Part 26 (1/2)
”Mr. Deering went because he is Jimmy's friend,” said Margaret.
”Just that! Ye can trust the big fellow,” Jardine agreed. ”Then, if he was where Jimmy puts him, he didna shoot. Stannard stopped and it looks as if he had nothing to do wi' it; but I dinna ken. Stannard's no' a man ye can reckon up, and a line from his stand would cut the warden's track.”
”But the bullet mark----”
Jardine smiled. ”Jimmy, and maybe the trooper lad, would think that fixed it, but he didna look where the bullet _cam' oot_. I wonder if Stannard looked.”
”Bob is accountable,” said Margaret obstinately.
”Verra weel. Bob's in the rocks. Are ye for tracking the man?”
”By and by he must come down for food. When he does come down we'll try to find him.”
”Bob's a good bushman,” Jardine remarked. ”I alloo the police will not hit his trail, but maybe he will not bother to watch out for us----” He stopped and gave Margaret a thoughtful look when he resumed: ”Bob would reckon to find out who shot Douglas is no' our job.”
”The job is ours,” said Margaret quietly, but Jardine thought the blood came to her skin. She, however, got up and when she had put out the plates for breakfast went to bed.
In the morning Jardine gave Jimmy boots and clothes, and two days afterwards loaded him with all the supplies he would carry. After breakfast Jimmy strapped on his pack, but when he was ready to go he hesitated. The loghouse was warm and home-like, and for two days he had rested and enjoyed Margaret's society. Now he must plunge into the wilds, he frowned. The snow was creeping down the rocks and a cold wind wailed in the dark pine-tops. Then Jimmy turned to his hosts and forced a smile.
”You have given me all I needed; I knew you would see me out.”
”Sure thing,” said Jardine. ”In the bush, your friends' job is to see ye oot.”
”You are useful friends,” Jimmy replied with a touch of emotion. ”All the same, I feel I ought not to bother you; I ought to start for the railroad and give myself up to the police. If Douglas was hurt by my carelessness, I ought to pay.”
”You mustn't go yet,” said Margaret firmly. ”You don't altogether know the carelessness was yours, and perhaps it was not. Somehow I think we will find out.”
”Ah,” said Jimmy, ”if you do find out the shot wasn't mine---- But I doubt and the doubt weighs on me.”
Margaret smiled and gave him her hand. ”Brace up and trust your luck!
Stop in the mountains until we send for you. Perhaps we will send for you sooner than you think.”
Jimmy went down the path and joined the waiting Indian. He was comforted, and when he plunged into the woods his moodiness was gone.
Margaret went back into the house and Jardine said in a thoughtful voice, ”Ye kind o' engaged ye'd send for the lad; but until ye satisfy the police he's no' their man, he canna come back.”
”That is so. The thing is rather obvious,” Margaret agreed and smiled.
”However, since I did engage to send for Jimmy, I must try to make good.”
XX
BOB'S DENIAL
Not long after Jimmy's visit to Kelshope, Margaret one evening rode up the trail from the station. Her cayuse carried a load of groceries, but when she set off her object was not altogether to bring home supplies.
Wakening before daybreak, she imagined she heard the fence-rails rattle at the corner farthest from the house. Sometimes a deer jumped the fence, and when Margaret got up she went to the spot. She saw no tracks, but some time afterwards found a footmark where the trail left the clearing. The mark was fresh and she thought it was not made by her father's boot.
Margaret said nothing to Jardine. Had a stranger come down the valley, he would have kept the smooth path, because in the dark the belt of slas.h.i.+ng that generally surrounds a forest ranch is an awkward obstacle.
Moreover, to account for a stranger's coming from the mountains was hard. Had Jimmy returned, he would have stopped at the house; but Bob would not and Margaret had undertaken to find Bob.