Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 18

This charge of 'vagrancy' against you will be dismissed ... but you understand that your evidence will be required again when the Supreme Court sits."

The old man gazed at him vacantly, and the Sergeant opened the door.

"All right, Bryan," he said; "you can go. I want to see you later, though."

And, clutching his hat in his trembling old hands, the other tottered slowly out.

Pryce arose. "Your Wors.h.i.+ps," he began imploringly, "how 'bout me team an' wagon? Is there any chance of me bein' able to take 'em back with me? I've got a tur'ble pile o' work to do, an' I need 'em bad."

The Inspector contemplated the rancher's anxious face thoughtfully a moment or two before replying.

"Why, yes, Mr. Pryce," he answered slowly, eyeing his confrere, who nodded his concurrence to this request. "I don't see why you shouldn't.

But you will have to sign a doc.u.ment undertaking to produce them, if required, when this case comes up at the next Sessions, you understand."

All business being now at an end, the Sergeant formally closed the court, Inspector Darby and the congenial Mr. Cloakey departing to the hotel, and Ellis to the depot freight office with Pryce to make inquiries respecting the arrival of some police stores that were overdue. Finding that the latter had come, he arranged with the rancher to haul them out to the Cherry Creek detachment on his return trip.

With this and various other small duties the time pa.s.sed rapidly, and twilight was descending when the Sergeant retraced his steps up the main street on his way back to the detachment. He felt jaded and weary from lack of sleep and the strain on his physical and mental powers during the past forty-eight hours, but a certain exultation at the thought of all that had been accomplished in that s.p.a.ce of time buoyed him up.

In the midst of his somewhat tiredly complacent reflections he became aware of a figure approaching him unsteadily along the uneven board sidewalk whom he recognized as Hiram Bryan.

A sharp gust of wind suddenly deposited the latter's ancient battered hat in the gutter and made merry sport with his venerable wisps of hair and gray beard. Stooping to recover his headgear, he lost his balance and pitched heavily forward. He struggled to his feet again with difficulty and leaned for a s.p.a.ce, all covered with dust, up against the wall of the Chinese restaurant, his breath coming and going with wheezy asthmatical sobs.

Ellis presently drew up alongside and contemplated the unlovely but pitiable spectacle with a slightly compa.s.sionate grin.

"h.e.l.lo, Dad," he remarked. "Where d'yu' get it? Been celebratin' along with Bob Tucker, I guess. Well, old gentleman, yu' got outa that mix-up all hunkadory, an' I was glad of it."

But the old man only rocked perilously on his heels, regarded his interlocutor somberly awhile with liquor-blurred eyes, and resolutely held his peace.

Momentarily nonplussed at the other's silence, the Sergeant continued in tones half playful, half serious:

"Come, old Kafoozleum; yu' ain't very grateful, it seems. Life an'

liberty's somethin', anyhow, an' it's more than teams an' wagons-or booze. For now, see here; look! This is th' straight goods-if yu'd ever gone up in th' Ghost River bush, along with them two fellers, either yu'

or th' nitchie, they'd a-seen to it as neither o' yu' come out of it alive again to, perhaps, get a-talkin' afterwards. Yu' can take yore oath o' _that_."

"An' I hadn't bin diddled out o' me outfit," piped old Bryan doggedly, with the hopeless, unreasoning obstinacy of the aged. "I'd a-bin away from yu' all-a-livin' quiet on some little ol' homestead. But-yu'

corralled me team an' wagon, lad. I'm little better'n a hobo now."

Surprise, not unmixed with amus.e.m.e.nt at this somewhat illogical outburst, rendered Ellis speech- less for the moment.

"But they _wasn't_ yore team an' wagon, Dad," he said. "Th' Law-" And then he stopped, recognizing the absurdity of ever attempting to argue under such conditions. A great pity, though, for the old, broken man, welled up in his heart.

"Here, here," he began, not unkindly. "Don't get a-talkin' foolish, now, Hiram."

And his hand sought the other's shoulder. But Bryan avoided his touch.

"Nay," he said thickly. "Let be, lad. I'm an old man, an'-an' draw fast to homeward. I'll soon be in a good place, G.o.d grant-an' out o' reach o'

all yore laws an' contraptions. Let be, lad. Yu've played h-l wi' me, amongst yu'."

The words of rough condolence died in the Sergeant's throat. He saw, through misty eyes, the poor old derelict, fuddled with whiskey and sorrow, go shambling on his way with bowed gray head. And the sight was more than he could stand. With a few strides he overtook the aged Hiram and, in spite of his feeble resistance, gently, but firmly, turned him around.

"I've been a-figurin' this business out-right since we come in from Cherry Creek," he said huskily. "Yu're comin' along with us on th' train to-night, Dad, when we take them prisoners down. An' I'm a-goin' to get yu' into a certain place that I know of, where yu'll be looked after good for th' rest o' yore days-Father Rouleau's Home for the aged an'

infirm. Besides-I want yu' somewheres handy when that case comes off."

CHAPTER XI

"My object all sublime I shall achieve in time- To let the punishment fit the crime; The punishment fit the crime."

-_The Mikado_

The three rustlers were tried at the following Criminal a.s.sizes held about two months later.

Fisk, obtaining money from some unknown source, was the only one of the trio represented by counsel, retaining that eminent criminal lawyer-Denis Ryan-to defend him. Robbins' craven heart failing him at the eleventh hour, he pleaded guilty to all charges, and threw himself unreservedly upon the mercy of the Court. Shorty, actuated more by motives of spite against Big George, whom he still firmly believed to have betrayed him, entered a similar plea. Brooding over his former accomplice's imaginary perfidy during his past two months in the guardroom awaiting trial, the one thought-to "get even" with his enemy-had gradually become an obsession, which finally culminated in a deliberate intention to reverse his original plea on arraignment.

These two totally unexpected occurrences combined to render Fisk's case hopeless. His counsel, with characteristic ability, put up a brilliant and spirited defense for his huge, ill-favored client; but it was a forlorn hope, and he knew it long before the jury returned with their verdict of "Guilty."

One of the most decisive factors in the case had been the evidence of the old Indian-"Roll-in-the-Mud"-who, examined through an interpreter, stated that Fisk had approached him with an offer of a five-dollar bill and one of Tucker's best colts, in return for his help in driving the bunch of horses at night up the difficult bush trail in the Ghost River district.

Sentence in each case was deferred until three days later, when the prisoners were taken to court again. Big George and Shorty, whose previous criminal records told heavily against them, were very severely dealt with by a judge whose lack of sympathy with stock rustlers was proverbial. The former, proven to be the ringleader and instigator of the crimes, received a sentence of ten years' penal servitude; the latter, seven. Scotty, being that it was, as far as could be ascertained, his first offense, and who, furthermore, was adjudged to have been the tool of Fisk and Shorty, drew the comparatively lenient sentence of four years.

The two first named took the announcement of their punishment with the silent, dogged indifference of men to whom durance vile was no new thing; but Scotty burst out into loud lamentations and weeping as the prisoners were quickly ushered downstairs to the court cells underneath.

Filled with pardonable elation at the successful termination of his cases, Benton left the courthouse and leisurely betook his way back to the Post. All the genial _bonhomie_ that his many-sided nature could command now a.s.serted itself, and he strolled along, humming a cheery lilt, his heart merry within him. Still in this enviable frame of mind, he departed later in the day for his detachment.

That night, standing on a corner of the main street in Sabbano, idly smoking and watching the faint reflection of a far-distant prairie fire, he heard himself hailed and, turning, greeted a man who sauntered slowly across the street to him with a familiarity that bespoke long acquaintance.

"h.e.l.lo, Charley," he said. "What's blown _you_ into this jerkwater burg?"

The other struck a match and relit his cigar before replying, disclosing a gaunt, lined, intellectual face with a grim mouth, which was somewhat accentuated by a close-cropped, grizzled military mustache.

"Case," he answered laconically. "Say, Ellis, where's Churchill? He's stationed here, isn't he?"

Benton nodded. "Yes," he said; "but he's been in the Post, now, for three days-waitin' for a case of his to come off at Supreme Court. He was there when I came away this afternoon. Why? What d'you want _him_ for?"

"M-m! Oh, nothing in particular," his companion mumbled. "Just wondered where he was, that's all."

The newcomer deserves a more especial mention, for his history was a sad, though not an uncommon one. Charles Musgrave, M.D., had begun life as a clever young house-surgeon attached to a famous London hospital.

Possessing extraordinary daring ability, inspired by a genuine love for his profession, he gradually obtained a reputation that caused him to be regarded as one of the foremost exponents of surgery of his day. Then it was-unluckily for him-at the zenith of his fame, that he became enamored of lovely Blanche Farrel-then a nurse in St. John's Hospital.

It was the old, time-worn, sordid story that the world is aweary of-his wife's education and morality proved to be inferior to her beauty. After enduring two soul-wracking years of jealousy and humiliation as the result of the unfortunate misalliance that he had contracted, he obtained a divorce, and, abandoning his career, went to South Africa, where he strove to efface the bitter memories of his past misery amidst the vast whirlpool of cosmopolitan adventurers that thronged the Rand.

Still retaining the skill and love of his profession that had once created him a power amongst his fellow-men, he rapidly acquired an immense practise in Johannesburg. This, coupled with various lucky mining speculations, enabled him in a few years to ama.s.s a considerable fortune which, alas, was doomed, however, to be swept away, along with thousands of others, at the commencement of the great war. Declining, then, the offer of an important position at the Wynberg base-hospital, he became the princ.i.p.al medical officer of the Irregular Horse, which Ellis had joined-composed mainly of his fellow-refugees of the Rand.

Possessing much personal bravery, he served throughout the war with great gallantry, exhibiting on many occasions such an utter disregard for his own life whilst attending wounded men under fire, that frequently caused him to be mentioned in despatches.

The climax of that long-protracted, bitter struggle, leaving him an impoverished man once more, he forsook the country that had engulfed his second fortune and prospects. Still resolutely turning his face away from England, he came to Western Canada, where his ability in his profession speedily raised him again in the medical world. Here, working hard and drinking obstinately, he led an existence which, if it was not commendable, was only in accord with that of many others whom Fate and the vicissitudes of life have entreated thus unkindly.