Part 31 (1/2)

”One shot?” said Ingleby, with a little smile. ”The corporal heard two, both close together, and there certainly was another.”

”Then it was another man who fired it,” said Tomlinson shortly. ”I guess I don't often waste cartridges.”

The corporal, who was usually a trifle persistent, took up Tomlinson's rifle and pushed back the slide of the magazine.

”A forty-four Marlin! It was full when you went out?” he said.

”Yes, sir. Two cartridges gone. You'll find one bullet in yonder deer.”

The corporal, for no particular reason, jerked a cartridge into the chamber, and then snapped it out. ”You use nicked bullets?”

Tomlinson did not, as everybody noticed, appear exactly pleased. In fact, it was not difficult to fancy that he was a trifle embarra.s.sed. It is a little easier to bring down a deer with a bullet that will split up into a torn strip of metal when it meets a bone than with one that has a solid nose and makes a clean, punctured wound.

”Well,” he said, ”I don't know any reason why I shouldn't, and now and then I get the hack-saw and cut one or two across. When I go shooting it's a deer I want.”

Nothing more was said on that point, though Ingleby fancied that the corporal was a little incredulous still. He rose, and looked up the trail as though listening.

”I can't quite figure what is keeping Probyn,” he said. ”The Indian was to meet him at sundown, where the North Creek fork twists round the rocks, and he should have been back by now.”

They sat silent a minute or two, but no sound came out of the silence of the pines. There was not even the murmur of water. The wilderness was very still.

Then Tomlinson laughed. ”Perhaps he's not coming back.”

”What do you mean by that?”

”Well,” said the miner, ”I've heard Esmond has been worrying the boys lately. They don't seem quite fond of him, anyway. It kind of seemed to me Probyn might have lit out without you.”

Now it is not often that a trooper takes the risk of discharging himself from the ranks of the Northwest Police, but the thing has been done. It was, however, unfortunate that Tomlinson made the suggestion.

The corporal's face grew a trifle grim as he looked at him.

”I've no use for that kind of talk,” he said. ”There's not a man up here I'm not 'most as sure of as I am of myself.”

”Then he's probably up there with the Indian,” said Ingleby. ”It would be a little risky leading a horse down the big gully in the dark.”

Another hour pa.s.sed, and as there was still no appearance of Trooper Probyn, the corporal decided that Ingleby was right, and, rolling themselves in their blankets, they lay down inside the tent. They were fast asleep when a beat of hoofs came out of the silence of the night as a jaded horse floundered along the hillside, and the corporal wakened only when there was a trampling of undergrowth outside the tent. He shook the blankets from him and stood up.

”Is that you, Probyn? Tether the beast and come in,” he said.

There was no answer, and the corporal, stooping suddenly, touched Tomlinson's shoulder.

”I guess you had better get up. You're awake, Ingleby?” he asked.

Ingleby, who had been roused by the sound, noticed that he had not asked Tomlinson this; but they were both on their feet in another moment and went out of the tent. The fire had almost burned out, but a few red brands still gave a faint light, and the spires of the pines seemed a little blacker and sharper than they had been when the men went to sleep. It was very cold, for dawn was coming, and they s.h.i.+vered a little as they looked about them. There was nothing to excite apprehension, only a jaded horse that stood just within the uncertain light with loose bridle and lowered head, but Ingleby felt a curious uneasiness come upon him. The sight was unpleasantly suggestive.

”Probyn!” the corporal called again.

There was no answer, and, though he scarcely knew why, Ingleby felt that he did not expect one. Then the horse, moving very lamely, walked up to the corporal, whom it apparently recognized, and he laid a hand upon the bridle.