Part 17 (2/2)

Scott looked so slight and inoffensive that the teamster attempted insolence, and not only refused to answer questions, but threatened violence if the scout persisted in asking them. His companions crowding up encouraged him.

But numbers were not allowed for an instant to dominate the situation.

Scott whipped a revolver from his belt, c.o.c.ked it, and pressed it against the teamster's side. Dave Hawk loomed up in the moonlight and, catching by the collar one after another of the men crowding around Scott, Hawk, with his right hand or his left, whirled them spinning out of his way. If a man resisted the rough treatment, Hawk unceremoniously knocked him down and, drawing his own revolver, took his stand beside his threatened companion.

Other men came running up, the trader among them. A few words explained everything and the recalcitrant teamster concluded to speak.

Scott, indeed, had but little to ask: he already knew the whole story.

And when the teamster, threatened with search, pulled from his pocket a roll of bank-notes which he acknowledged had been given him for concealing the two fugitives and providing them with clothes, Scott released him--only notifying the trader incidentally that the man was robbing him and had loot, taken from the ammunition wagon, concealed under his blanket bales just searched. This information led to new excitement in the camp, and the Frenchman danced up and down in his wrath as he ordered the blanket wagon searched again. But his excitement did not greatly interest Scott and his party. They went their way and camped at some distance down the creek from their stirred-up neighbors.

Hawk and Bob Scott sat in the moonlight after the troopers had gone to sleep.

”They can't fool us very much longer,” muttered Scott, satisfied with the day's work and taking the final disappointment philosophically, ”until they can get horses they are chained to the ground in this country. There is only one place I know of where there are any horses hereabouts and that is Jack Cas.e.m.e.nt's camp.”

Hawk stretched himself out on the ground to sleep. ”I'll tell you, Dave,” continued Scott, ”it is only about twenty miles from here to Cas.e.m.e.nt's, anyway. Suppose I ride over there to-night and wire Stanley we've got track of the fellows. By the time you pick up the trail in the morning I will be back--or I may pick it up myself between here and the railroad. You keep on as far as Brushwood Creek and I'll join you there to-morrow by sundown.”

It was so arranged. The night was clear and with a good moon the ride was not difficult, though to a man less acquainted with the mountains it would have been a hards.h.i.+p. Mile after mile Scott's hardy pony covered with no apparent effort. Bob did not urge him, and before midnight the white tents of the construction camp were visible in the moonlight. Scott went directly to the telegraph office, and after sending his message hunted up food and quarters for his beast and a sleeping-bunk for himself.

At daylight he was astir and sought breakfast before making inquiries and riding back to his party. On the edge of the camp stood a sort of restaurant, made up of a kitchen tent with a dismantled box-car body as an annex.

In this annex the food was served. It was entered from one side door, while the food was brought from the kitchen through the other side doorway of the car.

Into this crowded den Bob elbowed an un.o.btrusive way and seated himself in a retired corner. He faced the blind end of the car, and before him on the wall was tacked a fragment of a mirror in which he could see what was going on behind him. And without paying any apparent attention to anything that went on, nothing escaped him.

Next to where he sat, a breakfast of coffee and ham and eggs had been already served for somebody, apparently on an order previously given.

At the opposite end of the car a small s.p.a.ce was curtained off as a wash-room. Scott ordered his own breakfast and was slowly eating it when he noticed through the little mirror, and above and beyond the heads of the busy breakfasters along the serving-counter, a large man in the wash-room scrubbing his face vigorously with a towel.

Each time Scott looked up from his breakfast into the mirror the man redoubled his efforts to do a good job with the towel, hiding his face meantime well within its folds. The scout's curiosity was mildly enough aroused to impel him to watch the diligent rubbing with some interest. He saw, too, presently that the man was stealing glances out of his towel at him and yet between times intently rubbing his face.

This seemed odd, and Scott, now eying the man more carefully, noted his nervousness and wondered at it. However, he continued to enjoy his own meal. The waiter who had served him, hurried and impatient, also noticed the waiting breakfast untouched and called sharply to the man in the wash-room that his ham was served and, with scant regard for fine words, bade him come eat it.

This urgent invitation only added to the ill-concealed embarra.s.sment of the stalling guest; but it interested the scout even more in the developing situation. Scott finished his breakfast and gave himself entirely over to watching in a lazy way the man who was making so elaborate a toilet.

There was no escape from either end of the car. That could be managed only through the side doors, which were too close to Scott to be available, and the scout, now fairly well enlightened and prepared, merely awaited developments. He wanted to see the man come to his breakfast, and the man in the wash-room, combing his hair with vigor and peering anxiously through his own sc.r.a.p of a mirror at Bob Scott, wanted to see the scout finish his coffee and leave the car. Scott, however, pounding ostentatiously on the table, called for a second cup of coffee and sipped it with apparent satisfaction. It was a game of cat and mouse--with the mouse, in this instance, bigger than the cat, but as shy and reluctant to move as any mouse could be in a cat's presence. Scott waited until he thought the embarra.s.sed man would have brushed the hair all out of his head, and at last, in spite of himself, laughed. As he did so, he turned half-way around on his stool and lifted his finger.

”Come, Rebstock,” he smiled, calling to the fugitive. ”Your breakfast is getting cold.”

The man, turning as red as a beet, looked over the heads of those that sat between him and his tantalizing captor. But putting the best face he could on the dilemma and eying Scott nervously he walked over and, with evident reluctance, made ready to sit down beside him.

”Take your time,” suggested Scott pleasantly. Then, as Rebstock, quite crestfallen, seated himself, he added: ”Hadn't I better order a hot cup of coffee for you?” He took hold of the cup as he spoke, and looked hard at the gambler while making the suggestion.

”No, no,” responded Rebstock, equally polite and equally insistent, as he held his hand over the cup and begged Scott not to mind. ”This is all right.”

”How was the walking last night?” asked Scott, pa.s.sing the fugitive a big plate of bread. Rebstock lifted his eyes from his plate for the briefest kind of a moment.

”The--eh--walking? I don't know what you mean, captain. I slept here last night.”

Scott looked under the table at his victim's boots. ”John,” he asked without a smile, ”do you ever walk in your sleep?”

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