The Mistress of Bonaventure Part 29

Niven said the place was not insured. They were unable to do anything. I see no need to describe the fire. The house was past saving; but the ranchers, with the prisoner among them, broke into the burning stable to bring out the horses, which had been overlooked, and found the hired man, Wilkins, partly suffocated in a stall. He was badly injured, but bore out the owner's statement that lamps and stove were safe when they retired.

"I proceeded to question the spectators. Knew them all as men of good character, and as they had newly ridden in, saw no reason to suspect more than one in case the fire was not accidental. Asked Niven whom he first met, and he said it was the prisoner, shortly after the fire broke out. Stated he met him slipping through the shadow of a shed, and the prisoner refused to a.s.sist him. Was not surprised at this, knowing the prisoner bore Niven little goodwill since the latter bought his property. Had heard him threaten him and another man supposed to be connected with him in the purchase of Gaspard's Trail."

"What reason have you to infer that any other man was concerned in the purchase of Gaspard's Trail?" asked the prosecutor; and Mackay answered indifferently:

"It was just popular opinion that he was finding Niven the money."

"We need not trouble about popular opinion," said the lawyer somewhat hurriedly. "We will now proceed to the testimony of the hired man, Thomas Wilkins."

Thomas Wilkins was called for several times, but failed to present himself, and a trooper who hurried out of court came back with the tidings that he had borrowed a horse at the hotel and ridden out on the prairie an hour ago. Since then n.o.body had seen him.

The Crown prosecutor fidgeted, the judge frowned, and there was a whispering in the court, until the former rose up: "As Wilkins is one of my princ.i.p.al witnesses, I must suggest an adjournment."

It cost me an effort to repress an exclamation. I had already been kept long enough in suspense, and suspecting that Wilkins did not mean to return, knew that a lengthened adjournment would be almost equally as disastrous as a sentence.

"Have you no information whatever as to why he has absented himself?"

asked the judge. Receiving a negative answer, he turned towards the trooper: "Exactly what did you hear at the hotel?"

"Very little, sir," was the answer. "He didn't tell anybody where he was going, but just rode out. The hotelkeeper said he guessed Wilkins had something on his mind by the way he kicked things about last night."

"It will be the business of the police to find him as speedily as possible. In the meantime, I can only adjourn the case until they do, unless the prisoner's representative proceeds with the examination of witnesses," said the judge.

Dixon was on his feet in a moment. "With the exception of Sergeant Mackay and the witness Niven, who will be further required by my legal friend, I do not purpose to trouble the witnesses," he said. "While I can urge no reasonable objection to the adjournment, it is necessary to point out that it will inflict a grievous injury on one whom I have every hope of showing is a wholly innocent man. It is well known that this is the one time of the year when the prairie rancher's energies are taxed to the utmost, and the loss of even a few days now may entail the loss of the harvest or the ruin of the stock. My client has also suffered considerably from being brought here to answer what I cannot help describing as an unwarranted charge, and it is only reasonable that bail should be allowed."

"Is anyone willing to offer security?" asked the judge.

There was a few moments' silence, and then a hum of subdued voices as a man rose up; while I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw it was Boone. In spite of the slight change in his appearance, he must have been aware that he was running a serious risk, for his former holding lay almost within a day's journey. I could also see that some of the spectators started as they recognized him.

"I shall be glad to offer security for the prisoner's reappearance, so far as my means will serve," he said.

"You are a citizen of this place, or have some local standing?" asked the judge.

Boone answered carelessly: "I can hardly claim so much; but a good many people know me further west, and I am prepared to submit my bank-book as a guarantee."

He had scarcely finished, when another man I had not noticed earlier stood up in turn. "I am authorized by Carson Haldane, of Bonaventure, to offer bail to any extent desired."

The judge beckoned both of them to sit down again, and called up a commissioned police officer and Sergeant Mackay. Then I felt slightly hopeful, guessing that a good deal depended on Mackay's opinion. The others drew aside, and my heart throbbed fast with the suspense until the judge announced his decision.

"As the charge is a serious one, and the police hope to find the missing witness very shortly, I must, in the meantime, refuse to allow bail."

I had grown used to the crus.h.i.+ng disappointment which follows short-lived hope; but the shock was hard to meet. It seemed only too probable that Lane or his emissaries had spirited Wilkins away, and would not produce him until it was too late to save my crop. Still, there was no help for it, and I followed the officer who led me back to my quarters with the best air of stolidity I could a.s.sume.

"What did you think of it?" asked Dixon, who came in presently with a smile on his face; and I answered ruefully: "The less said the better.

It strikes me as the beginning of the final catastrophe, and if Wilkins substantiates the finding of the match-box, conviction must follow. What is the usual term of detention for such offenses?"

"You needn't worry about that," was the cheerful answer. "Things are going just about as well as they could. There'll be a second adjournment, and then perhaps another."

"And I must lie here indefinitely while my crops and cattle go to ruin!

That is hardly my idea of things going well; and if you are jesting, it is precious poor humor," I broke in.

Dixon laughed. "I am not jesting in the least. You seem to be one of those people, Ormesby, who believe everything will go to ruin unless they hold control themselves. Now, it would not surprise me, if, on your return, you found your crops and cattle flouris.h.i.+ng. Further, the prosecution hold a poor case, and I expect, when my turn comes, to see it collapse. There isn't so much as you might fancy in the match-box incident. The men who burn down places don't generally leave such things about. I have had a talk with the sergeant, and, though he's closer than an oyster, I begin to catch a glimmering of his intentions."

"Why can't you explain them then? I'm growing tired of hints, and feel tempted to tell my mysterious well-wishers to go to the devil together, and leave me in peace," I said.

"A little ill-humor is perhaps excusable," was the tranquil answer. "It is wisest not to prophesy until one is sure, you know. Now, I'm open, as I said, to do my best for you; but in that case you have just got to let me set about it independently. Usual or otherwise, it is my way."

"Then I suppose I'll have to let you. Your reputation should be a guarantee," I answered moodily, and Dixon lifted his hat from the table.

"Thanks!" he said dryly. "It is, in fact, the only sensible thing you can do."

CHAPTER XXI

AGAINST TIME

Dixon's prediction proved correct. When I was brought into court a second time there was still no news of Wilkins, and after further testimony of no importance the case was again adjourned. This time, however, bail was allowed, and Boone and Rancher Gordon stood surety for me. The latter was by no means rich, and had, like the rest of us, suffered severe losses of late. Dixon was the first to greet me when I went forth, somewhat moodily, a free man for the time being.

"You don't look either so cheerful or grateful as you ought to be," he said.

"You are wrong in one respect. I am at least sincerely grateful for your efforts."

Dixon, in defiance of traditions, smote me on the shoulder. "Then what's the matter with the cheerfulness?"

"It is not exactly pleasant to have a charge of this description hanging over one indefinitely, and I have already lost time that can never be made up," I said. "Lane will no doubt produce his witness when he considers it opportune, and there is small encouragement to work in the prospect of spending a lengthy time in jail while one's possessions go to ruin."

"You think Lane had a hand in his disappearance?" Dixon asked thoughtfully; and when I nodded, commented: "I can't quite say I do. My reasons are not conclusive, and human nature's curious, anyway; but I'm not sure that Wilkins will, if he can help it, turn up at all. However, in the meantime, the dinner we're both invited to will put heart into you."

He slipped his arm through mine, and led me into the leading hotel, where, as it was drawing near the time for the six o'clock supper, every man turned to stare at us as we pa.s.sed through the crowded bar and vestibule. I was making for the general dining-room when Dixon said: "Go straight ahead. It was not easy to manage, but our hosts were determined to do the thing in style."

He flung a door open, and Boone and Gordon greeted me in turn, while I had never seen a menu in a Western hostelry to compare with that of the following meal. Perhaps Gordon noticed my surprise, for he said: "It was Adams who fixed up all this, and came near having a scrimmage with the hotelkeeper about the wine. 'This comes from California, and I prefer it grown in France. Those labels aren't much use to any man with a sense of taste,' says he. This brand, wherever they grew it, is quite good enough for me, but I'm wondering where Adams learned the difference."

Boone smiled at me. "I have," he said, "a good memory, and learned a number of useful things during a somewhat varied experience."

The meal was over and the blue cigar smoke curled about us, when I turned to Gordon: "There are two things I should like to ask you. First, and because I know what losses you have had to face, how you raised the money to liberate me in the generous way you did; and, second, how many acres are left unsown at Crane Valley?"

The gaunt rancher fidgeted before he answered: "You have said 'Thank you' once, and I guess that's enough. You're so blame thin in the hide, and touchy, Ormesby; and it wasn't I who did it--at least not much of it."

Dixon appeared to be amused, and when Gordon glanced appealingly at Boone the latter only smiled and shook his head; seeing which, I said quietly: "In short, you sent round the hat?"

There was no doubt that the chance shot had told, for Gordon rose, very red in face, to his feet. "That's just what I didn't. Don't you know us yet? Send round the hat when the boys knew you were innocent and just how I was fixed! No, sir. They came right in, each bringing his roll of bills with him, and if I'd wanted twice as much they'd have raised it.

And now I've given them away--just what they made me promise not to."

I had antic.i.p.ated the answer, but it stirred me, nevertheless, and while Gordon stared at me half angry, half ashamed of his own vehemence, I filled a wine-gla.s.s to the brim. "Here's to the finest men and stanchest comrades on G.o.d's green earth," I said, looking steadily at him.

It was Dixon who brought us down to our normal level, for, setting his gla.s.s down empty, he commented: "You're not overmodest, Ormesby, considering that you are one of them. Still, I think you're right.

People in the East are expecting a good deal from you and the good country that has been given you."