The Luck of the Mounted Part 21

"For some time past now I've been treating Gully for insomnia. Man first came to me seemingly on the verge of a nervous breakdown through it.

"I prescribed him some pretty strong opiates--strong as I dare--and for a time he seemed to get relief. But a couple of days ago he came around and--my G.o.d! . . . Say! if I hadn't known him for a man who drinks very little I'd have sworn he was in the D.T.'s."

The doctor's rotund figure stiffened slightly in his seat, and his genial face hardened to a degree that was in itself a revelation to his audience. Without any semblance of bravado he continued quietly, "I hope I possess as much physical pluck as most men--I guess you fellows aren't aware of it, but many years back I too wore the Queen's uniform--Surgeon in the Navy. I served in that Alexandria affair, under Charlie Beresford.

"Well, as I was saying, . . . Gully came into my surgery that day, raving like a madman. He's a big, powerful devil, as you know. I'll confess I was a bit dubious about him--watched him pretty close for a few minutes, for he acted as if he might start running amok. 'I can't sleep!' he kept yelling at me, 'I can't sleep, I tell you! . . . That dope you're giving me's no good. . . . Christ Almighty! give me a shot of cocaine, c.o.x, or morphine, and get me a supply of the stuff and a needle, will you? I'll pay you any amount!'

"Naturally, I refused, I'm not the man to go laying myself open to anything like that. Well! Good G.o.d! The next minute the man came for me like a lunatic--clutching out at me with those great hands of his and with the most murderous expression on his face you can imagine. I backed away to the medicine cabinet and caught hold of a pestle and told him I'd brain him with it if he touched me. I threatened I'd lay an information against him for a.s.sault, and that seemed to quiet him down. He began to expostulate then, and eventually broke down and apologised to me--in the most abject fas.h.i.+on. Begged me to overlook his loss of control, and all that. Of course I let up on him then. A local scandal between two men in our position wouldn't do at all. I gave him a d----d good calling down, though, and finally advised him to go away somewhere for a complete rest and change. But he wouldn't agree to that--seemed worried over his ranch. Said he'd worked up a pretty good outfit and couldn't think of leaving his stock in somebody else's hands at this time of the year--couldn't afford it in fact. Anyway--that's his look-out. But, as a matter of fact, if that man doesn't take my advice, why . . . he's going to collapse. I know the symptoms only too well. That's the curse of men living alone on these homesteads--brooding, and worrying their heads off. It seems to get them all eventually in--"

Breaking off abruptly he glanced at his watch. "Getting late!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, jumping up, "I must be getting on to that case."

"Docthor!" said Slavin, reflectively, "'tis a shtrange story ye've been tellin' us. Ye'll be comin' back this way, I suppose--lather in th' day?"

The physician nodded.

"I'd like fur ye tu dhrop in agin, thin," continued the sergeant slowly, "if ye have toime? There's a little matther I wud like tu dishcuss wid yu'--'tis 'bout that same man."

Doctor c.o.x glanced sharply at the speaker's earnest, sombre face. A certain sinister earnestness underlay the simple words, and it startled him.

"Very good, Sergeant!" he agreed, "I'll call in on my way back. Well!

good-by, all of you, for the time being!"

They followed him outside and watched the rig depart on its journey westward. It was Redmond who broke the long silence.

"Well, sacred Billy! What do you know about that?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed tensely.

And the trio turned and looked upon each other strangely, their faces registering mutual wonderment and conviction.

"Sleep?" murmured Yorke, "No, by gum! . . . no more could Macbeth, with King Duncan and Banquo on his chest o' nights! . . . Well, that settles it!"

But Slavin made a gesture of dissent. "As you were, bhoys!" was his sober mandate. "Sleeplishness's no actual proof . . . but it's a pointer. Th' iron's getthin' warrm--eyah! d----d warrm! . . . but we cannot shtrike yet."

CHAPTER XII

But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad, To think that a heart in humanity clad Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end, And depart from the light without leaving a friend.

Bear soft his bones over the stones!

Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker yet owns!

"THE PAUPER'S DRIVE."

They ate dinner more or less in silence. Slavin had relapsed into one of his fits of morose taciturnity. At the conclusion of the meal, Yorke and Redmond drew a bench outside, and for awhile sat in the sun, smoking.

"He's got 'Charley-on-his-back' properly to-day," remarked the sophisticated Yorke, with a sidelong jerk of his head, "old beggar's best left alone, begad! when he' get's those fits on him." He sniffed the fresh air and gazed longingly out over the sunlit, peaceful landscape, flooded with a warm, sleepy, golden haze of summer. "Lord! but it's a peach of a day" he continued, "say, gossip mine, did you think to get that fis.h.i.+ng-tackle at Martin's this morning?"

George nodded affirmatively. Yorke rose and stepped indoors. "Say, Burke," he said persuasively, "there's not much doing this afternoon--how's chances for me and Reddy going down to the Bend for a bit? The water looks pretty good just now. You'll want to have a lone chin with the Doctor, anyway, no use us sticking around."

The sergeant, engrossed in a crime-report, acceded gruffly to the request. "Run thim ha.r.s.es in first, tho'!" he flung after his subordinate, "an' du not yu' men get tu far away down-shtream, in case I might want yez."

"That's 'Jake,'" was Redmond's comment, a moment later, "no use trying fly-fis.h.i.+ng to-day, though, Yorkey--too bright. We'd better fish deep.

Here, you get the rods all fixed up, and catch some gra.s.shoppers, and I'll chase out in the pasture and run the horses in."

Some half an hour later found them trudging down the long slope below the detachment that led to the nearest point of the Bow River. Here the river described a sharp bend southward for some distance, ere resuming its easterly course. Arriving thither, they fished for awhile in blissful content; their minds for the time-being devoid of aught save the sport of Old Izaak. Picking likely spots for deep casts, they meandered slowly down-stream, keeping about twenty yards apart. At intervals, their piscatorial efforts were rewarded with success. Four fine "two-pounders" of the "Cut-Throat" species had fallen to Yorke's rod--three to Redmond's. Then, for a time the fish ceased to bite.

"Here!" said Yorke suddenly. "I'm getting fed up with this! I can't get a touch. There's a big hole farther down, just up above Gully's place.

Let's try it! He and I pulled some good 'uns out of there, last year."

Eventually they reached their objective. At this point the force of the current had gradually, with the years, scooped out a large, semicircular portion of the shelving bank. Also, a spit of gravel-bar, jutting far out into the water, had stranded a small boom of logs and drift-wood; the whole const.i.tuting a veritable breakwater that only a charge of dynamite could have s.h.i.+fted. In the shelter of this and the hollowed-out bank, a huge, slow eddy of water had formed, apparently of great depth.

As Yorke had advertised it--it did look like a likely kind of a hole for big trout. "You wouldn't think it," said he now, "but there's twenty feet of water in that pot hole." He put down his rod and slowly began to fill his pipe. "You can have first shot at it, Red," he remarked, "I'll be the unselfish big brother. You ought to land a good 'un out of there.

Aha! what'd I tell you?"

Redmond's gut "leader" had barely sunk below the surface when he felt the thrilling, jarring strike of an unmistakably heavy fish. The tried, splendid "green-heart" rod he was using described a pulsating arc under the strain. He turned to Yorke gleefully. "By gum! old thing, I've sure got one this time," he said, "bet you he's ten pound if he's an ounce.

Hope the line'll hold!"

Simultaneously they uttered an excited exclamation, as a huge, silvery body darted to the surface, threshed the water for the fraction of a second, and then dived.

"Look out!" cried Yorke. "Give him line, Red, give him line! Play him careful now, or you'll lose him!"

The reel screeched, as Redmond let the fish run. Then--without warning--the line slacked and the rod straightened. George, giving vent to a dismayed oath, reeled in until the line tautened again, and the point of the rod dipped.

"What's up?" queried Yorke, "he's still on, isn't he?"

"Yes," growled Redmond miserably, "feels as if I'm snagged though. He's there right enough--I can feel him jumping. d.a.m.nation! That's the worst of stringing three hooks on your leader. One of 'em's snagged on something below, I guess. Here! hold the rod a minute, Yorkey!"

The latter complied. George unb.u.t.toned and threw off his stable-jacket and began taking off his boots. Yorke contemplated his comrade's actions in speechless amazement. "Why, what the devil?--" he began--

"I'm not going to lose that fish," mumbled Redmond sulkily, as he threw off his clothes, "I'll get him by gum! if I have to dive to the depths of h.e.l.l."

"Say, now! don't be a fool!" cried Yorke, "that water's like ice, man!

You'll get cramped, and then the two of us'll drown. We-ll, of all the idiots!--"

George, by this time stripped to the buff, crept gingerly to the edge of the shelving bank. In his right hand he grasped--opened--a small pen-knife. "Aw, quit it!" he retorted rudely, "I'll only be under a minute--hold the line taut--straight up and down, Yorkey, so's I can see where to dive."

He drew a deep breath, and then, with the poise of a practised swimmer, dived--cutting the water with barely a splash. For the s.p.a.ce of a half-minute Yorke stared apprehensively at the swirling eddy, beneath which the other had vanished. The line still remained taut. Then he gave a gasp of relief, as Redmond's head re-appeared, and that young gentleman swam to the side. Extending a hand, the senior constable lugged his comrade to terra firma.

"That's good!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed fervently. "D----n the fish, anyway! I guess you couldn't make--" He broke off abruptly, and remained staring at the dripping George with startled eyes. The latter's face registered unutterable horror, and he shook as with the ague. Speech seemed beyond him. He could only mouth and point back to the gloomy depths whence he had just emerged.

"Here!" cried Yorke, with an oath, "whatever is the matter, Reddy? Man!

you look as if you'd seen a ghost!"

Then his own face blanched, as the s.h.i.+vering George bubbled incoherently, "B-b-body! b-b-body! My G.o.d, Yorkey! th-there's a s-s-stiff d-down th-there! Ugh! I d-d-dived right onto it!"

For a brief s.p.a.ce they remained staring at each other; then, a strange light of understanding broke over Yorke's face, and he made a s.n.a.t.c.h at Redmond's clothes. "Come!" he jerked out briskly. "Get 'em on quick, Red, else you'll catch your death of cold--never mind about drying yourself--you can change when you get back."

In s.h.i.+vering silence his comrade commenced to struggle into his underclothes and "fatigue-slacks." Yorke snapped the line and reeled in the slack. "Stiff!" he kept e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. "stiff! Yes, by gad! and I can make a pretty good guess who that stiff is! . . . Burke'll have all the evidence he wants--now. You beat it, Reddy, as soon as you're fit and get him. A run'll warm you up. The grappling-irons are back of the stable. And say! tell him to bring a good long rope. Lord, I hope Doctor c.o.x hasn't left yet. I'll stay here, Reddy. Hurry up!"