Part 44 (2/2)
”Prescott's been here,” replied Curtis. ”He's heard those blamed clothes were found, and that's going to make us trouble. We've had Jernyngham interfering and mussing up the tracks, and now Prescott's getting ready to b.u.t.t in. I expect he'll be off to Navarino very soon, and we can't stop him unless we arrest him, which I'm not ready to do.”
”Did he tell you he was going?”
”It wasn't needed; I've been figuring out the thing.”
”Well,” remarked Stanton with a thoughtful air, ”he wouldn't let that land agent see him if he'd been guilty.”
Curtis reserved his opinion.
”You're getting smart,” he said with a grin. ”Still, you don't want to hustle.”
”Hustle?” Stanton rejoined scornfully. ”Jernyngham was killed last summer and we haven't corralled anybody yet!”
”That's so,” Curtis a.s.sented tranquilly, ”I've heard of the boys getting the right man nearly two years afterward.”
CHAPTER XXVI
PRESCOTT MAKES INQUIRIES
Supper was over and Laxton, the land agent, sat in the rotunda of the leading hotel at Navarino. It was a handsome building, worthy of the new town which had sprung into existence on the discovery that a wide belt of somewhat arid country, hitherto pa.s.sed over by settlers, was capable of growing excellent wheat. As soon as this was proved, rude shacks and mean frame houses had been torn down, and banks, stores, and hotels, of stone or steel and cement rose in their places. Great irrigation ditches were dug and a period of feverish prosperity began.
Though the frost was almost arctic outside, the rotunda was pleasantly warm and was dimmed, in spite of its glaring lamps, with a haze of cigar smoke. In front of the great plate-gla.s.s windows rows of men sat in tilted chairs, their feet on a bra.s.s rail, basking in the dry heat of the radiators. Drummers and land speculators were busy writing and consulting maps at the tables farther back among the ornate columns, and the place was filled with the hum of eager voices. The town was crowded with homestead-selectors, and many, braving the rigors of winter, were camping on their new possessions in frail tents and rude board shacks, ready to begin work in the spring. Indeed, determined men had slept in the snow on the sidewalks outside the land offices to secure first attention in the morning when cheap locations were offered for settlement.
Laxton had had a tiring day, and he was leaning back lazily in his chair, watching the crowd, when a man entered the turnstile-door, which was fitted with gla.s.s valves to keep out the cold. He looked about the room as if in search of somebody; and then after speaking to the clerk came toward the land agent. Laxton glanced at him without much interest, having already as much business on his hands as he could manage. The stranger wore an old fur-coat and looked like a rancher.
”Mr. Laxton, I believe,” he said, taking the next chair.
The land agent nodded and the other continued:
”My name's Prescott. I've come over from Sebastian to have a talk with you.”
”I suppose I'll have to spare you a few minutes,” said Laxton with more resignation than curiosity.
”In the first place, I want to ask if you have ever seen me before?”
Laxton looked at him with greater interest. The man's brown face was eager, his eyes were keen, with a sparkle in them that hinted at determination.
”Well,” he said, ”I can't recollect it.”
”Would you be willing to swear to that?”
”Don't know that I'd go quite so far; I don't see why I should.”
Prescott took out a sheet of paper with some writing on it.
”Do you recognize that hand?”
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