The Impostor Part 39

"I," he said with a little ring in his voice and a flush in his young face, "owe him everything, and I'm not the only one. This, it seems to me, is the time to acknowledge it."

Barrington checked him with a gesture. "Sit down, all of you. Painful and embarra.s.sing as it is, now we have gone so far, this affair must be elucidated. It would be better if you told us more."

Witham drew back a chair, and when Courthorne moved, the man who sat next to him laid a grasp on his arm. "You will oblige me by not making any remarks just now," he said dryly. "When Colonel Barrington wants to hear anything from you he'll ask you."

"There is little more," said Witham. "I could see no hope in the old country, and came out to this one with one hundred pounds, a distant connexion lent me. That sum will not go very far anywhere, as I found when, after working for other men, I bought stock and took up Government land. To hear how I tried to do three men's work for six weary years, and at times went for months together half-fed, might not interest you, though it has its bearing on what came after. The seasons were against me, and I had not the dollars to tide me over the time of drought and blizzard until a good one came. Still, though my stock died, and I could scarcely haul in the little wheat the frost and hail left me, with my worn-out team, I held on, feeling that I could achieve prosperity if I once had the chances of other men."

He stopped a moment, and Macdonald poured out a gla.s.s of wine and pa.s.sed it across to him in a fas.h.i.+on that made the significance of what he did evident.

"We know what kind of a struggle you made by what we have seen at Silverdale," he said.

Witham put the gla.s.s aside, and turned once more to Colonel Barrington.

"Still," he said, "until Courthorne crossed my path, I had done no wrong, and I was in dire need of the money that tempted me to take his offer. He made a bargain with me that I should ride his horse and personate him, that the police troopers might leave him unsuspected to lead his comrades running whisky, while they followed me. I kept my part of the bargain, and it cost me what I fancy I can never recover, unless the trial I shall shortly face will take the stain from me.

While I pa.s.sed for him your lawyer found me, and I had no choice between being condemned as a criminal for what Courthorne had in the meanwhile done, or continuing the deception. He had, as soon as I had left him, taken my horse and garments, so that if seen by the police they would charge me. I could not take your money, but, though Courthorne was apparently drowned I did wrong when I came to Silverdale. For a time the opportunities dazzled me; ambition drew me on, and I knew what I could do."

He stopped again, and once more there was a soft rustle of dresses, and a murmur, as those who listened gave inarticulate expression to their feelings. Moving a little, he looked steadily at Maud Barrington, and her aunt, who sat close together.

"Then," he said very slowly, "it was borne in upon me that I could not persist in deceiving you. Courthorne, I fancied, could not return to trouble me, but the confidence that little by little you placed in me rendered it out of the question. Still, I saw that I could save some at least at Silverdale from drifting to disaster, and there was work for me here which would go a little way in reparation, and now that it is done I was about to bid you good-bye and ask you not to think too hardly of me."

There was a moment's intense silence until once more Dane rose up, and pointed to Courthorne sitting with half-closed eyes, dusty, partly dazed by indulgence, and with the stamp of dissolute living on him, in his chair. Then, he glanced at Witham's bronzed face, which showed quietly resolute at the bottom of the table.

"Whatever we would spare you and ourselves, sir, we must face the truth," he said. "Which of these men was needed at Silverdale?"

Again the murmurs rose up, but Witham sat silent, his pulses throbbing with a curious exultation. He had seen the colour creep into Maud Barrington's face, and her aunt's eyes, when he told her what had prompted him to leave Silverdale, and knew they understood him. Then, in the stillness that followed, the drumming of hoofs rose from the prairie. It grew louder, and when another sound became audible too, more than one of those who listened recognized the jingle of accoutrements. Courthorne rose unsteadily, and made for the door.

"I think," he said with a curious laugh, "I must be going. I don't know whether the troopers want me or your comrade."

A lad sprang to his feet, and as he ran to the door called "Stop him!"

In another moment Dane had caught his arm, and his voice rang through the confusion, as everybody turned or rose.

"Keep back all of you," he said. "Let him go!"

Courthorne was outside by this time, and only those who reached the door before Dane closed it heard a faint beat of hoofs as somebody rode quietly away beneath the bluff, while as the rest cl.u.s.tered together, wondering, a minute or two later, Corporal Payne, flecked with spume and covered with dust came in. He raised his hand in salutation to Colonel Barrington, who sat very grim in face in his chair at the head of the table.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it's my duty to apprehend Lance Courthorne," he said.

"You have a warrant?" asked Barrington.

"Yes, sir," said the corporal.

There was intense silence for a moment. Then the Colonel's voice broke through it very quietly.

"He is not here," he said.

Payne made a little deprecatory gesture. "We knew he came here. It is my duty to warn you that proceedings will be taken against any one concealing or harbouring him."

Barrington rose up very stiffly, with a little grey tinge in his face, but words seemed to fail him, and Dane laid his hand on the corporal's shoulder.

"Then," he said grimly, "don't exceed it. If you believe he's here, we will give you every opportunity of finding him."

Payne called to a comrade outside, who was, as it happened, new to the force, and they spent at least ten minutes questioning the servants and going up and down the house. Then, as they glanced into the general room, the trooper looked deprecatingly at his officer.

"I fancied I heard somebody riding by the bluff just before we reached the house," he said.

Payne wheeled round with a flash in his eyes. "Then you have lost us our man. Out with you, and tell Jackson to try the bluff for a trail."

They had gone in another moment, and Witham still sat at the foot of the table and Barrington at the head, while the rest of the company were scattered, some wonderingly silent, though others talked in whispers, about the room. As yet they felt only consternation and astonishment.

CHAPTER XXIV

COURTHORNE MAKES REPARATION

The silence in the big room had grown oppressive when Barrington raised his head and sat stiffly upright.

"What has happened has been a blow to me, and I am afraid I am scarcely equal to entertaining you to-night," he said. "I should, however, like Dane and Macdonald, and one or two of the older men, to stay a while. There is still, I fancy, a good deal for us to do."

The others turned towards the door, but as they pa.s.sed Witham, Miss Barrington turned and touched his shoulder. The man, looking up suddenly, saw her and her niece standing close beside her.

"Madam," he said hoa.r.s.ely, though it was Maud Barrington he glanced at, "the comedy is over. Well, I promised you an explanation, and now you have it you will try not to think too bitterly of me. I cannot ask you to forgive me."

The little white-haired lady pointed to the ears of wheat which stood gleaming ruddy-bronze in front of him.

"That," she said very quietly, "will make it easier."

Maud Barrington said nothing, but every one in the room saw her standing a moment beside the man with a little flush in her face and no blame in her eyes. Then she pa.s.sed on, but, short as it was, the pause had been very significant, for it seemed that whatever the elders of the community might decide, the two women, whose influence was supreme at Silverdale, had given the impostor absolution.

The girl could not a.n.a.lyse her feelings, but through them all a vague relief was uppermost; for whatever he had been, it was evident the man had done one wrong only, and daringly, and that was a good deal easier to forgive than several incidents in Courthorne's past would have been. Then she was conscious that Miss Barrington's eyes were upon her.

"Aunt," she said with a little tremor in her voice, "it is almost bewildering. Still one seemed to feel that what that man has done could never have been the work of Lance Courthorne."

Miss Barrington made no answer, but her face was very grave; and just then those nearest it drew back a little from the door. A trooper stood outside it, his carbine glinting in the light, and another was silhouetted against the sky, sitting motionless in his saddle further back on the prairie.

"The police are still there," said somebody.

One by one they pa.s.sed out under the trooper's gaze, but there was the usual delay in harnessing and saddling, and the first vehicle had scarcely rolled away when again the beat of hoofs and thin jingle of steel came portentously out of the silence. Maud Barrington s.h.i.+vered a little as she heard it.

In the meanwhile, the few who remained had seated themselves about Colonel Barrington. When there was quietness again he glanced at Witham, who still sat at the foot of the table.

"Have you anything more to tell us?" he asked. "These gentlemen are here to advise me if necessary."

"Yes," said Witham quietly. "I shall probably leave Silverdale before morning, and have now to hand you a statement of my agreement with Courthorne and the result of my farming here, drawn up by a Winnipeg accountant. Here is also a doc.u.ment in which I have taken the liberty of making you and Dane my a.s.signs. You will, as authorized by it, pay to Courthorne the sum due to him, and with your consent, which you have power to withhold, I propose taking one thousand dollars only of the balance that remains to me. I have it here now, and in the meanwhile surrender it to you. Of the rest, you will make whatever use that appears desirable for the general benefit of Silverdale.

Courthorne has absolutely no claim upon it."