Part 6 (2/2)

Silk stopped him.

”Stay where you are,” he ordered sternly. ”What are you up to?”

”I go no more,” returned the half-breed. ”I was coward. I no deserve any pity. It ees true. Listen, Sergeant. You was de mos' brave man I ever know. It ees not good you reesk you good life for me any longer. You leave me. You go on alone. I remain. I die. I gif myself to de flame. It ees bes' you go alone, see?”

Sergeant Silk recognised that the man was sincere in his curious entreaty to be left to his fate.

But he shook his head gravely.

”No,” he responded. ”I must do my duty. I cannot go without my prisoner, and, though you were the worst sinner that ever breathed, I could not bring myself to abandon you to _that_!”

He nodded in the direction of the fiercely advancing flames. A spark nipped his cheek. Round about him he saw tiny jets of smoke rising from among the dry herbage.

”It's coming,” he said. ”The water won't stop it. Quick!” he cried.

”Your wrists!” He seized the handcuffs and adroitly whipped them free.

”There!” he nodded, ”I trust you, see? You could dash off without me now.”

Pierre Roche drew a deep breath of relief. He looked down into the sergeant's eyes.

”Dat is true,” he acknowledged. ”But I give you my parole. I go wid you.

I am you prisoner. I no try for mek my escape. No. I go to my punishment. Quick! Quick!”

He held out his blue and swollen hands to help the soldier policeman to mount.

The mare sped on again, panting hoa.r.s.ely, snorting, swaying sometimes, but never faltering, never slackening her onward rush, until, at last, she reached safety on a wide stretch of blackened earth, where a previous fire had stripped the prairie.

And late on the following morning Sergeant Silk rode into Canmore and delivered up his prisoner at the barracks.

”Ah!” declared the commandant with satisfaction. ”I am glad it was you who arrested the rascal, Sergeant. And single-handed, too. You look some jaded. I hope you have had no difficulties?”

”No, sir,” returned Silk, ”nothing to speak of.”

CHAPTER V

NICK-BY-NIGHT

Percy Rapson discovered the lumbering wagon by the cloud of dust which rose above the pine-trees half-way along the valley. He reined in his broncho and waited on the ridge of the hill until his two companions in the uniform of the North-West Mounted Police should rejoin him.

The loud crack of a teamster's whip had told him that there were strangers on the trail beyond this intervening hill.

”There goes the outfit that made the track we've been following up all the afternoon,” he announced, pointing in the direction of the cloud of white dust. ”Whose is it, I wonder?” he questioned, speaking more particularly to the one who wore a triple chevron on the arm of his faded red tunic. ”Looks rather unusual, doesn't it, Silk?”

Sergeant Silk drew down the wide brim of his hat, to s.h.i.+eld his eyes from the glare of the setting sun, and contemplated the distant vehicle with its white canvas roof and its plodding team of mules.

”I expect it's a party of prospectors going west to the diggings,”

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