The Story of the Foss River Ranch Part 23

"His looks was familiar, I 'lows. No, without knowing of it I'd recognized 'im, but 'is name didn't come along till I see that beast, Golden Eagle. I 'lows a good prairie hand don't make no mistake over cattle like that. 'E may misgive a face, but a beastie--no, siree."

"So you base your recognition of the man on the ident.i.ty of his horse. A doubtful a.s.sertion."

"Thar ain't no doubt in my mind, sergeant. Ef you'll 'ave it so, I did--some."

The officer turned to the other men.

"If there's nothing more you want this man for, gentlemen, I have quite finished with him--for the present. With your permission," pulling out his watch, "I'll get him to take me to the er--scene of disaster in an hour's time."

The two men nodded and Lablache conveyed the necessary order to the man, who then withdrew.

As soon as Bowley had left the room three pairs of eyes were turned inquiringly upon the officer.

"Well?" questioned Lablache, with some show of eagerness.

Horrocks shrugged a pair of expressive shoulders.

"From his point of view the man speaks the truth," he replied decisively. "And," he went on, more to himself than to the others, "we never had any clear proof that the scoundrel, Retief, came to grief.

From what I remember things were very hot for him at the time of his disappearance. Maybe the man's right. However," turning to the others, "I should not be surprised if Mr. Retief has overreached himself this time. A thousand head of cattle cannot easily be hidden, or, for that matter, disposed of. Neither can they travel fast; and as for tracking, well," with a shrug, "in this case it should be child's play."

"I hope it will prove as you antic.i.p.ate," put in John Allandale, concisely. "What you suggest has been experienced by us before. However, the matter, I feel sure, is in capable hands."

The officer acknowledged the compliment mechanically. He was thinking deeply. Lablache struggled to his feet, and, supporting his bulk with one hand resting upon the desk, gasped out his final words upon the matter.

"I want you to remember, sergeant, this matter not only affects me personally but also in my capacity as a justice of the peace. To whatever reward I am able to make in the name of H.M. Government I shall add the sum of one thousand dollars for the recovery of the cattle, and the additional sum of one thousand dollars for the capture of the miscreant himself. I have determined to spare no expense in the matter of hunting this devil," with vindictive intensity, "down, therefore you can draw on me for all outlay your work may entail. All I say is, capture him."

"I shall do my best, Mr. Lablache," Horrocks replied simply. "And now, if you will permit me, I will go down to the settlement to give a few orders to my men. Good-morning--er--Miss Allandale; good day, gentlemen.

You will hear from me to-night."

The officer left in all the pride of his official capacity. And possibly his pride was not without reason, for many and smart were the captures of evil-doers he had made during his career as a keeper of the peace.

But we have been told that "pride goeth before a fall." His estimation of a "hustler" was not an exalted one. He was accustomed to dealing with men who shoot quick and straight--"bad men" in fact--and he was equally quick with the gun, and a dead shot himself. Possibly he was a shade quicker and a trifle more deadly than the smartest "bad man" known, but now he was dealing with a man of all these necessary attainments and whose resourcefulness and cleverness were far greater than his own.

Sergeant Horrocks had a harder road to travel than he antic.i.p.ated.

Lablache took his departure shortly afterwards, and "Poker" John and his niece were left in sole possession of the office at the ranch.

The old man looked thoroughly wearied with the mental effort the interview had entailed upon him. And Jacky, watching him, could not help noticing how old her uncle looked. She had been a silent observer in the foregoing scene, her presence almost ignored by the other actors. Now, however, that they were left alone, the old man turned a look of appealing helplessness upon her. Such was the rancher's faith in this wild, impetuous girl that he looked for her judgment on what had pa.s.sed in that room with the ready faith of one who regards her as almost infallible, where human intellect is needed. Nor was the girl, herself, slow to respond to his mute inquiry. The swiftness of her answer enhanced the tone of her conviction.

"Set a thief to catch a thief, Uncle John. I guess Horrocks, in spite of his s.h.i.+fty black eyes, isn't the man for the business. He might track the slimmest neche that ever crossed the back of a choyeuse. Lablache is the man Retief has to fear. That uncrowned monarch of Foss River is subtle, and subtlety alone will serve. Horrocks?" with fine disdain.

"Say, you can't shoot snipe with a pea-shooter."

"That's so," replied John, with weary thoughtlessness. "Do you know, child, I can't help feeling a strange satisfaction that this Retief's victim is Lablache. But there, one never knows, when such a man is about, who will be the next to suffer. I suppose we must take our chance and trust to the protection of the police."

The girl had walked to the window and now stood framed in the cas.e.m.e.nt of it. She turned her face back towards the old man as he finished speaking, and a quiet little smile hovered round the corners of her fresh ripe lips.

"I don't think Retief will bother us any--at least, he never did before.

Somehow I don't think he's an ordinary rascal." She turned back to the window. "Hulloa, I guess Bill's coming right along up the avenue."

A moment later "Lord" Bill, lazily cheerful as was his wont, stepped in through the open French window. The selling up of his ranch seemed to have made little difference to his philosophical temperament. In his appearance, perhaps, for now he no longer wore the orthodox dress of the rancher. He was clad in a tweed lounging suit, and a pair of well-polished, brown leather boots. His headgear alone pertained to the prairie. It was a Stetson hat. He was smoking a cigarette as he came up, but he threw the insidious weed from him as he entered the room.

"Morning, John. How are you, Jacky? I needn't ask you if you have heard the news. I saw Sergeant Horrocks and old Shylock leaving your veranda.

Hot lot--isn't it? And all Lablache's cattle, too."

A look of deep concern was on his keen face. Lablache might have been his dearest friend. Jacky smiled over at him. "Poker" John looked pained.

"Guess you're right, Bill," said the rancher. "Hot--very hot. I pity the poor devil if Lablache lays a hand on him. Excuse me, boy, I'm going down to the barn. We've got a couple of ponies we're breaking to harness."

The old man departed. The others watched the burly figure as he pa.s.sed out of the door. His whole personality seemed shrunken of late. The old robustness seemed a thing of the past. The last two months seemed to have put ten years of ageing upon the kindly old man. Jacky sighed as the door closed behind him, and there was no smile in her eyes as she turned again to her lover. Bill's face had become serious.

"Well?" in a tone of almost painful anxiety.

The girl had started forward and was leaning with her two brown hands upon the back of a chair. Her face was pale beneath her tan, and her eyes were bright with excitement. For answer, Bunning-Ford stepped to the French window and closed it, having first glanced up and down the veranda to see that it was empty. Not a soul was in sight. The tall pines, which lined the approach to the house, waved silently in the light breeze. The clear sky was gloriously blue. On everything was the peace of summer.

The man swung round and came towards the girl. His eagle face was lit up by an expression of triumph. He held out his two hands, and the girl placed her own brown ones in them. He drew her towards him and embraced her in silence. Then he moved a little away from her. His gleaming eyes indexed the activity of his mind.

"The cattle are safe--as houses. It was a grand piece of work, dear.

They would never have faced the path without your help. Say, girlie, I'm an infant at handling stock compared with you. Now--what news?"

Jacky was smiling tenderly into the strong face of the man. She could not help but wonder at the reckless daring of this man, who so many set down as a lazy good-for-nothing. She knew--she had always known, she fancied--the strong character which underlay that indolent exterior. It never appealed to her to regret the chance that had driven him to use his abilities in such a cause. There was too much of the wild half-breed blood in her veins to allow her to stop to consider the might-have-beens. She gloried in his daring, and something of the spirit which had caused her to help her half-brother now forced from her an almost wors.h.i.+ping adoration for her lover.

"Horrocks is to spare no expense in tracking--Retief--down." She laughed silently. "Lablache is to pay. They are going over the old ground again, I guess. The tracks of the cattle. Horrocks is not to be feared. We must watch Lablache. He will act. Horrocks will only be his puppet."

Bill pondered before he spoke.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully at last, "that is the best of news. The very best. Horrocks can track. He is one of the best at that game. But I have taken every precaution. Tracking is useless--waste of time."

"I know that from past experience, Bill. Now that the campaign has begun, what is the next move?"

The girl was all eagerness. Her beautiful dark face was no longer pale.

It was aglow with the enthusiasm of her feelings. Her deep, meaning eyes burned with a consuming brilliancy. Framed in its setting of curling, raven hair, her face would have rejoiced the heart of the old masters of the Van d.y.k.e school. She was wondrously beautiful. Bill gazed upon her features with devouring eyes, and thoughts of the wrongs committed by Lablache against her and hers teemed through his brain and set his blood surging through his veins in a manner that threatened to overbalance his usual cool judgment. He forced himself to an outward calmness, however, and the lazy tones of his voice remained as easy as ever.

"On the result of the next move much will depend," he said. "It is to be a terrific _coup_, and will entail careful planning. It is fortunate that the people at the half-breed camp are the friends of--of--Retief."

"Yes, and of mine," put in the girl. Then she added slowly, and as though with painful thought, "Say, Bill, be--be careful. I guess you are all I have in the world--you and uncle. Do you know, I've kind of seen to the end of this racket. Maybe there's trouble coming. Who's to be lagged I can't say. There are shadows around, Bill; the place fairly hums with 'em. Say, don't--don't give Lablache a slant at you. I can't spare you, Bill."

The tall thin figure of her companion stepped over towards her, and she felt herself encircled by his long powerful arms. Then he bent down from his great height and kissed her pa.s.sionately upon the lips.

"Take comfort, little girl. This is a war, if necessary, to the death.

Should anything happen to me, you may be sure that I leave you freed from the snares of old Shylock. Yes, I will be careful, Jacky. We are playing for a heavy stake. You may trust me."

CHAPTER XV

AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS

Lablache was not a man of variable moods. He was too strong; his purpose in life was too strong for any vacillation of temper. His one aim--his whole soul--was wrapt in a craving for money-making and the inevitable power which the acc.u.mulation of great wealth must give him. In all his dealings he was perfectly--at least outwardly--calm, and he never allowed access to anger to thwart his ends. An inexorable purpose governed his actions to an extent which, while his feelings might undergo paroxysms of acute changes, never permitted him to make a false move or to show his hand prematurely. But this latest reverse had upset him more than he had ever been upset in his life, and all the great latent force of his character had suddenly, as it were, been precipitated into a torrent of ungovernable fury. He had been wounded deeply in the most vulnerable spot in his composition. Thirty-five thousands of his precious dollars ruthlessly torn from his capacious and retentive money-bags. Truly it was a cruel blow, and one well calculated to disturb the even tenor of his complacency.