Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 25

"All this is, of course, what Harry told him. He'd managed to get on the train all right, without bein' spotted-taking-" He lowered his voice, and indicated the drawn blinds with a significant gesture-"with him.

Partly to divert suspicion, I suppose ... look like respectable couple-man an' wife. Well, naturally, Harry talked pretty ugly ... what he'd do to him, an' all that, if he didn't whack up; but Wilks wouldn't 'come across'-kept bluffin' that he'd divvy up later on, an' so on-knowing that he was safe enough as long as he was amongst a crowd of people. Of course Harry never breathed a word about shootin' the night-watchman. The first intimation Wilks had about _that_ was in a paper at the hotel, here. It appears about ten minutes after he'd vamoosed with the money Harry came back with the 'soup,' to do the blowin' act. Lipinski told him that Wilks would be back in a few minutes, so they waited a bit. As he showed no signs of returning, they decided to go ahead without him-Lipinski goin' in with Harry this time, to give him a hand. It didn't take 'em long to see what'd happened, you bet. Everything all strewn around and turned upside down. They found a hundred an' fifty in a small drawer I guess he'd overlooked in his hurry an', according to Lipinski's statement, they'd just split this up when the poor, bloomin' watchman happened along an' Shapiro fixed him. Then they bolted an' the patrolman on the beat shot at them an' one skinned one way an' one the other. Lipinski didn't see Harry again after that-beat it on his own to Seattle later, an' got nailed.

"Well, it seems they kept up this chewin' the rag an' watching each other till the train got down as far as here. It was gettin' dark, then.

Harry'd got a bottle of whiskey in his grip when he'd come on the train.

He started in to get primed up on this, an' Wilks got scared, for Harry began to raise his voice an' look at him pretty nasty, with his hand in his hip-pocket. They managed to kick up such a row between 'em that the con' came along-gave 'em a callin' down an' threatened to chuck 'em off the train if they didn't shut up. Harry started to give the con' a whole lot of lip, an' while these two were squabblin' together, Mister Wilks slipped off-_here_-just as the train was on the move.

"Of course Harry, as soon as he missed him, promptly got off at the next stop-Glenmore-fifteen miles east of here-an' caught the West-bound back again in the morning. Went straight to the hotel an' soon located his man. Didn't speak to him, though. Didn't register at the place, either-but that may have been because of the expense-hadn't any too much 'dough' left, an' p'r'aps figured he'd most likely have a long wait. He rented this furnished cottage instead, for a few days. It belongs to a chap named George Ricks, over at Beaver Dam. He comes into town an'

lives in it himself all the winter, but leaves it in charge of some chap here to rent to anybody who comes along during the summer. I guess Harry felt pretty safe, knowing that Wilks wasn't exactly in the position to give him away. There's absolutely no doubt what his intention was-"

The Sergeant paused a moment and eyed his listener grimly. The latter, with an equally grim comprehensive gesture, nodded silently.

"Well," he went on, "here they camped, watchin' each other's every little movement. Shapiro never got much of a show to do anything, though, for Wilks took darned good care to keep inside the hotel most of the time. He admits he was scared to death, especially after reading about Harry shootin' the watchman. Just dawdled around-couldn't make up his mind _what_ to do, knowing that he couldn't shake Harry a _second_ time. He was feeling pretty sick, too.... I guess this thing's been comin' on him some time, hasn't it, Charley?"

The doctor, nodding again, replied: "Yes, about a month, most probably."

"An' that's how the case stands," concluded Ellis wearily. "If you hadn't gone into his room that time when you did, Harry'd most likely put the kibosh on him right there. Choked him, p'r'aps. I got the money off him, O. K. About a hundred short-what he'd paid for his ticket through to Hamilton, a bribe to that chauffeur, Kelly, his hotel bill here, an' odds an' ends. The New Axminster men'll get their hooks on that chauffeur quick, I'll bet, when the O.C. forwards them my crime report. Don't know whether they'll be able to make a charge stick or not-may do. I turned the money into the bank for safe keeping. Inspector Purvis'll take it down with him when we go back to the Post."

There was a long pause. "Well, what'll happen to this fellow now?"

inquired Musgrave.

"Guess Churchill'll have to keep an eye on him," said Ellis indifferently. "Take him in to the Post soon as he's able to travel.

He'll be held there till a New Axminster man comes for him. Feel sorry, in a way, for the poor sick devil, but that's all that can be done with _him_, now. Well, I must be getting-lots o' work to do. See you later, Charley."

The elder man laid a detaining hand on the Sergeant's shoulder, and his voice shook ever so little as he said slowly:

"Wait a bit. There's something I want to tell you before you go." He swallowed and hesitated slightly in his agitation. "It's about that-that-that poor girl," he continued, in strained, unnatural tones.

"Ellis, old man, you don't know how sorry I am that I sneered at you last night.... About being a moral reformer, and all that.... I hardly meant it at the time. And I've been feeling pretty bad since-since-"

His voice broke, and he left the sentence unfinished. This was a great concession from Musgrave, and his hearer thought so, as he grasped the other's arm with a sympathetic pressure.

"Charley," he said gently, "Charley.... Don't think of that again....

See here; look! I don't take you in earnest, every time. You're the best friend I've got ... an' the very first man I'd think of comin' to, if I was in trouble. Maybe you don't know it, but I tell you that same sarcastic tongue o' yours has cured me of lots o' dam'-fool notions-time an' again."

They remained silent awhile, after this, then Musgrave went on, in a stronger voice:

"This is what I wanted to say. Seems very apparent, they-this-unfortunate couple, have little or no money-"

The Sergeant nodded, and cleared his throat. "Very little," he said.

"Man's got a few dollars left-seven-fifty, or something like that."

"Well, now; look!" said the doctor. "These two will have a decent burial in the cemetery here, at my expense. It's my wish." And, as Ellis raised a protesting hand, "No, no, my boy-let be! _You're_ not immaculate, G.o.d knows, but, by the Lord Harry! you're a better man than I am, and I respect you for many things.... 'As ye sow, so shall ye reap.'... It's thirty years since I heard that text; I forgot it the same day, and never thought of it again till now. There may be truth in it. I say, for the peace of my soul, let me do this thing; and little though it is-may the Recording Angel-if there is one-remember it as something in my favor when my time comes."

Ellis never forgot those words, nor the weary, bitter, hopeless look that accompanied them; and, long years afterwards, their remembrance rushed back to his mind with vivid distinctness, as he held poor Musgrave's dying head.

Drearily he wended his way up the main street, his mind preoccupied with the problem of fulfilling the coroner's final request. He knew comparatively few of the male-let alone, the female, community, of the little town and, somehow, he instinctively shrank at the thought of having to approach strange women anent such a delicate duty. In his perplexity he went to Carey, and besought the latter's advice.

The agent mused a s.p.a.ce. "Let's see," he said. "There's Mrs.

Steele-she's head of the Women's Church Guild here, and there's Mrs.

Parsons, and Mrs. Macleod. You go and see them. They ought to be able to help you out. I'll tell you where they live."

With a vague feeling of uneasiness, Ellis departed, and presently found himself at Mrs. Steele's abode. A gray-haired, elderly woman, with a high-featured, severe face, answered his summons and, with some trepidation, he broached the subject of his visit. She listened impatiently, her hard eyes narrowing and her thin lips compressing themselves into a straight line.

"No!" she snapped coldly, as he ended. "I _don't_-an' what's more ... I wouldn't think of asking-or expecting-any decent woman to go getting herself mixed up in such a scandalous business as this."

And she began to slowly thrust the door to. "Such shockin' goin's on in a decent, G.o.d-fearing neighborhood!" she shrilled. "Wicked hussies walkin' the street, an'-an' men being shot-an' all, an' all.... G.o.d help the town that has to depend on the likes of you policemen to keep such bad characters away!"

The virulence with which she uttered this last somewhat unjust, remark, stung him sharply.

"Aye, madam," he echoed bitterly. "An' G.o.d help all poor, unfortunate souls that are dependent upon the likes of you for Christian mercy, too!"

But his words only greeted empty air, for the door was slammed violently to in his face.

Feeling sick at heart, he wandered away, only meeting with more or less indifference at the other addresses that Carey had given him. By this time a strange nervousness, entirely foreign to his nature, began to a.s.sail him. Men he understood and could deal with. But women-ah, that was a very different matter.

He was just on the point of abandoning his quest in despair when he beheld a woman coming out of a store opposite to where he stood. The light of a great relief immediately lit up his troubled eyes for, in the plain, homely, blue-serge uniform that she wore, with its red-barred bonnet, he recognized at a glance the all-familiar badge of the Salvation Army-that long-suffering and too frequently disparaged organization which, nevertheless, spreads its gospel of humility and help to the ends of the earth; whose followers, whilst always remaining n.o.bly indifferent to the shafts of misguided ridicule leveled against them from time to time by members of many far less charitable sects, never shrink from entering the lowly dwellings of the poorest of the poor-aye-and the foulest dens of iniquity-in the _practical_ fulfilment of their creed of genuine Christian mercy and succor.

Ellis looked eagerly at the slight figure for a moment. Why not try her?

he reflected. Surely she wouldn't turn him down, like the rest? Didn't the Salvationists always hold a service for the prisoners in the guardroom every Sunday morning? And didn't they help out all the poor devils who were down and out when their sentences were expired-giving them shelter, food, and clothes, and finding them jobs? Yes, he would ask _her_!

He crossed over and, with a few quick strides, overtook the little woman, who stopped at his salutation and turned a worn, patient face to his, regarding him with astonishment meanwhile, out of a pair of kindly brown eyes.

Why did he stammer and hesitate like that? she wondered. Surely he could not be afraid of _her_? For the Sergeant's voice and manner betrayed a curious timidity just then, that was strangely out of keeping with his bronzed, hard-bitten face and athletic figure. His recent experiences had rendered him decidedly nervous in approaching women. She listened to his request with pa.s.sive interest, and nodded her acquiescence, gazing intently, all the time, at his bandaged head.

"I'm afraid you must have got hurt bad," she said sympathetically. "It was all in this morning's paper, an' everybody's full of it. I came up on the early train to nurse a sick woman here. I remember seeing you once before, a long time ago, at the Barracks. I was in the Female Gaol, talking to Mrs. Stratford, the matron, an' you came over from the guardroom."

"Would to G.o.d you'd been here last night!" he blurted out pa.s.sionately.

"Aye, would to G.o.d I had!" she echoed, with a wistful sadness. "Give me the key, then, Sergeant. I'll go right on down there now."

Silently he handed it over, and tried to thank her, but somehow-the words would not come. He only looked at her, with a dumb grat.i.tude showing in his tired eyes, swallowed a little, and turned quickly away.

CHAPTER XIV

"Mother and daughter, father and son, Come to my solitude one by one; But come they stranger, or come they kin, I gather-gather-I gather them in."

-_The Old s.e.xton_

Two days later the little funeral cortege slowly wound its way up to the diminutive cemetery, situated on a rising plateau at the back of the little town.

It was a still, fine afternoon, and the bright suns.h.i.+ne flooded everything around that peaceful spot with its sleepy, golden haze. Far away in the distance arose the purple peaks of the Rockies, white-capped with their eternal snows against the pure, turquoise-blue sky. It was a day to gladden the hearts of all living creatures, but somehow its tranquillity awoke no response in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the two men who followed the dead to their last resting place.

Arriving at the grave-side they reverently bared their heads, and the clergyman, a kindly, earnest-faced young man with a deep, resonant voice, began the service.

Ellis felt unaccountably oppressed with many conflicting emotions.

Though never a downright unbeliever, religion was to him more or less of a sealed book, and the reckless, irresponsible wandering life that had been his since boyhood had not been conducive to much serious thought on that sacred subject. The solemn, beautiful, tremendous words that stand at the head of the burial service, with their glorious, all-powerful promise of Eternal Life affected him strangely now, with their awe-inspiring significance.