Part 22 (2/2)
”Poker” John rose and went out to meet the officer. Later he conducted him into the office. Sergeant Horrocks was a man of medium height, slightly built, but with an air of cat-like agility about him. He was very bronzed, with a sharp, rather than a clever face. His eyes were black and restless, and a thin mouth, hidden beneath a trim black mustache, and a perfectly-shaped aquiline nose, completed the sum of any features which might be called distinctive. He was a man who was thoroughly adapted to his work--work which needed a cool head and quick eye rather than great mental attainments. He was dressed in a brown canvas tunic with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, and his riding breeches were concealed in, a pair of well-worn leather ”chaps.” A Stetson hat worn at the exact angle on his head, with his official ”side arms” secured round his waist, completed a very picturesque appearance.
”Morning, Horrocks,” said the money-lender. ”This is a pretty business you've come down on. Left your men down in the settlement, eh?”
”Yes. I thought I'd come and hear the rights of the matter straight away. According to your message you are the chief victim of this 'duffing' business?”
”Exactly,” replied Lablache, with a return to his tone of anger, ”one thousand head of beeves! Thirty-five thousand dollars' worth!” Then he went on more calmly: ”But wait a moment, we'll send down for the 'hand'
that brought in the news.”
A servant was despatched, and a few minutes later Jim Bowley entered.
Jacky, returning from the corrals, entered at the same time. Directly she had seen the police horse outside she knew what was happening. When she appeared Lablache endeavored to conceal a look of annoyance.
Sergeant Horrocks raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was not accustomed to petticoats being present at his councils. John, however, without motive, waived all chance of objection by antic.i.p.ating his guests.
”Sergeant, this is my niece, Jacky. Affairs of the prairie affect her as nearly as they do myself. Let us hear what this man has to tell us.”
Horrocks half bowed to the girl, touching the brim of his hat with a semi-military salute. Acquiescence to her presence was thus forced upon him.
Jacky looked radiant in spite of the uncouthness of her riding attire.
The fresh morning air was the tonic she loved, and, as yet, the day was too young for the tired shadows to have crept into her beautiful face.
Horrocks, in spite of his tacit objection, was forced to admire the st.u.r.dy young face of this child of the prairie.
Jim Bowley plunged into his story with a directness and simplicity which did not fail to carry conviction. He told all he knew without any attempt at s.h.i.+elding himself or his companions. Horrocks and the old rancher listened carefully to the story. Lablache looked for discrepancies but found none. Jacky, whilst paying every attention, keenly watched the face of the money-lender. The seriousness of the affair was reflected in all the faces present, whilst the daring of the raid was acknowledged by the upraised brows and wondering e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns which occasionally escaped the police-officer and ”Poker” John. When the narrative came to a close there followed an impressive pause. Horrocks was the first to break it.
”And how did you obtain your release?”
”A Mennonite family, which had bin travelin' all night, came along 'bout an hour after daylight. They pitched camp nigh on to a quarter mile from the bluff w'ere we was tied up. Then they came right along to look fur kindlin'. There wasn't no other bluff for half a mile but ours. They found us all three. Young Nat 'ad got 'is collar-bone broke. Them 'ustlers 'adn't lifted our 'plugs' so I jest came right in.”
”Have you seen these Mennonites?” asked the officer, turning sharply to the money-lender.
”Not yet,” was the heavy rejoinder. ”But they are coming in.”
The significance of the question and the reply nettled the cowboy.
”See hyar, mister, I ain't no coyote come in to pitch yarns. Wot I've said is gospel. The man as 'eld us up was Peter Retief as sure as I'm a living man. Sperrits don't walk about the prairie 'ustling cattle, an' I guess 'is 'and was an a'mighty solid one, as my jaw felt when 'e gagged me. You take it from me, 'e's come around agin to make up fur lost time, an' I guess 'e's made a tidy haul to start with.”
”Well, we'll allow that this man is the hustler you speak of,” went on Horrocks, bending his keen eyes severely on the unfortunate cowboy.
”Now, what about tracking the cattle?”
”Guess I didn't wait fur that, but it'll be easy 'nough.”
”Ah, and you didn't recognize the man until you'd seen his horse?”
The officer spoke sharply, like a counsel cross-examining a witness.
”Wal, I can't say like that,” said Jim, hesitating for the first time.
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