The Impostor Part 40

He laid a wallet on the table, and Dane glanced at Colonel Barrington, who nodded when he returned it unopened.

"We will pa.s.s it without counting. You accept the charge, sir?" he said.

"Yes," said Barrington gravely. "It seems it is forced on me. Well, we will glance through the statement."

For at least ten minutes n.o.body spoke, and then Dane said, "There are prairie farmers who would consider what he is leaving behind him a competence."

"If this agreement, which was apparently verbal, is confirmed by Courthorne, the entire sum rightfully belongs to the man he made his tenant," said Barrington; and Macdonald smiled gravely as he glanced at Witham.

"I think we can accept the statement that it was made, without question, sir," he said.

Witham shook his head. "I claim one thousand dollars as the fee of my services, and they should be worth that much; but I will take no more."

"Are we not progressing a little too rapidly, sir?" said Dane. "It seems to me we have yet to decide whether it is necessary that the man who has done so much for us should leave Silverdale."

Witham smiled a trifle grimly. "I think," he said, "that question will very shortly be answered for you."

Macdonald held his hand up, and a rapid thud of hoofs came faintly through the silence.

"Troopers! They are coming here," he said.

"Yes," said Witham. "I fancy they will relieve you from any further difficulty."

Dane strode to one of the windows, and glanced at Colonel Barrington as he pulled back the catch. Witham, however, shook his head, and a little flush crept into Dane's bronzed face.

"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 Witham's shoulder.

"I have a warrant for your apprehension, Farmer Witham," he said. "You probably know the charge against you."

"Yes," said Witham, 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 grey face at the head of the table.

It was a minute or two later when Witham 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 Witham 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 Witham 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 greyness 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 grey, 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 levelled 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?"