Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 38

"I'll confess that I'd have excused your visit, if it could have been avoided, but as you already owe Svendsen and me something, it would be rather forcing matters for you to drive away hungry. That strikes me as about the limit of wrong-headedness, particularly as I'm not suggesting that we should make friends."

The elder man was possessed by a fixed idea and his prejudices were strong, but he was, nevertheless, a judge of character, and the rancher's manner impressed him. He took the chair.

"I believe I owe my life to you or your hired man. I find the situation embarra.s.sing."

"It would be intolerable, if you were not mistaken about another point,"

Prescott said calmly. "Now I want your attention. I'm not anxious for your good opinion--I don't know that I'd take it as a gift, after the way you have persecuted me--but I've a pity for you that softens my resentment."

Jernyngham moved abruptly, but Prescott raised his hand.

"Let me get through! I believe you're honest; you're acting from a sense of duty, which is why I tell you that you're tormenting yourself without a cause. I had no hand in your son's disappearance, and it's my firm conviction that he's alive now and wandering through British Columbia with a mineral prospector."

"What proof have you of this?"

"None that would satisfy you; nothing but my word, and I give you that solemnly. Make your own inquires among my neighbors whether it's to be believed."

For several moments Jernyngham fixed his eyes on him, and his suspicions began to melt away. Truth had rung in Prescott's voice and it was stamped on his face; no man, he thought, could lie and look as this rancher did.

Even the discovery of the brown clothes appeared less damaging.

"Then there's much to be explained," he said slowly.

"That's so. It will all come to light some day. And now, it's a bitter morning, the drifts are deep, and the trail lost in snow; Svendsen will have some trouble in driving you to Leslie's, and you can't go without food."

Prescott called to Mrs. Svendsen, and she presently brought in breakfast.

Jernyngham ate a little before he got into the buggy and was driven away.

He reached the Leslie homestead greatly disturbed. The painful mystery was as deep as ever, but he was inclined to think he had been following a false clue; the man on whom all his suspicions had centered might be innocent. It was so seldom that he changed his mind that he felt lost in a maze of doubt, and in his perplexity he told Gertrude what he had found and related his conversation with Prescott. They were alone and she listened with fixed attention, studiously hiding her feelings behind an inscrutable expression.

"I don't know what to think; for perhaps the first time in my life, I'm utterly at a loss and need a lead," he said. "Everything we have learned about the man tells against him, and yet I felt I could not doubt his unsupported a.s.surance. There was a genuine pride in the way he referred me to his neighbors for his character for truthfulness and one must admit that a number of them have an unshakable belief in him. Then Colston's wavering; and Muriel has shown her confidence in the fellow in a striking manner."

"Ah!" said Gertrude sharply. "You have noticed that?"

"I could hardly fail to do so. It is no affair of mine and perhaps a breach of good manners to mention it, but if I were in Colston's place, I should feel disturbed about the way in which his sister-in-law has taken Prescott's part."

"Why?"

"The reason should be obvious. Leaving the man's guilt or innocence out of the question, there is his position; I needn't enlarge on it. Muriel's family is an old and honored one; it would be insufferable that she should break away from its traditions. Then we know what her upbringing has been. Could one calmly contemplate her throwing herself away on a working farmer?"

He had appealed to his daughter's strongest prejudices, which had for a while sunk into abeyance and then sprung into life again. All that he had said about Muriel applied with equal force to her. She had yielded to a mad infatuation, and returning sanity had brought her a crus.h.i.+ng sense of shame. She might have made a costly sacrifice for the rancher's sake, flinging away all she had hitherto valued; she had sought him, humbled herself to charm him, and he had never spared a tender thought for her.

Despising herself, her jealous rage and wounded pride could only be appeased by his punishment.

"Prescott," she said coldly, "is a dangerous man; I have never met anybody so insinuating and plausible. When he speaks to you, it's very hard to disbelieve him; his manner's convincing."

"I felt that," said her father with a troubled air.

"Then shouldn't it put you on your guard, and make you test his statements? Is it wise to let them influence you before they're confirmed?"

"It was foolish of me to be impressed; but still----"

Gertrude checked him.

"With us suspicion is a duty. Try to think! Cyril had his failings, but you were harsh to him. You showed him no pity; you drove him out."

"It's true," admitted Jernyngham in a hoa.r.s.e voice. "I've regretted it deeply."

She knew she had not appealed in vain to her father's grief and she meant to work upon his desire for retribution.

"Cyril came here and fell into Prescott's hands. Instead of his meeting Colston, the rancher personated him. He was the last man to see him; he knew where he had hidden his money; soon afterward he bought a costly machine."

"I know all this," said Jernyngham wearily.

"There seems to be some danger of your forgetting it! Let me go on!

Prescott took over control of Cyril's farm. He pa.s.sed himself off for him a second time and sold land of his; you found the clothes he wore hidden near his house. Could you have any proofs more conclusive?"

Jernyngham flung her a swift glance.

"You believed him once. You are very bitter now."

"Yes," she said, "I have admitted that he is plausible; he deceived me.

Perhaps that has made me more relentless; but I have lost my brother, and I loved him."

Her father's face grew very stern, and he clenched his hand.

"I have lost my son, and I wronged him."

Then there was silence for a few moments; but Gertrude knew she had succeeded. Her father had been wavering, but she had stirred him to pa.s.sion, and his thoughts had suddenly returned to the groove they would not leave again. The fixed idea had once more possessed him; unavailing sorrow and longing for justice would drive him on along the course he had chosen.

"You have reminded me of my duty," he said with grim forcefulness. "I shall not fail in it."

Then he got up and left her sitting still, lost in painful reflection.

His motives were honest and blameless; but she had not this consolation.

She tried to find comfort in the thought that if Prescott were innocent, he had nothing to fear.

CHAPTER XXIII

A NIGHT RIDE

It was six o'clock in the evening. Curtis had just finished his supper and sat drowsily content in his quarters at the police post after being out in the frost all day. The temperature had steadily fallen since morning and the cold was now intensified by a breeze that drove scattered clouds across the moon and flung fine snow against the board walls, but the stove, which glowed a dull red, kept the room comfortable. A nickeled lamp shed down a cheerful light, and the tired corporal looked forward to a long night's rest. Private Stanton sat near him, cleaning a carbine.

"It's curious you have heard nothing from Regina since you sent up those clothes," he remarked. "It looked pretty bad for Prescott."

"I don't know," said Curtis. "Have you ever seen him with that suit on?"

"No."

"Nor has anybody else, so far as I can learn. There's another point--the land agent talked of a tall, stoutish man. You wouldn't call Prescott that."