Winston of the Prairie Part 42

"Sorry. Of course you are right," he said. "It will be better that they should acquit you."

No one moved for a few more minutes, and then with a trooper behind him Sergeant Stimson came in, and laid his hand on Winston's shoulder.

"I have a warrant for your apprehension, farmer Winston," he said.

"You probably know the charge against you."

"Yes," said Winston simply. "I hope to refute it. I will come with you."

He went out, and Barrington stared at the men about him. "I did not catch the name before. That was the man who shot the police trooper in Alberta?"

"No, sir," said Dane, very quietly. "Nothing would induce me to believe it of him!"

Barrington looked at him in bewilderment. "But he must have done--unless," he said, and ended with a little gasp. "Good Lord!

There was the faint resemblance, and they changed horses--it is horrible."

Dane's eyes were very compa.s.sionate as he laid his hand gently on his leader's shoulder.

"Sir," he said, "you have our sympathy, and I am sorry that to offer it is all we can do. Now, I think we have stayed too long already."

They went out, and left Colonel Barrington sitting alone with a gray face at the head of the table.

It was a minute or two later when Winston swung himself into the saddle at the door of the Grange. All the vehicles had not left as yet, and there was a little murmur of sympathy when the troopers closed in about him. Still, before they rode away one of the men wheeled his horse aside, and Winston saw Maud Barrington standing bareheaded by his stirrup. The moonlight showed that her face was impa.s.sive but curiously pale.

"We could not let you go without a word, and you will come back to us with your innocence made clear," she said.

Her voice had a little ring in it that carried far, and her companions heard her. What Winston said they could not hear, and he did not remember it, but he swung his hat off, and those who saw the girl at his stirrup recognized with confusion that she alone had proclaimed her faith, while they had stood aside from him. Then the Sergeant raised his hand and the troopers rode forward with their prisoner.

In the meanwhile, Courthorne was pressing south for the American frontier, and daylight was just creeping across the prairie when the pursuers, who had found his trail and the ranch he obtained a fresh horse at, had sight of him. There were three of them, riding wearily, grimed with dust, when a lonely mounted figure showed for a moment on the crest of a rise. In another minute, it dipped into a hollow, and Corporal Payne smiled grimly.

"I think we have him now. The creek can't be far away, and he's west of the bridge," he said. "While we try to head him off you'll follow behind him, Hilton."

One trooper sent the spurs in, and, while the others swung off, rode straight on. Courthorne was at least a mile from them, but they were nearer the bridge, and Payne surmised that his jaded horse would fail him if he essayed to ford the creek and climb the farther side of the deep ravine it flowed through. They saw nothing of him when they swept across the rise, for here and there a grove of willows stretched out across the prairie from the sinuous band of trees in front of them.

These marked the river hollow, and Payne, knowing that the chase might be ended in a few more minutes, did not spare the spur. He also remembered, as he tightened his grip on the bridle, the white face of Trooper Shannon flecked with the drifting snow.

The bluff that rose steadily higher came back to them, willow and straggling birch flashed by, and at last Payne drew bridle where a rutted trail wound down between the trees to the bridge in the hollow.

A swift glance showed him that a mounted man could scarcely make his way between them, and he smiled dryly as he signed to his companion.

"Back your horse clear of the trail," he said, and there was a rattle as he flung his carbine across the saddle. "With Hilton behind him, he'll ride straight into our hands."

He wheeled his horse in among the birches, and then sat still, with fingers that quivered a little on the carbine-stock, until a faint drumming rose from the prairie.

"He's coming!" said the trooper. "Hilton's hanging on to him."

Payne made no answer, and the sound that rang more loudly every moment through the grayness of the early daylight was not pleasant to hear.

Man's vitality is near its lowest about that hour, and the troopers had ridden furiously the long night through, while one of them, who knew Lance Courthorne, surmised that there was grim work before him. Still, though he s.h.i.+vered as a little chilly wind shook the birch twigs, he set his lips, and once more remembered the comrade who had ridden far and kept many a lonely vigil with him.

Then a mounted man appeared in the s.p.a.ce between the trees. His horse was jaded, and he rode loosely, swaying once or twice in his saddle, but he came straight on, and there was a jingle and rattle as the troopers swung out into the trail. The man saw them, for he glanced over his shoulder, as if at the rider who appeared behind, and then sent the spurs in again.

"Pull him up," cried Corporal Payne, and his voice was a little strained. "Stop right where you are before we fire on you!"

The man must have seen the carbines, for he raised himself a trifle, and Payne saw his face under the flapping hat. It was drawn and gray, but there was no sign of yielding or consternation in the half-closed eyes. Then he lurched in his saddle as from exhaustion or weariness, and straightened himself again with both hands on the bridle. Payne saw his heels move and the spurs drip red, and slid his left hand further along the carbine stock. The trail was steep and narrow. A horseman could scarcely turn in it, and the stranger was coming on at a gallop.

"He will have it," said the trooper hoa.r.s.ely. "If he rides one of us down he may get away."

"We have got to stop him," said Corporal Payne.

Once more the swaying man straightened himself, flung his head back, and with a little breathless laugh drove his horse furiously at Payne.

He was very close now, and his face showed livid under the smearing dust, but his lips were drawn up in a little bitter smile as he rode straight upon the leveled carbines. Payne, at least, understood it, and the absence of flung-up hand or cry. Courthorne's inborn instincts were strong to the end.

There was a hoa.r.s.e shout from the trooper, and no answer, and a carbine flashed. Then Courthorne loosed the bridle, reeled sideways from the saddle, rolled half round with one foot in the stirrup and his head upon the ground, and was left behind, while the riderless horse and pursuer swept past the two men who, avoiding them by a hairsbreadth, sat motionless a moment in the thin drifting smoke.

Then Corporal Payne swung himself down, and, while the trooper followed, stooped over the man who lay, a limp huddled object, in the trail. He blinked up at them out of eyes that were almost closed.

"I think you have done for me," he said.

Payne glanced at his comrade. "Push on to the settlement," he said.

"They've a doctor there. Bring him and Harland the magistrate out."

The trooper seemed glad to mount and ride away, and Payne once more bent over the wounded man.

"Very sorry," he said. "Still, you see, you left me no other means of stopping you. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"

A little wry smile crept into Courthorne's face. "Don't worry," he said. "I had no wish to wait for the jury, and you can't get at an injury that's inside me."

He said nothing more, and it seemed a very long while to Corporal Payne, and Trooper Hilton, who rejoined him, before a wagon with two men in it beside the trooper came jolting up the trail. They got out, and one of them who was busy with Courthorne for some minutes nodded to Payne.

"Any time in the next twelve hours. He may last that long," he said.

"n.o.body's going to worry him now, but I'll see if I can revive him a little when we get him to Adamson's. It can't be more than a league away."

They lifted Courthorne, who appeared insensible, into the wagon, and Payne signed to Trooper Hilton. "Take my horse, and tell Colonel Barrington. Let him understand there's no time to lose. Then you can bring Stimson."

The tired lad hoisted himself into his saddle, and groaned a little as he rode away, but he did his errand, and late that night Barrington and Dane drove up to a lonely homestead. A man led them into a room where a limp figure was lying on a bed.

"Been kind of sleeping most of the day, but the doctor has given him something that has wakened him," he said.

Barrington returned Payne's greeting, and sat down with Dane close beside him, while, when the wounded man raised his head, the doctor spoke softly to the magistrate from the settlement a league or two away.

"I fancy he can talk to you, but you had better be quick if you wish to ask him anything," he said.

Courthorne seemed to have heard him, for he smiled a little as he glanced at Barrington. "I'm afraid it will hurt you to hear what I have to tell this gentleman," he said. "Now, I want you to listen carefully, and every word put down. Doctor, a little more brandy."

Barrington apparently would have spoken, but, while the doctor held a gla.s.s to the bloodless lips, the magistrate, who took up a strip of paper, signed to him.

"We'll have it in due form. Give him that book, doctor," he said.

"Now repeat after me, and then we'll take your testimony."

It was done, and a flicker of irony showed in Courthorne's half-closed eyes.