Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 3

Scrambling down from her perch, the little one gazed at his uniform with lively interest and tentatively tapped his boots and the rowels of his spurs with the crop. "Toldier," she lisped, and without more ado she climbed up beside him on the seat and, putting her little arms around his neck, gave him a genuine loving hug and kiss which fairly took him by storm and caused broad laughs of amus.e.m.e.nt to come from those sitting near.

The touch of those baby lips awoke a strange longing in the heart of the lonely man, and a dreamy, far-away look momentarily softened his hard face. To have a comfortable home to come back to every night, and not to be chased around here, there, and everywhere at the whims of the powers that be. To be happily married to a loving girl-wife, and have kiddies that would climb all over you, and run after you, and where you could lie on the sands, in the sun, by the sea, somewhere, and watch 'em playing-

A sudden exclamation from the mother awoke him sharply from his reverie.

"What's the matter?" he asked. She seemed terribly agitated. "Oh!" she said; "I've lost my hand-bag, and my ticket was in it and some money!"

"Were you sitting here all the time since you got on the train?" he inquired.

"No," she answered; "I was on that seat at the far end when I first came in this coach."

He got up and, walking down the aisle, made a thorough search of the place that she indicated, but his efforts were fruitless. It was a little brown Morocco-leather bag, she informed him, with her name, "Elizabeth Wilson," on it, under a celluloid panel.

"Who was sitting by you?" he asked. "D'you think you could recognize the person again?"

She shook her head despondently. "Oh, I don't remember," she wailed. "My girlie was crying, and in trying to quiet her I guess I didn't notice anybody in particular."

"How much money was in your bag?" he asked.

"Twenty-five dollars," she said brokenly. "I am going to Vancouver to look for a position, and it's all I have in the world. Oh, what shall we do, my baby and I?"

Ellis eyed the forlorn face a moment or two in silent commiseration; then, seeking out the conductor, whom he knew well, explained the situation.

"Yes, I mind 'em getting on at Calgary," said that official; "and she had a ticket through to Vancouver, all right."

"Say, Bob," the Sergeant persuaded, "that bag's been pinched off her without a doubt; but as she's no suspicion of anybody I can't very well search every one on the bloomin' train, and I'm getting off in a minute at Sabbano-be a good fellow and pa.s.s her on to Vancouver.... She's dead up against it."

The kind-hearted conductor agreed, and with an easier mind Ellis went back to the woman and told her.

The train began to slow down-"Sabbano-Sabbano!" called out the brakeman, pa.s.sing through the coaches. The Sergeant reached into his pocket and, drawing out a roll of bills, pressed them into her hand.

"There," he said gently. "That'll keep you going in Vancouver for a time, and I hope you'll soon strike something."

Speechless with grat.i.tude at the man's impulsive generosity, she gazed at him dumbly, with dim eyes. Her mouth worked but somehow the words would not come. She choked, and hiding her face in her hands, sank down on the seat, the poor, thin shoulders under the cheap blouse shaking with her convulsive sobbing.

The child, still clutching the crop, which Ellis had not the heart to retrieve, set up a shrill wail in sympathy and clung to his leg. More moved than he cared to show, but utterly indifferent to the slightly ludicrous side of the situation, the policeman strove to quiet her.

"Oh, come now, Sis," he pleaded coaxingly. "Mustn't cry.... Let go of me for a minute.... I'm coming back!... Here," and producing a pen-knife, he sliced off one of the lower b.u.t.tons of his pea-jacket.... "There, give me a kiss."

The whimpers slowly ceased, and her little face brightened as she clutched the s.h.i.+ning treasure and, drawing his face down to hers, she pressed her little rosebud of a mouth to his.

Disengaging the tiny arms gently, with a whispered "Good-by," he ran to the end of the coach and dropped off as the train moved out.

It was only characteristic of the man's strange, impulsive, complex nature that he should have done this thing, but how much money was there in that roll of bills? Ellis himself, offhand, could hardly have told you.

As in the rain he wended his way along the wet platform, the station agent came up to him, "Here's the key of the detachment, Sergeant," he said; "Churchill's gone West on that train to Parson's Lake. He's coming back on Number Two in the morning and he asked me to give it to you-didn't you see him?"

"No," said Ellis shortly. "I wasn't able to get off till it was on the move.... Guess Churchill got on another coach."

Not particularly sorry at the other's absence, he walked on to the end of the little town where the detachment was situated. The place smelled musty and stale as he entered. Papers, old letters, and torn novels lay littered about the local sergeant's desk. The bed was not made up and various items of kit were strewn around. Everything seemed covered with a thick acc.u.mulation of dust.

"Nasty, lazy, slovenly devil," he growled. "Lord, what a pig-pen!

Inspector Purvis'll happen along down here, unexpected, one of these days. _Then_ there'll be something doing."

He pa.s.sed on through the back door to the stable, where a joyous whinny from "Johnny" greeted him. He led the horse out along with the Sergeant's and watered them, their greedy thirst drawing a savage curse from him. "Takes d-d good care never to go dry himself," he muttered.

After grooming Johnny down he went into the kitchen and rummaged around until he found two or three pieces of lump sugar, at the sight of which the horse began to nicker softly and raised its nigh forefoot, bending the limb back for a piece to be inserted into the fetlock-joint, where it was promptly licked out.

He was a superb, powerfully-built black, with white hind fetlocks, standing fully sixteen hands, well ribbed up, with the short back, strong, flat-boned legs, and good, sloping shoulders of the ideal saddle-horse. Benton had had him for over three years and was pa.s.sionately attached to the animal.

He petted Johnny awhile then, fixing both horses up for the night, he went down to the only restaurant the little town boasted-a Chinese establishment-and got some supper. This despatched, he retraced his steps and mooned around the dirty detachment, where he tried to read; but his thoughts, ever and anon, kept reverting to the little cherubic face of the child on the train, with her hollow-cheeked mother, and he found himself vaguely wondering how far away they were by now.

He looked at his watch. It was about twenty minutes to ten and, feeling inclined for a drink, he strolled down town again and, entering the bar of the Golden West Hotel, ordered a gla.s.s of beer.

There were about half a dozen men in the bar who, after gazing awhile at his uniformed figure and seeing he was not the convivial Churchill, eyed him with sullen distrust. His gaze flickered over them casually, but knowing n.o.body there but the bartender, he kept aloof.

Suddenly, amid the babel of talk, a drunken, nasal voice made itself heard:

"Oh, you Harry! Say, wha's dat dere wit de yaller laigs?"

Glancing sharply towards the end of the bar, he became aware of two flas.h.i.+ly dressed, undesirable-looking individuals of the type that usually makes an easy living preying upon the unfortunate denizens of the underworld, sizing him up.

The one accosted as "Harry," a big, heavily-built man about thirty, with a sneer on his evilly handsome, sinister face, answered slowly:

"Oh, _him_. I guess he must be one of them Mounted Police ginks you hear tell of over our side of the Line. Kind of 'prairie cop,'" he added contemptuously, and spat.

The epithet of "cop" was one held in peculiar detestation by members of the Force and, coupled with the fellow's offensive manner, became a gratuitous insult that was almost more than the Sergeant could stand, for a slight t.i.tter followed, and all the faces-with the exception of the bartender's-wore a sardonic grin at the policeman's discomfiture.

Choking with silent fury, he glowered warily with swift calculation around him.

"No, it wouldn't do," he reflected. There would be too many witnesses, like in that last business at Elbow Vale; and fearful of his own ungovernable temper, lest any ensuing altercation should precipitate the inevitable right then and there, he held his peace.

Lowering his voice, his elbows on the bar, he spoke quietly to the bartender:

"Who's them two fellers at the end there, Pete-strangers?"

"Yes. I dunno who they are," said that worthy in the same low tone, busy polis.h.i.+ng gla.s.ses the while. "They blew in off'n the West-bound. Jest stiffs, I guess, Sergeant. They was laughin' fit to split 'bout somethin' when they first come in."

Benton finished his beer and, turning, pushed through the swing door, a vindictive purpose seething in his mind. Crossing over to the dark side of the street, he patiently waited.

"I'll 'vag' the two of them," he muttered savagely.

The rain had ceased and a few stars began to appear. It was nearly closing time and his watch was of short duration.

At the appointed time, with much bad language and noisy argument, the bar slowly emptied, the last to leave being "Harry" and his companion; the latter quarrelsomely drunk, and expostulating with the bartender, who was escorting him to the door.

"Gimme another drink!" he demanded.

"No chance," came the answer. "You've got enough below. Beat it!"