Part 10 (1/2)

He rode boldly out to meet them, halting in the middle of the trail and raising his carbine.

”Who goes?” he cried. ”Pull up, or I fire!”

The two masked riders dragged their horses round and made off by the way they had come. They were in the full light. Silk fired two shots in quick succession. One of the horses staggered, went down on its knees, and rolled over. The other dashed on. Silk fired again, then put spurs to his broncho and rode off in pursuit, with Medlicott following.

”Look to the one that's fallen!” he cried.

Percy Rapson rode out also, to help Medlicott. The man who had been thrown had broken a leg and could not move. Medlicott quickly disarmed him and left him in charge of Percy, who stood over him until the two policemen returned with their captive riding between them.

”This chap's plug is done for, Sergeant,” Percy reported.

”I'm sorry for that,” Silk regretted. ”Help him to mount yours and lead him to the wagon. I must see to that broken leg of his. We shall stop here until daybreak.”

Their two prisoners were led into the circle of light made by the camp fire. The one with the broken limb was put to lie on a blanket until he could be properly attended to. The other was secured against escape by means of a trail rope, which was bound about his wrists and ankles.

Percy Rapson watched this operation with interest, admiring the skill with which Sergeant Silk tied the knots and combined absolute security with freedom to move. It was not until the last knot was tied that the man's mask was removed.

”That's him, sure enough!” declared Percy when the outlaw's face was revealed. ”That's the chap who tried to swindle you, Sergeant--Nick Cutler--Nick-By-Night!”

The prisoner was writhing curiously, bending forward, and staring towards the wagon. Sergeant Silk turned to see what he was looking at so intently, and beheld Miss Grey standing in the firelight, wrapped about in a rich fur coat.

”I am sorry to have disturbed you,” Silk said to her apologetically.

”But, you see, we have caught your highwayman. Say, you had better get back into the wagon and finish your sleep.”

She did not seem to hear him. Her eyes were fixed in blank amazement upon his prisoner's face. Silk moved aside and she made a step forward, pointing a trembling hand at the man writhing in his ropes.

”Jim!” she cried. ”Jim!”

The captured outlaw drew back as if from a blow.

”Kitty!” he faltered. ”Kitty! You--_here?_”

The girl waved her hand to dismiss him from her sight, then turned to the tall soldier policeman who stood near her, betraying no surprise at the strange recognition.

”It's all right, Sergeant,” she murmured brokenly. ”You have found my brother for me, as you said you would.”

CHAPTER VII

LOCOMOTIVE 99

The millionaire was seated close to the open window of the luxurious Pullman car that waited in Macleod Station. He was looking across the platform at a tall man in a red tunic.

”Fine, handsome chaps, these North-West Mounted Police,” he remarked to his fellow-pa.s.senger. ”Look, Colonel, look at that one on the platform!

Quite a picture of soldierly bearing; fit to be an officer in the Guards so far as outward appearance goes! Just a trifle too tidy, perhaps; too consciously elegant; too much as if he were intended as an ornament rather than for serious active service. There's not a crease or a flaw in his scarlet tunic, see! Hat set on at the right angle, not a strap out of place or a b.u.t.ton that doesn't s.h.i.+ne enough to dazzle your eyes.

Even the way he carries his overcoat and holds his carbine in the crook of his arm makes one think he'd studied the effect in front of a looking-gla.s.s. Indeed, the only departure from military precision that I can detect is his wearing his chin-strap at the back of his head instead of in the regulation manner.”

There was no response to these criticisms, and the millionaire went on after taking one or two puffs at his very large cigar--

”Do you suppose, now, Colonel, that he could do any serious business with that service revolver of his? You'd think by the cartridges in his bandolier that it was intended for use. And do you suppose that a dandy such as he is could do any real good in a scrimmage?”