Sergeant Silk the Prairie Scout Part 4

"Ah!" cried Silk. "That is significant. It means that it was with his own weapon that Henri Jolicoeur was killed."

"Yes," Dan agreed. "His mother saw him handling the dagger, day before yesterday, but she didn't know he'd taken it out with him."

"I see," nodded the sergeant. "It was probably s.n.a.t.c.hed from his belt--and used--while he stood up beside the maple tree. In that case it isn't of much further use as a clue. Did you discover the name of his enemy? He must, after all, have been afraid of being attacked."

"It seems he had several enemies," said Dan Medlicott. "There was d.i.c.k Transom for one, who hated him like poison, and Emile Guyot for another, who owed him a grudge on account of some gambling affair."

"It wasn't Transom," promptly decided Sergeant Silk. "d.i.c.k Transom has lost one of his front teeth. And it wasn't Emile Guyot, for he is in prison at Moose Jaw. Any others?"

"Henri's mother believes it was Flying Feather," Dan went on. "They had a bad quarrel just after the races in the spring. But I a.s.sured her that it wasn't an Indian who did it. The only other enemies of Henri's that she could think of were Pierre Roche and Adolf Simon, both of them half-breeds; but she didn't reckon it could be either of them who took her son's life."

Silk repeated the two names thoughtfully as he turned to remount.

"Pierre Roche?--Adolf Simon? Let's see! Yes. Thank you, Dan; I was right about two heads being better than one. You have put me on a new scent. I hope you haven't mentioned either of these men to any one else?"

"Not I," Dan a.s.sured him, adding, as the soldier policeman leapt into his saddle: "Aren't you coming into the house to have some breakfast?"

Silk shook his head.

"I am on duty," he answered. "I am off to Pincher's Creek. That is where Adolf Simon and Pierre Roche usually hang out."

"Then it's one of them that you suspect?" said Dan.

"I did not say so," smiled Silk, touching his pony's side with his spurred heel.

He rode through the stifling heat of the summer noon across the parched prairie and among the winding valleys of the foothills, arriving at Pincher's Creek in the early evening, covered with dust, but with his well-cared-for broncho as free from fatigue as he was himself.

No one guessed what he had come for. The ranchers and cowboys supposed that his purpose was only to make one of his periodical patrol visits to inquire into any complaints that they might have to make, and to see that the settlers' homesteads were guarded against fire, as the law required them to be.

Silk made the tour of the far-stretching cornfields, where the men were at work harvesting the ripe grain, and when the labours in the fields were over and he had taken supper with the ranch-master's family, he strolled down to the bunkhouse, where most of the hands fed and slept.

He entered very casually, and was greeted as a friend.

At first he gave his attentions to the white men, but presently he approached a group of Indians and half-breeds. Amongst the latter he had seen Adolf Simon, one of the men against whom his suspicions were directed. Adolf was now seated at the end of a bench, rolling a cigarette, while he chattered volubly in Canadian French to his companions.

"Say, Adolf, are you making that f.a.g for me?" Silk inquired.

The half-breed looked up and smiled, showing his white and even teeth under a small, black moustache.

"Oh! but yes, if m'sieur will accept," he answered gaily, as he delicately held forth the cigarette ready to be licked. "_Voila!_"

Sergeant Silk took it and ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of the paper, smoothing it down neatly and nipping off the shreds of tobacco which protruded from the ends. He crumpled the fragments between a finger and thumb and sniffed at them critically.

"Ah! you no like such tabac," said Adolf. "It ees no good for mek de cigarette; only good for pipe, eh?"

"I dare say it smokes all right," nodded Silk, striking a match.

He was not concerned whether the tobacco were good or bad. What he wished to discover was whether it was the same quality as the tobacco in the cigarettes smoked by Henri Jolicoeur and his enemy at the foot of the maple tree in Grey Wolf Forest. He quickly a.s.sured himself that it was different. It was darker and coa.r.s.er. He noticed also that the paper used by Adolf was yellow instead of white.

As he lighted the cigarette Silk glanced down at Adolf's feet. They were clad in very much worn moccasins. Already he had decided that Adolf Simon was not the criminal of whom he was in search. Nevertheless, he put his judgment to the proof. Watching the half-breed's face, he casually asked--

"Say, Adolf, have you seen anything of your friend Henri Jolicoeur, lately?"

Adolf's countenance betrayed no agitation at this abrupt mention of a name which would certainly have disturbed his conscience had he been guilty.

"Henri Jolicoeur?" he repeated, pausing in rolling another cigarette. "He is no friend of mine. I tink you mek meestek, Sergeant. Once--long tam since--we was _bons camarades_, but since two, tree month we 'ave nevaire speak. We 'ave not meet. Dere is no occasion, you un'erstand."

"In that case," returned the soldier policeman, "it is needless for me to ask you anything about him. I shall probably get all the information I require from Pierre Roche. Pierre is on the ranch here, isn't he."

Adolf sent a very long, slow jet of tobacco smoke into the air and watched it fade.

"Not since four day," he responded, meeting Silk's keen scrutiny. "He 'ave mek heemself absent on private affair."

Presently, when Silk went out of the bunkhouse, Adolf followed him at a distance and overtook him as he came within sight of the lighted windows of the homestead.

"Pardon, Sergeant," he began mysteriously. "Why you come here, nosing round? I tink you come for de special police duty, eh? Is not dat so?"

"It is possible," admitted Silk. "But is there anything wonderful in that? Why are you anxious about my being here--on special police duty?"

Adolf shrugged his shoulders.

"You spek of Henri Jolicoeur, of Pierre Roche," he went on. "You savee dey was enemy, hating each oder lak de poison--what? You 'ave discover som'ting."

Sergeant Silk stood facing the half-breed looking into his dark, alert eyes, wondering if he were to be trusted.

"Why, cert'nly," he nodded. "I have discovered something. I have discovered the dead body of Henri Jolicoeur in Grey Wolf Forest."

"So?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Adolf, with less surprise than might have been expected. "_Tiens! tiens!_ And you 'ave come for try mek de arrest of Pierre Roche? Dat is ver' queek, certainly. You 'ave lose no tam. But dere is no use you come 'ere. He no come back to Pincher's Creek. It ees de las' place he come to."

"You appear to have no doubt of his guilt, anyway, Adolf," observed Silk.

"But what would you?" rejoined the half-breed. "Was it not hees intention? Many tam I hear heem say he will tek de life of Henri Jolicoeur. Yes, many tam. And now he 'ave tek it! Well, M'sieu', it will be ver' interesting suppose you catch heem. You are clever tracker, Sergeant Silk. You catch many criminal. But you no catch Pierre Roche.

It is impossible, absolutely. You nevaire catch heem--nevaire. He 'ave too many friend. He ees too cunning--cunning as de fox."

"There can be no harm in trying," Silk smiled. "Canada is a large country, and there are many places where a hunted criminal may hide successfully--for a while. But Pierre Roche will not escape."

"We shall see," laughed Adolf, turning on his heel.

CHAPTER IV

THE FUGITIVE AND HIS PURSUER

Sergeant Silk had at least the satisfaction that he had now discovered the ident.i.ty of the man who had taken the life of Henri Jolicoeur, and that same night, without resting, he hastened to the nearest police depot to telegraph his report to head-quarters at Regina. He waited for a reply, which came in the early morning, intimating that Pierre Roche must be captured, dead or alive. The whole Force would see to it that he was caught and brought to justice.

Roche had long been suspected as a persistent law breaker, but he had never yet been convicted. More than half an Indian, he had all the Redskin's cunning in covering his traces and evading detection; but now the evidence against him was more than a mere suspicion.