Part 5 (2/2)

”MacRae has gotten into a bad hole,” I told her plainly. ”Major Lessard, who happens to be the big chief in this neck of the woods, seems to have developed a sudden grouch against him. There was a hold-up night before last--in fact, I was the victim. I was separated from a big bunch of money that belongs to the outfit I'm working for. Mac was with me at the time. He had to come in here and report it, for it happened in his district, and the major raked him over the coals in a way that was hard to stand. You know MacRae, Lyn; it's mighty poor business for any man to tread on his toes, much less go walking rough-shod all over him. Lessard went the length of accusing him of being in with these hold-up men, because he did a little investigating on his own account before coming in to report. Mac took that pretty hard, and came mighty near making the major eat his words with gunpowder sauce on the side. So, for having the nerve to declare himself, he has lost his sergeant's stripes and has likewise gone to the guardhouse to meditate over the foolishness of taking issue with his superiors. If you don't see him for the next thirty days, you'll have the consolation of knowing that he isn't avoiding you purposely.”

It was a rather flippant way to talk, but it was the best I could do under the circ.u.mstances. The last three days hadn't been exactly favorable to a normal state of mind, or well-considered speech.

But--who was the wise mortal that said: ”No man knoweth the mind of a maid”?--she sat there quite unmoved, her hands resting quietly in her lap. ”We all seem to be more or less under a cloud, Sarge,” she said slowly. ”Maybe when dad comes he can furnish a silver lining for it. I sometimes--what makes you look that way? You look as if you were thinking it my fault that Gordon is in trouble.”

”You're wrong there,” I protested, truthfully enough.

”But you have that air,” she declared. ”And I'm not to blame. If he hadn't been so--so--I'm sure he'd get out of the Mounted Police fast enough if he didn't like it. I can't imagine him doing anything against his will. I never knew him”--with a faint smile--”to stay anywhere or do anything that didn't suit him.” She took to staring out across the grounds again, and one hand drew up slowly till it was doubled into a tight-shut little fist.

”Well, he's in that very fix right now. And he's likely to continue so, unless some one buys his release from the service and makes him a present of it. You might play the good angel,” I suggested, half in earnest. ”It only costs about five hundred dollars”--Mac had told me that--”and I'm sure he'd be properly grateful.”

The red flag waved in her cheeks again. ”I don't particularly like the idea,” she said, rather crossly, still keeping her face turned away from me, ”and I'm very sure he wouldn't care to have me. But dad thinks a lot of him; he might do something of the kind when he gets here. Dear, I wish they'd hurry along.”

She had me at the end of my rope at last, and I felt like breaking away right there; any one not utterly calloused would, I think, have felt the same squeamishness with that sort of a tale crowding close. If she had been expecting bad news of any kind it wouldn't have been so hard to go on; but I couldn't beat about the bush any longer, so I made the plunge with what grace I could.

”Lyn, I've got something to tell you about your father and old Hans, and I'm afraid it's going to hurt,” I prefaced gently, and went on before she could interrupt. ”The fellows who held MacRae and me up had someway got wind of the gold they were packing out. They tried to get it. So far as I know, they haven't succeeded yet. Rutter tried to tell us where it was _cached_. There was a fight over it, you see, and he was shot. Mac and I came across him--but not soon enough.” I stopped and got out cigarette material in an absent sort of way. My lips, I remember, were almighty dry just then.

”And dad?” Lyn was looking at me intently, and her voice was steady; that squeezed kind of steadiness that is almost worse than tears.

”He wasn't with Rutter.” I drew a long breath and hurried on, slurring over the worst of it. ”They had got separated. Hans was about done when we found him--he died in a few minutes--but he told us where to go. Then we went to look for your father. We found him; too late to do any good.

We buried him--both of them--and came on here.”

I felt like a beast, as if I had struck her with my fist, but at any rate, it was all told; all that she need ever know. I sat still and watched her, wondering nervously what she would do.

It was a strain to sit there silent, for Lyn neither did or said anything at first. Perhaps she cried afterward, when she got by herself, but not then; just looked at me, through me, almost, her face white and drawn into pained lines, and those purple-blue eyes perfectly black. I got up at last, and put one hand on her shoulder.

”It's h.e.l.l, little girl, I know.” I said this hardly realizing that I swore. ”We can't bring the old man back to life, but we can surely run down the cold-blooded devils that killed him. I have a crow to pick with them myself; but that doesn't matter; I'd be in the game anyway. We'll get them somehow, when Mac gets out and can play his hand again. It was finding your father and giving him decent burial that kept us out so long. I don't understand, yet, why Lessard should pitch into MacRae so hard for doing that much. You know Mac, Lyn, and you know me--we'll do what we can.”

She didn't move for a minute, and the shocked, stricken look in her eyes grew more intense. Then she dropped her head in the palms of her hands with a little sobbing cry. ”Sarge, I--I wish you'd go, now,” she whispered. ”I want to--to be all by myself, for a while. I'll be all right by and by.”

I stood irresolute for a second. It may have been my fancy, but I seemed to hear her whisper, ”Oh, Gordon, Gordon!” Then I hesitated no longer, but turned away and left her alone with her grief; it was not for me to comfort her. And when I had walked a hundred yards or more, I looked back. She was still sitting as I had left her, head bowed on her hands, and the afternoon sun playing hide-and-seek in the heavy coils of her tawny-gold hair.

CHAPTER IX.

AN IDLE AFTERNOON.

For the next hour or two I poked aimlessly around the post buildings, chafing at the forced inaction and wondering what I would better do after I'd gone with the squad of redcoats to those graves and helped bring the bodies in. Even if I had a pack-horse and a grub-stake, it would be on a par with chasing a rainbow for me to start on a lone hunt for Hank Rowan's _cache_. I didn't know the Writing-Stone country, and a man had no business wandering up and down those somber ridges alone, away from the big freight-trails, unless he was anxious to be among the ”reported missing”--which he sure would be if a bunch of non-treaty Indians ever got within gunshot of him. I d.a.m.ned Major Lessard earnestly for what I considered his injustice to MacRae, and wondered if he would send his troopers out to look for that hypothetical gold-dust. I didn't see how he could avoid making a bluff at doing so, even if he secretly cla.s.sed Rutter's story as a fairy-tale, and I promised myself to find out what he was going to do before I started in the morning.

While I was sitting with my back against the shaded wall of troop G's barrack, turning this over in my mind, a Policeman with the insignia of a sergeant on his sleeve came sauntering leisurely by. He took me in with an appraising glance, and stopped.

”How d'ye do,” he greeted, with a friendly nod. ”You're the man that came in with MacRae, aren't you?”

I laconically admitted that I was.

”The k. o. has detailed me to bring in the bodies of the two men who were killed,” he informed me. ”He said that you were going along, and so I thought I'd hunt you up and tell you that we'll start about seven in the morning.”

”I'll be ready,” I a.s.sured him.

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