Part 11 (1/2)

In a little while trails of gray smoke floated across the ravine, and after a meal with one of his neighbors Prescott rode back to his homestead, feeling much disturbed. For all that, and in spite of the letter, he did not think Jernyngham would be found in the swamp.

On the following evening a commissioned officer of the police, who had made the journey from headquarters at Regina and spent an hour or two examining the scene of the supposit.i.tious tragedy, sat with Curtis in a very hot private room of the hotel at Sebastian. Its raw board walls gave out a resinous smell; the opening in the window was filled with mosquito-netting, so that little air crept in. On the table lay a carefully made diagram; a boot, and one or two paper patterns representing footprints were on the floor. The officer's hair was turning gray and he had a quiet brown face with a look of command in it.

”Taking it for granted that your theory's right, suspicion seems to fall on the men you mentioned,” he said. ”Whom do you suspect?”

Curtis considered. He was reluctant to express a decided opinion in the presence of his superior, who was famous for his ac.u.men.

”So far as we have any evidence, I think it points to Prescott,” he responded. ”He saw Jernyngham hide his money; he went on alone with him, and can't prove when he got home. Then several of the footprints marked on the plan might have been made by him.”

The officer took up the boot and one of the paper patterns.

”There's a doubt. I suppose he knows you have his boot?”

The corporal's eyes twinkled faintly.

”I guess he'll miss it sometime.”

”It's possible. But what else have you against him?”

”Prescott stands to profit by Jernyngham's death: he has control of the holding until the year's up, and it's a pretty good crop. He declares the jacket isn't Jernyngham's; he won't allow the man can be in the muskeg. A day or two after Jernyngham disappeared he bought one of the new wide-swath binders. Paid the money down in new bills, which was what Jernyngham had, though the implement agent didn't note the numbers.”

”Pretty strong points. What's your private opinion? Out with it.”

The man's tone was commanding and Curtis complied.

”On the whole, I'm inclined to blame the other fellow, Wandle.”

”Against the evidence?” asked his superior in quiet surprise. ”You of course remember your instructions and know what your duty is.”

”Yes, sir,” said Curtis. ”Still, I think----” He paused and continued diffidently: ”You would have an answer.”

The other leaned back in his chair with a meditative expression.

”We'll let it go at that,” he said. ”Perhaps you had better follow the waiting course you seem to have decided on, but if suspicion gathers round Prescott it won't be a drawback and you needn't discountenance it.

For one thing, it may divert attention, and after all he may be the right man.”

A look of comprehension shone in the corporal's eyes. He believed that his superior, who never expressed a strong opinion prematurely, agreed with him.

”Suppose either of the men lights out?” he suggested.

”You'll have to guard against it. If it happens, apply for a warrant and follow him.”

The officer returned to Regina the next day; and a week or two, during which Curtis and his a.s.sistants laboriously searched the drying swamp, pa.s.sed uneventfully. Then one morning Prescott sat somewhat moodily in the saddle of his binder which a powerful team hauled along the edge of the wheat. The great stretch of grain blazed with color as it swayed with a harsh rustle of warm-tinted ears before the breeze, but now and then broad cool shadows sped across it as the white-edged clouds drove by.

Behind him followed two more teams and machines, half covered by falling sheets of yellow grain, while their whirling wooden arms flashed in the dazzling sunlight as they flung out the sheaves. Bare-armed and very scantily attired men came after them, piling the stocks together.

Disturbed as he was, Prescott felt cheered by the prospect of harvesting a record crop.

He had turned a corner and was proceeding along another side of the great oblong when he noticed a wagon approaching, carrying two strangers and several large trunks. As their dress differed from that usually worn on the prairie, he wondered who they were and why they were driving toward his ranch. The liveryman, who held the reins, presently pulled up his team and Prescott; stopping his binder, waited to be addressed. An old soft hat fell shapelessly forward over his deeply bronzed face, his neck and most of his arms were uncovered. Before him the four powerful horses stood fidgeting in the heat, a black cloud of flies about their heads.

Though not a man of striking appearance, he was in harmony with his surroundings, and formed a fine central figure in the great harvest field: a worthy type of the new nation that is rising in the West.