The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 22

The threatening att.i.tude of his captor for the instant had lost its effect. If he died for it he must blurt out his almost superst.i.tious astonishment.

The half-breed seized his prisoner's lower jaw in his hand and compressed the cheeks upon the teeth. Jim's lips parted, and a horrified amazement found vent in words.

"Holy Gawd! man. But be ye flesh or sperrit? Peter Retief--as I'm a livin'--"

He said no more, for, with a wrench, the gag was forced into his mouth by the relentless hand of the man before him. Although he was thus silenced his eyes remained wide open and staring. The dark stern face, as he saw it, was magnified into that of a fiend. The keen eyes and depressed brows, he thought, might belong to some devil re-incarnated, whilst the eagle-beaked nose and thin-compressed lips denoted, to his distorted fancy, a sanguinary cruelty. At the mention of his name this forbidding apparition flashed a vengeful look at the speaker, and a half smile of utter disdain flickered unnoticed around the corners of his mouth.

Once his prisoners were secured the dark-visaged cattle-thief turned to the horses. At a word the trio mounted. Then they rode off, and the wretched captives beheld, to their unspeakable dismay, the consummate skill with which the cattle were roused and driven off. Away they went with reckless precipitance, the cattle obeying the master hand of the celebrated raider with an implicitness which seemed to indicate a strange sympathy between man and beast. The great golden chestnut raced backwards and forwards like some well-trained greyhound, heading the leading beasts into the desired direction without effort or apparent guidance. It was a grand display of the cowboy's art, and, in spite of his predicament and the cruel tightness of his bonds, Jim Bowley reveled in the sight of such a display.

In five minutes the great herd was out of sight, and only the distant rumble of their speeding hoofs reached the captives. Later, the moon, no longer golden, but shedding a silvery radiance over all, shone down upon a peaceful plain. The night hum of insects was undisturbed. The mournful cry of the coyote echoed at intervals, but near by, where the camp fire no longer put the fear of man into the hearts of the scavengers of the prairie, all was still and calm. The prisoners moaned softly, but not loud enough to disturb the peace of the perfect night, as their cruel bonds gnawed at their patience. For the rest, the Western world had resumed its wonted air.

CHAPTER XIV

THE HUE AND CRY

"A thousand head of cattle, John! A thousand; and 'hustled' from under our very noses. By thunder! it is intolerable. Over thirty-five thousand dollars gone in one clean sweep. Why, I say, do we pay for the up-keep of the police if this sort of thing is allowed to go on? It is disgraceful. It means ruination to the country if a man cannot run his stock without fear of molestation. Who said that scoundrel Retief was dead--drowned in the great muskeg? It's all poppy-c.o.c.k, I tell you; the man's as much alive as you or I. Thirty-five thousand dollars! By heavens!--it's--it's scandalous!"

Lablache leant forward heavily in his chair and rested his great arms upon John Allandale's desk. "Poker" John and he were seated in the former's office, whither the money-lender had come, post-haste, on receiving the news of the daring raid of the night before. The great man's voice was unusually thick with rage, and his asthmatical breathing came in great gusts as his pa.s.sionate excitement grew under the lash of his own words. The old rancher gazed in stupefied amazement at the financier. He had not as yet fully realized the fact with which he had just been acquainted in terms of such sweeping pa.s.sion. The old man's brain was none too clear in the mornings now. And the suddenness of the announcement had shocked his faculties into a state of chaos.

"Terrible--terrible," was all he was able to murmur. Then, bracing himself, he asked weakly, "But what are you to do?"

The weather-beaten old face was working nervously. The eyes, in the past keen and direct in their glance, were bloodshot and troubled. He looked like a man who was fast breaking up. Very different from the night when we first met him at the Calford Polo Club ball. There could be no doubt as to the origin of this swift change. The whole atmosphere of the man spoke of drink.

Lablache turned on him without any attempt to conceal the latent ferocity of his nature. The heavy, pouchy jowl was scarlet with his rage. The money-lender had been flicked upon a very raw and tender spot.

Money was his G.o.d.

"What am I to do?" he retorted savagely. "What are _we_ to do? What is all the ranching world of Alberta to do? Why, fight, man. Hound this scoundrel to his lair. Follow him--track him. Hunt him from bush to bush until we fall upon him and tear him limb from limb. Are we going to sit still while he terrorizes the whole country? While he 'hustles' every head of stock from us, and--and spirits it away? No, if we spend fortunes upon his capture we must not rest until he swings from a gibbet at the end of his own lariat."

"Yes, of course--of course," the rancher responded, his cheek twitching weakly. "You are quite right, we must hunt this scoundrel down. But we know what has gone before--I mean, before he was supposed to have died.

The man could never be traced. He seemed to vanish into thin air. What do you propose?"

"Yes, but that was two years ago," said Lablache, moodily. "Things may be different now. A thousand head of cattle does not vanish so easily.

There is bound to be some trace left behind. And then, the villain has only got a short start of us. I sent a messenger over to Stormy Cloud Settlement the first thing this morning. A sergeant and four men will be sent to work up the case. I expect them here at any moment. As justices of the peace it devolves on both of us to set an example to the settlers, and we shall then receive hearty co-operation. You understand, John," the money-lender went on, with pompous a.s.sertiveness, "although, at present, I am the chief sufferer by this scoundrel's depredations, it is plainly your duty as much as mine to take this matter up."

The first rough storm of Lablache's pa.s.sion had pa.s.sed. He was "yanking"

himself up to the proper att.i.tude for the business in hand. Although he had calmed considerably his lashless eyes gleamed viciously, and his flabby face wore an expression which boded ill for the object of his rage, should that unfortunate ever come within the range of his power.

"Poker" John was struggling hard to bring a once keen intellect to bear upon the affair. He had listened to the money-lender's account of the raid with an almost doubtful understanding, the chief shock to which was the re-appearance of the supposed dead Retief, that prince of "hustlers," who, two years ago, had terrorized the neighborhood by his impudent raids. At last his mind seemed to clear and he stood up. And, bending across the desk as though to emphasize his words, he showed something of the old spirit which had, in days gone by, made him a successful rancher.

"I don't believe it, Lablache. This is some d.a.m.ned yarn to cover the real culprit. Why, man, Peter Retief is buried deep in that reeking keg, and no slapsided galoot's goin' to pitch such a crazy notion as his resurrection down my throat. Retief? Why, I'd as lief hear that Satan himself was abroad duffing cattle. Bah! Where's the 'hand' that's gulled you?"

Lablache eyed the old man curiously. He was not sure that there might not be some truth in the rancher's forcible skepticism. For the moment the old man's words carried some weight, then, as he remembered the unvarnished tale the cowboy had told, he returned to his conviction. He shook his ma.s.sive head.

"No one has gulled me, John. You shall hear the story for yourself as soon as the police arrive. You will the better be able to judge of the fellow's sincerity."

At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs came in through the open window. Lablache glanced out on to the veranda.

"Ah, here he is, and I'm glad to see they've sent Sergeant Horrocks. The very man for the work. Good," and he rubbed his fat hands together.

"Horrocks is a great prairie man."

"Poker" John rose and went out to meet the officer. Later he conducted him into the office. Sergeant Horrocks was a man of medium height, slightly built, but with an air of cat-like agility about him. He was very bronzed, with a sharp, rather than a clever face. His eyes were black and restless, and a thin mouth, hidden beneath a trim black mustache, and a perfectly-shaped aquiline nose, completed the sum of any features which might be called distinctive. He was a man who was thoroughly adapted to his work--work which needed a cool head and quick eye rather than great mental attainments. He was dressed in a brown canvas tunic with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, and his riding breeches were concealed in, a pair of well-worn leather "chaps." A Stetson hat worn at the exact angle on his head, with his official "side arms" secured round his waist, completed a very picturesque appearance.

"Morning, Horrocks," said the money-lender. "This is a pretty business you've come down on. Left your men down in the settlement, eh?"

"Yes. I thought I'd come and hear the rights of the matter straight away. According to your message you are the chief victim of this 'duffing' business?"

"Exactly," replied Lablache, with a return to his tone of anger, "one thousand head of beeves! Thirty-five thousand dollars' worth!" Then he went on more calmly: "But wait a moment, we'll send down for the 'hand'

that brought in the news."

A servant was despatched, and a few minutes later Jim Bowley entered.

Jacky, returning from the corrals, entered at the same time. Directly she had seen the police horse outside she knew what was happening. When she appeared Lablache endeavored to conceal a look of annoyance.

Sergeant Horrocks raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was not accustomed to petticoats being present at his councils. John, however, without motive, waived all chance of objection by antic.i.p.ating his guests.

"Sergeant, this is my niece, Jacky. Affairs of the prairie affect her as nearly as they do myself. Let us hear what this man has to tell us."

Horrocks half bowed to the girl, touching the brim of his hat with a semi-military salute. Acquiescence to her presence was thus forced upon him.

Jacky looked radiant in spite of the uncouthness of her riding attire.

The fresh morning air was the tonic she loved, and, as yet, the day was too young for the tired shadows to have crept into her beautiful face.

Horrocks, in spite of his tacit objection, was forced to admire the st.u.r.dy young face of this child of the prairie.

Jim Bowley plunged into his story with a directness and simplicity which did not fail to carry conviction. He told all he knew without any attempt at s.h.i.+elding himself or his companions. Horrocks and the old rancher listened carefully to the story. Lablache looked for discrepancies but found none. Jacky, whilst paying every attention, keenly watched the face of the money-lender. The seriousness of the affair was reflected in all the faces present, whilst the daring of the raid was acknowledged by the upraised brows and wondering e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns which occasionally escaped the police-officer and "Poker" John. When the narrative came to a close there followed an impressive pause. Horrocks was the first to break it.

"And how did you obtain your release?"

"A Mennonite family, which had bin travelin' all night, came along 'bout an hour after daylight. They pitched camp nigh on to a quarter mile from the bluff w'ere we was tied up. Then they came right along to look fur kindlin'. There wasn't no other bluff for half a mile but ours. They found us all three. Young Nat 'ad got 'is collar-bone broke. Them 'ustlers 'adn't lifted our 'plugs' so I jest came right in."

"Have you seen these Mennonites?" asked the officer, turning sharply to the money-lender.

"Not yet," was the heavy rejoinder. "But they are coming in."

The significance of the question and the reply nettled the cowboy.

"See hyar, mister, I ain't no coyote come in to pitch yarns. Wot I've said is gospel. The man as 'eld us up was Peter Retief as sure as I'm a living man. Sperrits don't walk about the prairie 'ustling cattle, an' I guess 'is 'and was an a'mighty solid one, as my jaw felt when 'e gagged me. You take it from me, 'e's come around agin to make up fur lost time, an' I guess 'e's made a tidy haul to start with."

"Well, we'll allow that this man is the hustler you speak of," went on Horrocks, bending his keen eyes severely on the unfortunate cowboy.

"Now, what about tracking the cattle?"

"Guess I didn't wait fur that, but it'll be easy 'nough."

"Ah, and you didn't recognize the man until you'd seen his horse?"

The officer spoke sharply, like a counsel cross-examining a witness.

"Wal, I can't say like that," said Jim, hesitating for the first time.