had nothing to do with the British-Columbian cities; their business was in the wilds.

Deering pulled out his watch. A short distance from Vancouver they would stop at a junction where a line for Washington State branched off, but his business was not in Washington.

Fast steamers sailed from Vancouver for the ports on Puget Sound, and since the police would expect him to go on board, he thought he saw a plan. Some time after dark he went to the platform in front of the car. A half-moon shone between slow-moving clouds and he saw vague hills and sparkling water. Then the lights of anchored steamers began to twinkle and sawmill chimney stacks cut the sky. Lights in rows and clusters marked the front of a low hill, the cars rolled along the waterside, and presently stacks of lumber blocked the view. Then the whistle screamed, the brakes jarred, and the passengers began to push out from the vestibule.

Deering jumped down and looked about. Freight cars occupied the tracks and the dazzling beam from a locomotive's headlamp touched piles of goods and hurrying people. Round the tall electric standards were pools of light, but smoke and steam blew about the wharf and where the strong illumination was cut off all was dark. Bells tolled, wheels rattled, and the clang of the steamer's winches pierced the din. Her double row of passenger decks towered above the wharf, and Deering joined the crowd at the slanted gangway. He was willing for the city police to see him board the steamer.

At the top of the gangway a steward indicated the way to the second-class deck, but Deering pushed by and went to the saloon. Since he was playing a bush rancher's part, the police would expect him to travel second class, and he must for a few minutes put them off his track. As soon as the luggage was on board, the boat would start.

For the most part, the people were on deck, and the spacious saloon was quiet. Deering thought he did not look like a first-class passenger. His hair was long, his hat was battered, and Jardine's rather ragged clothes were tight on his big body. Searching the room with a keen glance, he stopped, for a group of three people occupied a seat at the other end. He wondered whether he ought to steal off, but Dillon jumped up.

"Why, it's Deering!" he exclaimed.

Laura started and her companion turned. Deering imagined the lady was Mrs. Dillon and he crossed the floor. Dillon's surprise was obvious, but he gave Deering his hand.

"We have been bothered about you for some time and it looks as if you had got up against it. But where's Jimmy?"

"Jimmy's at the shack we built in the rocks. What about the warden?"

"We can get no news. I imagine the police are hiding the fellow."

"Why did you leave Jimmy?" Laura interrupted, and Deering saw she did not altogether trust him. "Has he food and proper clothes? If he is in trouble, we must try to help."

"That is so," said Dillon. "If Jimmy wants me, I'll get off the boat."

"Jimmy's clothes are worse than mine, but he doesn't particularly want your help. I pulled out because I must transact some business, and I've pretty good grounds to imagine the police are on my track."

"I expect we'll sail in a few minutes," said Dillon. "Do you think the police know you got on board?"

Deering glanced at the others. He thought Laura imagined he had meant to join them and she was not yet satisfied. Mrs. Dillon was frankly annoyed.

"So long as they don't know I got off again, it's not important," he replied.

"Are you going to get off?"

"Certainly," said Deering and turned to Laura with a twinkle. "The trick is not remarkably fresh, but since the police reckon I'm bound for the United States, it ought to work. You see, Jimmy's my friend, and when I've put across my business I'm going back."

Laura gave him her hand. "I didn't know--I wish you luck! When you think we can help, you must send us a letter."

The whistle blew, a bell rang, and people began to enter the saloon.

"Thank you, Miss Stannard," said Deering and crossed the floor.

He went along an alley and through the second-class saloon to the deck in front. The steamer's bows were in the gloom and a number of wharf-hands hurried down a plank. Deering joined the row and followed the men to a cargo shed. The shed was dark, but the sliding doors on the other side were open and he crawled under a freight car and crossed the track. A minute or two afterwards he stopped. So far as he could see, nobody but a few train-hands were about; the steamer had swung away from the wharf and was steering for the Narrows. Deering laughed and went up the hill behind the water-front.

XXII

DEERING TAKES COUNSEL

A Canadian hotel is something of an inexpensive club. People who sleep elsewhere come for meals, and a number come to smoke and talk. In Western towns their manners and clothes are marked by sharp contrasts, but so long as they observe a few primitive rules, nobody inquires if they are customers of the house.

In consequence, when Deering stopped in front of an ambitious building he was not at all embarrassed. The noise he heard indicated that the rotunda was occupied, but while some of its occupants were, no doubt, important citizens, he expected to find lumbermen and miners from the bush whose clothes were like his. Pushing round the revolving doors, he went in, waited until he saw the clerk was engaged, and then went upstairs. A noisy electric elevator was running, but Deering thought he would not bother the boy.

On the second landing he opened a door. An electric lamp threw a strong light about the room, and a gentleman leaned back in a hardwood chair and rested his feet on the ornamental radiator. He was dressed like a prosperous citizen, and he gave Deering a keen glance.

"Hello!" he said. "Have you been in the woods?"

"Looks like that!" said Deering. "I want a razor and a bath; then I want a suit of clothes, the biggest standard size. I doubt if the clerk and bell-boys saw a bushman come up, but if they did so, I'd sooner they didn't see him come down."

"I can fix you," said the other, smiling. "All the same, I expect you must get a barber to finish the job."

When Deering used a glass he admitted that his friend's remark was justified, but so long as he looked like a wild man from the woods, to recline, wrapped in a white sheet, in a barber's front window had obvious drawbacks. As a rule, a North American barber carries on his occupation as publicly as possible. He got a bath, and when he returned to his friend's room Neilson gave him a cigar and they began to talk.

"Very well," said Neilson, "I can get the money for you and will soon fix up the other matters. I have sent for some clothes and booked your room. But you look as if you'd hit some adventures in the woods, and I'd rather like to know----"

"Perhaps you noted something in the newspapers about a game-warden's getting shot?"

"The _Colonist_ printed a short paragraph; I imagined the police edited the story. Old man Salter knows his job, although the shooting was on the Royal North-West's ground. Anyhow, the tale left you to guess. But were you in it?"

"Sure thing," said Deering, dryly. "I'll tell you----"

When he finished his narrative, Neilson knitted his brows. He was frankly an adventurer, but he had his code and Deering trusted the fellow. Moreover, Neilson knew men, and particularly men who lived by exploiting others' weaknesses.

"I'm not a hunter. We'll cut out the shooting and concentrate on the gang," he said. "I want to get Stannard right. His occupation's ours?"

"Something like ours," Deering agreed. "We play a straight game, because we know a straight game pays; I've spotted Stannard using a crook's cheap trick. But he doesn't bet high at cards. His line's financing extravagant young suckers."

"Then, he's rich?"

"I think not. Not long since he wanted money. My notion is, he's got a partner in the Old Country who supplies him. Stannard's something of a highbrow and a smart clubman. He has qualities---- I rather like the fellow, although I know him."

"What about the girl? Does Stannard use her?"

"Not at all," said Deering. "Miss Laura's straight; I doubt if she really knows her father's occupation. Maybe she's ambitious and calculating, but she's not his sort."

"Is Leyland much in Stannard's debt?"

"Stannard's an expensive friend; but I guess he wanted Jimmy for Laura and didn't take all he might. Still I expect Jimmy owes a useful sum, and Laura's going to marry Dillon."

"Ah," said Neilson, "perhaps that's important! I reckon Stannard has got Leyland insured?"

Deering nodded. He saw where Neilson's remarks led and on the whole agreed. He had given the fellow his confidence because he wanted to see the arguments another would use.

"Well," resumed Neilson, "what about Dillon and your guide?"

"Dillon was not in the woods. I don't know much about the guide. Bob's a queer fellow and is not all white. Then he has a pick on Jimmy. I reckon he took a shine to the rancher's daughter who is now Jimmy's girl."

"Jealousy bites hard, and I wouldn't trust a breed," Neilson remarked. "Well, perhaps we have got Bob's object; let's study Stannard's. Leyland's wanting the ranch girl wasn't in his plan, and when he knew Miss Stannard meant to marry Dillon he'd make another. Leyland owes him much, can't pay yet, and is insured. Let it go in the meantime, and weigh another thing. Leyland doesn't altogether know if he shot the warden, but if he did shoot him, he thought him a deer. All the same, he pulled out! Is the boy a fool? Is his nerve weak?"

"Jimmy's clean grit," said Deering. "Still he is a boy."

"Then it's possible he got rattled. Suppose when he was rattled an older man he trusted put it up to him that he ought to light out? The kid wouldn't ponder; he'd start."

"That is so," said Deering. "Stannard did talk like that."

Neilson shrugged meaningly. "Very well! I'm through with my argument. If we could find warden Douglas, he might tell us something useful. I'll try."

Deering thought the plan good. Neilson was a gambler, but his word went; in fact, Deering imagined it sometimes went with the police. Neilson knew the half-world, and now that he had undertaken an awkward job strange helpers would be put to work.

When he had lighted a fresh cigar he resumed: "I don't see _your_ object for hiding in the woods."

"Sometimes I'm romantic; you don't know me yet," Deering said, and laughed. "Jimmy's my pal; when I came near getting a fall that would have knocked me out, he held me up. Then I was born a bushman and the bush calls. I like it in the woods and I'm keen about the detective game----" He stopped and went on in a thoughtful voice: "The strange thing is, when Jimmy went over the rocks, Stannard went after him. Snow and stones were coming down, but he stayed with the kid."

"That was when it looked as if Miss Stannard would marry your pal!" said Neilson meaningly. "Well, I wouldn't bother about the police. _Watch out for Stannard----_"

Somebody knocked at the door and Neilson, getting up, came back with a parcel.

"Your clothes," he said.