Part 8 (1/2)

He, who had, throughout the last two adverse seasons, seldom smiled at all, and then but grimly, experienced the same delight in an adventure that he had done when he came out to Canada.

”I don't know that I can return the compliment just yet,” he said. ”I have one or two things to ask you.”

The young soldier smiled good-humoredly, as he flung a cigar case on the table. ”Oh, sit down and shake those furs off,” he said. ”I'm not a worrying policeman, and we're white men, any way. If you'd been twelve months in this forsaken place, you'd know what I'm feeling.

Take a smoke, and start in with your questions when you feel like it.”

Winston lighted a cigar, flung himself down in a hide chair, and stretched out his feet towards the stove. ”In the first place, I want to know why your boys are shadowing me. You see, you couldn't arrest me unless our folks in the Dominion had got their papers through.”

The officer nodded. ”No. We couldn't lay hands on you, and we only had orders to see where you went to when you left this place, so the folks there could corral you if they got the papers. That's about the size of it at present, but, as I've sent a trooper over to Regent, I'll know more to-morrow.”

Winston laughed. ”It may appear a little astonis.h.i.+ng, but I haven't the faintest notion why the police in Canada should worry about me. Is there any reason you shouldn't tell me?”

The officer looked at him thoughtfully. ”Bluff? I'm quite smart at it myself,” he said.

”No,” and Winston shook his head. ”It's a straight question. I want to know.”

”Well,” said the other, ”it couldn't do much harm if I told you. You were running whisky a little while ago, and, though the folks didn't seem to suspect it, you had a farmer or a rancher for a partner--it appears he has mixed up things for you.”

”Winston?” and the farmer turned to roll the cigar which did not need it between his fingers.

”That's the man,” said his companion. ”Well, though I guess it's no news to you, the police came down upon your friends at a river-crossing, and farmer Winston put a bullet into a young trooper, Shannon, I fancy.”

Winston sat upright, and the blood that surged to his forehead sank from it suddenly, and left his face gray with anger.

”Good Lord!” he said hoa.r.s.ely. ”He killed him?”

”Yes, sir,” said the officer. ”Killing's not quite the word, because one shot would have been enough to free him of the lad, and the rancher fired twice into him. They figured, from the way the trooper was lying and the footprints, that he meant to finish him.”

The farmer's face was very grim as he said, ”They were sure it was Winston?”

”Yes,” and the soldier watched him curiously. ”Any way, they were sure of his horse, and it was Winston's rifle. Another trooper nearly got him, and he left it behind him. It wasn't killing, for the trooper don't seem to have had a show at all, and I'm glad to see it makes you kind of sick. Only that one of the troopers allows he was trailing you at a time which shows you had no hand in the thing, you wouldn't be sitting there smoking that cigar.”

It was almost a minute before Winston could trust his voice. Then he said slowly, ”And what do they want me for?”

”I guess they don't quite know whether they do or not,” said the officer. ”They crawl slow in Canada. In the meanwhile they wanted to know where you were, so they could take out papers if anything turned up against you.”

”And Winston?” said the farmer.

”Got away with a trooper close behind him. The rest of them had headed him off from the prairie, and he took to the river. Went through the ice and drowned himself, though as there was a blizzard n.o.body quite saw the end of him, and in case there was any doubt they've got a warrant out. Farmer Winston's dead, and if he isn't he soon will be, for the troopers have got their net right across the prairie, and the Canadians don't fool time away as we do when it comes to hanging anybody. The tale seems to have worried you.”

Winston sat rigidly still and silent for almost a minute. Then he rose up with a curious little shake of his shoulders.

”And farmer Winston's dead. Well, he had a hard life. I knew him rather well,” he said. ”Thank you for the story. On my word this is the first time I've heard it, and now it's time I was going.”

The officer laughed a little. ”Sit right down again. Now, there's something about you that makes me like you, and as I can't talk to the boys, I'll give you the best supper we can raise in the whole forsaken country, and you can camp here until to-morrow. It's an arrangement that will meet the views of everybody, because I'll know whether the Canadians want you or not, in the morning.”

Winston did not know what prompted him to agree, but it all seemed part of a purpose that impelled him against his reasoning will, and he sat still beside the stove, while his host went out to give orders respecting supper and the return of the sleigh. He was also glad to be alone a while, for now and then a fit of anger shook him as he saw how he had been duped by Courthorne. He had heard Shannon's story, and, remembering it, could fancy that Courthorne had planned the trooper's destruction with a devilish cunning that recognized by what means the blame could be laid upon a guiltless man. Winston's face became mottled with gray again as he realized that if he revealed his ident.i.ty he had nothing but his word to offer in proof of his innocence.

Still, it was anger and not fear that stirred him, for n.o.body could arrest a man who was dead, and there was no reason that would render it undesirable for him to remain so. His farm would when sold realize the money borrowed upon it, and the holder of the mortgage had received a profitable interest already. Had the unforeseen not happened, Winston would have held out to the end of the struggle, but now he had no regret that this was out of the question. Fate had been too strong for him as farmer Winston, but it might deal more kindly with him as the outlaw Courthorne. He could also make a quick decision, and when the officer returned to say that supper was ready, he rose with a smile.

They sat down to a meal that was barbaric in its simplicity and abundance, for men live and eat in Homeric fas.h.i.+on in the Northwest, and when the green tea was finished and the officer pushed the whisky across, his guest laughed as he filled his gla.s.s.