Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 39

"Those clothes were 'most as good as new; he might have only had them on the once," Stanton persisted.

"That's what struck me; I don't know how they looked so good, if they'd been lying where Jernyngham found them, since last summer."

"It's a thing I might have thought of."

"You have a good deal to learn yet." Curtis smiled tolerantly.

"Anyhow, I found you a photograph of Prescott, and you were glad to send it along to Regina. What do you think our bosses are doing about it?"

"Lying low, like sensible men; the more we find out about this case, the more puzzling it gets. You think you have pretty good eyes, don't you?"

"They're as good as anybody's I've come across yet."

"Well, you searched the bluff several times in daylight and didn't see those clothes. Jernyngham comes along when it is getting dark and finds them. How do you account for that?"

"I've quit guessing; I'll leave the thing to you. Anyhow, I've had about enough of Jernyngham; talked to me like a sergeant instructor last time I met him, and you'd have felt proud if you'd seen the way he smiled when I told him he had better go to you."

"We'll leave it at that," said Curtis. "The man's making me tired, and he's worse than he was a month ago. Where's that Brandon paper?"

While Stanton looked for it there was a sound of wheels and a hail outside, and a stinging draught swept in when the trooper opened the door. A fur-wrapped man sat in a wagon holding up an envelope.

"For Curtis; come for it," he said. "Operator asked me to bring it along.

I'm 'most too cold to get down and I can't let the team stand."

The envelope slipped from his numbed fingers as Stanton tried to take it.

"Dropped near the wheel. My hand's 'most frozen, though I've good thick mittens on. It's about the coldest night I've been out in."

He drove on, and Stanton hurried in and flung the door to before he handed the telegram to Curtis.

When the corporal opened it his face grew intent.

"It's from Sergeant Crane," he said. "Glover was seen this morning near Norton, heading east on the Sand Belt trail."

Stanton's face fell. He had been in the saddle the greater part of the day, and the prospect of spending the night in pursuit of Glover did not appeal to him, though he knew it could not be avoided. The man was a notorious thief, whose last exploit had shown some ingenuity. Appearing at the house of a prosperous farmer, he had shown him a letter from a railroad contractor asking for the use of his best Clydesdale team on tempting terms. The farmer let the horses go and saw no more of them, while the contractor repudiated the letter. Glover was also supposed to have had a hand in one or two more serious affairs.

"I guess we'll have to get after him," said the trooper. "Where'll he make for?"

"Jepson's, sure. I don't know another house near the Sand Belt he could reach to-night, and Jepson's most as slippery a tough as Glover is."

"It's a mighty long ride," said Stanton, "My ranger will stand for it; I don't know about your gray."

"He'll have to make it," Curtis answered shortly. "Get your saddle on."

When Stanton went out Curtis stood up regretfully, for he was aching from a long journey in the stinging cold and the room looked very comfortable.

An effort was required to leave it, and he had not much expectation of making a capture that would stand to his credit. Jepson and his brother were cunning rogues; Glover had escaped once or twice already, and Curtis realized that the chances were in favor of his returning after a fruitless ride. Nevertheless, his duty was plain; he had been trained to disregard fatigue and most physical weaknesses, and he went out resignedly into the arctic frost.

They set off a few minutes later, and Curtis had the depressing feeling that he was riding a worn-out mount, though there was some consolation in the thought that the range of the service carbine might, in case of necessity, make up for his lack of speed. When he met the biting north wind that swept the plain the warmth seemed to leave his body; his mittened hands stiffened on the bridle, and it was only resolution that kept him in the saddle. He would run less risk of frost-bite if he walked, but time would not permit this and the claims of the service are more important than the loss of a trooper's feet or hands. If he were crippled and incapacitated, there was a small pension; it was his business to face the risks of the weather.

They rode on with lowered heads, fine snow stinging their faces now and then, and though its touch was inexpressibly painful they were glad they retained the power of feeling. When that went, more serious trouble would begin. For a while a half moon shone down, and their black shadows sped on before them across the glittering plain, but by and by clouds drove up and the prairie grew dim. It changed to a stretch of soft grayish-blue, with the trail they followed running across it a narrow stretch of darker color. The light, however, was not wholly obscured; they could see a bluff stand out, a bank of shadow, a mile away. Once they saw the cheerful lights of a farm in the distance and a longing for warmth and the company of their fellow-creatures seized them, but this was a desire that must be subdued, and, leaving the beaten trail they pressed on into the waste. Save for the faint, doleful sound the wind made it was dauntingly silent and desolate. There was not a bush to break its gray surface, and the frost was intense. They bore it uncomplainingly for an hour or two, and then Stanton broke out:

"I'll have to get down or I'll lose my foot! I'll run a while beside my horse and then catch you up."

Curtis nodded and trotted on, breasting the wind which, so far as he could judge from his sensations, was turning him into ice. He could hear Stanton behind him, but that was the only sound of life in the vast desolation. After a while the trooper came up at a gallop, and Curtis called to him sharply:

"Any better?"

"No feeling in my foot yet," said Stanton. "I'm anxious about it, but I couldn't drop too far behind you. We have no time to lose."

"That's so," Curtis answered. "Glover will pull out from Jepson's long before morning. He won't rest much until he's a day's ride from the nearest post."

They went on, and some time later the moon shone through again, flooding the plain with light. It was welcome because they were now entering the Sand Belt where scrub trees were scattered among little hills. Pus.h.i.+ng through it, they came to a taller ridge late at night, and Curtis drew bridle on its summit. A faint, warm gleam appeared on the snow about a mile away.

"Jepson's," said Curtis. "Looks as if he had some reason for sitting up quite a while after he ought to be in bed."

Stanton glanced thoughtfully down the slope in front. It was smooth and unbroken, a long, gradual descent, and he knew the farm stood on the flat at its foot. A straggling poplar bluff grew close up to the back of the buildings, but there was nothing that would cover the approach of the police, and he had no doubt that a watch was being kept.

"It's a pity the moon's so bright," he remarked. "There's a cloud or two driving up, but I don't know that they'll cover it."

"We can't wait. This is my notion--you'll turn back a piece and work down to the ravine that runs east behind the homestead. Stop when you can find cover and watch out well. I'll have to ride straight in."

"You want to be careful. There'll be three of them in the place, counting Glover, and they're a tough crowd."

Curtis smiled.

"Jepson has a pretty long head. He'll bluff, if he can, but he won't get himself into trouble for his partner. The thing's not serious enough for that."

"Anyway, you want to keep your eye on them," Stanton persisted.

"Glover'll sure make for the ravine if he breaks out."

Turning his horse, he disappeared behind the ridge, while Curtis rode on toward the farm. Glancing up at the moon, he saw that the clouds were nearer it, though he could not be certain that they would obscure the light. This was unfortunate, because he knew that he and his horse would stand out sharply against the smooth expanse of snow. The light ahead grew brighter as he trotted on, urging his jaded mount in order to give the inmates of the homestead as short a warning as possible. Suddenly another patch of brightness appeared. It was a narrow streak at first, but it widened into an oblong and then went out. Somebody had opened the door of the homestead, and the next moment the first gleam faded and all was dark. Curtis was inclined to think this a mistake on Jepson's part, but he kept a very keen watch as the buildings grew into plainer shape against the shadowy bluff. He knew he must have been visible some minutes earlier.

At length he rode up to the little square house, which rose abruptly from the plain without fence or yard. It was dark and silent, and he was glad to remember that it had only one door, though there were one or two buildings close behind it. He was so numbed that it was difficult to dismount, but he got down clumsily and beat on the door for several minutes without getting an answer. This confirmed his suspicions, for he was convinced that Jepson had heard his vigorous knocking. Then the moonlight, which might have been useful now, died away, and the plain faded into obscurity. Curtis was making another attack on the door when a window above was flung up and a man leaned out, holding what looked suggestively like a rifle.

"Stand back from that door!" he cried. "What in thunder do you want?"

"Drop your gun!" said Curtis. "Come down right now and let me in!"

"I guess not! If you don't light out of this mighty quick, you'll get hurt!"

"Quit fooling, Jepson! You know who I am!"

"Seem to know your voice now," said the other, leaning farther out. "Why, it's Curtis!" He laid down the rifle and laughed. "You were near getting plugged. Figured you were one of those blamed rustlers--the country's full of them--Barton back at the muskeg lost a steer last week. What I want to know is--why the police don't get after them? Guess it would be considerably more useful than walking round the stations with a quirt under your arm."

The man was not talkative as a rule, and Curtis surmised that he wished to delay him.

"Come down!" he said sternly.