Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 20

They had reached the door of the hotel.

"Well, I'm going to turn in," said the doctor. "Sure you won't come in and have a drink?"

Ellis shook his head. "No, thanks, Charley," he said; "I'll enjoy one better tomorrow. See you then. Good night, old man."

And he walked slowly on towards the detachment. Half an hour later he threw aside the paper that he had been reading and, yawning wearily, prepared to go to bed. Suddenly, there came to him the remembrance of some mail matter that he had brought with him from the Post, and which he had neglected to look at as yet. Mechanically he felt in his pockets.

No!-it wasn't there-must have left it in his red serge when he changed into his stable-jacket. His surmise was correct, and presently he began to tear the envelopes open, glancing carelessly through their various contents. Well, well, the General Orders for the current month, his shoeing account returned with a small mistake in it, a peremptory request-obviously dictated from the Quartermaster's Store-anent having his Monthly Returns despatched at a somewhat earlier date than had hitherto been his habit ... nothing very _important_, there. What did Dudley mean? h.e.l.lo! What was _this_? He had drawn from the last envelope a typewritten copy of a circular. He stared vaguely at the headlines of the notice, which ran:

WANTED FOR MURDER AND BURGLARY $500 REWARD

The above amount will be paid to any one giving information that will lead to the arrest of either of the below-described men, who, on the night of August 28th, 190- in company with one-Joseph Lipinski, alias George Winters-since arrested in Seattle-shot and killed, John Hetherington, night-watchman of the Carter-Marchmont Trust Building, who surprised them in the act of robbing the safe in the Company's offices, in New Axminster, B. C.

Description. No. 1. Henry Shapiro (alias Harvey Stone, alias Nathan Porter). Known to the Chicago police as "Harry the Mack."

Age 37; 5 ft. 11 in.; about 190 lbs.; black hair; has peculiar light gray eyes, with slight cast in the left one; complexion, swarthy; clean shaved; is of Jewish descent; nationality, American;-

Followed details of dress and general habits. Concluding:

Lipinski, in a statement that he has made, alleges that it was Shapiro who fired the shot which killed Hetherington. Was a former prison mate of Shapiro's in Elmira Penitentiary, where the latter was serving a term of five years for safe-blowing.

This man has a criminal record also, he says, in Chicago, and has served a three-year term in Joliet, Ill., on a charge of white slavery. We are endeavoring to obtain his photo, Bertillon measurements, and finger-print cla.s.sification from one of these inst.i.tutions.

No. 2. Herbert Wilks. Age 26; 5 ft. 8 or 9; about 165 lbs.; blue eyes; brown hair; complexion, fresh; clean shaved; nationality, Canadian; dressed in a dark-blue serge suit; gray Fedora hat, with black band round it; brown boots. This man is a former employee of the Trust Co., and was discharged by them two days previous to the date on which these crimes were committed. As far as is known, he has no record and has never been in trouble before. Has the reputation of being quite a sport. Possesses a jaunty air, drinks heavily, is a cigarette fiend, carries a cane, and is said to be fond of women. Comes from Hamilton, Ont., and is believed to have relatives there. Lipinski states that Wilks must have the bulk of the money (approximately $2,000.00) that was stolen, as he had quit them earlier, leaving the safe open, in which they only found $150.00. That they were in the act of splitting this when they were surprised by the watchman. That they separated and ran different ways immediately after the murder, being fired at by the patrolman on the beat, who had heard the shot. Has not seen either of them since, and has no idea which way they went. Had often seen Shapiro in company with a woman, whom he did not know. The greater part of the money stolen is in the shape of Bank of Commerce bills of large denominations, which they may have difficulty in changing.

Wire all information to

_John Mason_, _Chief Constable_.

Below, ran the usual injunctions:

Members of Line, or other detachments are notified to keep a sharp look-out for these men, who may have come East.

(_Signed_) _R. B. Bargrave_, _Supt._ _Officer Commanding L. Divn._

For some few seconds the Sergeant sat perfectly motionless, failing at first to grasp the full significance of what he had just read, the typed characters of the circular appearing but a mere indistinct blur to his abstracted eyes. Then, slowly but surely, the conviction grew in his mind that here-_here_ in his hand, he held, undoubtedly, the very key to the mystery that Musgrave had confided to him that night.

"Well, I'll be --!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed softly to himself. He looked again at the date of the crime. "Ten days ago. Holy Doodle! they must have been a bloomin' long time makin' up their minds to wire East, or I'd have got this long ago. S'pose they figured they had 'em corralled all hunkadory in the town somewhere ... couldn't get away ... or, when they nailed this Lipinski man in Seattle, that they'd all beat it the same road. Ten days ... an' this chap-Walters, as he calls himself-has been here for a little over a week. That fits in O. K."

He sprang to his feet and buckled on his side-arms beneath his stable-jacket; then, putting on his hat, he extinguished the light and slipped stealthily out of the detachment into the dark of the night.

"Here goes for that five hundred 'bucks,'" he muttered grimly. "No use wastin' time over Walters. _He_ can't run away. Let's have a _dekho_ at this Mr. Shapiro-if it _is_ him. Why in thunder should they choose _this_ place of all places to get playin' hide-an'-seek in? Well, I guess we'll know later."

Entering the lane that lay at the rear of the buildings paralleling the main street, he strode swiftly and silently back towards the cottage where the girl had informed him she was staying. As he approached it there came through the stillness a smothered murmur of voices and, presently the low-pitched, guarded tones of a man's growling ba.s.s, mixed with a woman's sobbing, reached his ears.

Quickening his pace, he noiselessly drew near the scene of the altercation, the thick carpet of dust effectually deadening his footsteps. There, under the light of the lamp, he beheld the figures of a man and a woman, the latter unmistakably the young would-be "Delilah"

who had accosted him earlier in the evening.

"How come you to make such a -- fool break as that?" came the man's voice, fierce and indistinct with pa.s.sion. "_He_ ain't th' cop that's here reg'lar. He's easy, _that_ guy. This feller, he _knows_ me-beat me up one time-him. I-- By G-d! I believe you were a-puttin' him wise!"

The girl's weeping response was inaudible to the listening policeman, but it only seemed to add fresh fuel to her persecutor's rage for, with an inarticulate snarl, he struck at her savagely and, with a piteous, heart-broken cry, she reeled back from the cruel blow.

The sight maddened Ellis and, with an angry shout, he sprang forward.

The man, who hitherto had been standing with his back to the light, now swung sharply around at the interruption. In a flash the Sergeant recognized that face again. It was "_Harry_"-the man who had robbed the woman on the train, and whom he had thrashed so severely some two months earlier.

Like lightning both men's hands streaked to their hips, but the yeggman was the quicker of the two. The girl saw his action and, with a hasty movement, flung herself between the combatants with raised, protesting hands.

"No, no, no! Harry, _don't_!" she screamed.

But, simultaneous with her cry, came the flash and crack of his gun.

Staggering with the shock of the bullet, she clutched at her bosom in stupid bewilderment.

"Oh, G.o.d!" she gasped in her agony. "Oh, bub-bub-bub!" And, swaying with a side-long lurch, she fell heavily to the ground.

For a few seconds the two men remained motionless, stupefied at the tragedy that had been enacted before their eyes. Then the policeman's gun spoke and, with a groaning blasphemy, Harry reeled back, dangling a shattered left wrist that he had flung up instinctively to s.h.i.+eld his head.

Again and again the Sergeant pressed the trigger, but a succession of empty clicks were all that followed. With dismay he then recollected expending four fruitless long-range shots at a coyote that evening whilst exercising Johnny, and neglecting to reload.

He was at the other's mercy. But that individual, seemingly demoralized by the excruciating torture of his wound, failed to profit by his advantage. Still clutching his gun, he wheeled around and dashed for the railroad track.

In feverish haste Ellis ejected the spent sh.e.l.ls, dragged forth three more cartridges and, thrusting them into the cylinder of his weapon, with the practised flip of the finished gun-fighter, flung two more shots after the fugitive, who had recoiled from his sudden contact with the barbed-wire fence that ran alongside the track.

At the second report Harry pitched forward on his face, but the next moment he had rolled under the lower strand of the wire, arisen to his feet again and limped away in the gloom, heading for the station.

Benton's first fierce impulse was to follow in immediate pursuit, but a low moan of intense half-conscious agony from the stricken girl checked him.

"Can't get far winged like that, anyway," he muttered. "I'll get him later."

Stooping down, he gently gathered up the inanimate body in his powerful arms and strode towards the cottage with his burden. The head, with its soft ma.s.s of curly dark hair, lolling over helplessly against his shoulder like a tired child's, whilst the bright arterial blood pumped in quick jets from the bullet wound in her breast all down the front of his stable-jacket.

With an impatient thrust of his knee, he burst open the gate and, climbing the few steps, entered through the open door into the front room, where a lamp was burning. Here he deposited the girl on a low couch.

Attracted by the shots, soon there came the sounds of hurrying feet and the murmur of many voices and, presently, a small concourse of excited and curious people began to gather in front of the cottage where the light was showing through the open door. The Sergeant stepped forward hastily.

"Quick!" he said. "One of you run up to the hotel and get Dr. Musgrave; he's staying there. Quick! By G-d! This girl's been shot, and she's bleedin' to death!"

And, in response to his appeal, two figures immediately detached themselves from the gathering and sped away. Turning back to the couch, he kneeled down and, ripping open the girl's flimsy blouse, rolled his handkerchief into a pad and pressed it tightly over the wound. She lay quite still, with closed eyes, groaning occasionally with the deadly pain that wracked her, a b.l.o.o.d.y foam bubbling up from her lips at each gasping breath. Soon Musgrave came bursting in.

"Why, what's this?" he said breathlessly.

"That fellow-with her," answered Ellis disjointedly. "Wanted for murder-B.C.-went to arrest him-shot at me-hit her-instead- Can't tell you now- Here, Charley!-look after her-goin' after him-not far away-hit bad."

He was on his feet as he spoke, swiftly ramming fresh sh.e.l.ls into his gun; and, with one last look at the unconscious face, he jumped down the steps and started for the station via the direction that Harry had taken. A few of the more adventurous spirits attempted to follow him but he peremptorily ordered them back. Catching sight, though, of a face that he knew, he hastily beckoned its owner aside.

"See here; look, Wardle!" he said, in a tense undertone to the kindly-faced old man who officiated as postmaster in the little town.

"I'm glad you're here. There's a girl in the house there, who's been shot up pretty bad, an' I think it's all up with her." He rapidly explained the situation to the other, adding: "You're a J.P.... Don't attempt to worry her if she's too far gone, remember, but try an' get a deposition off her if the doctor will allow it, an' get him an' somebody else to witness it.... Can't stop now-got to get after this chap, quick!" And he hurried away.

A man swinging a railroad lamp came forward and accosted him, whom he recognized as the station agent.

"Look, now, Carey," he said significantly, in response to the other's excited offer of help. "Come, if you want to. But I tell you flat-you're takin' a big chance of gettin' hurt. Douse that cursed light," he added irritably, "or you'll be makin' a proper mark of us."

The other promptly obeyed, and presently they reached the beginning of the platform. The Sergeant produced a small electric torch.