Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 20

"Isn't it obvious, after what you heard the man admit?"

Muriel stopped, the color creeping into her face, which was filled with anger.

"It's impossible that Mr. Prescott could have had any connection with Cyril's disappearance. It's wicked and cruel to suspect him!"

"You seem strangely convinced of his innocence," Gertrude retorted with a somber glance at her. "We shall see by and by whether you or my father is right."

They walked on slowly, and shortly afterward two mounted figures appeared on the plain. Gertrude watched them draw near, and then turned to her companion.

"The police; we have been expecting them," she said. "My father sent a message to the corporal after Prescott had gone."

"Then he will be deeply ashamed of his harshness before long," Muriel declared as she abruptly moved away.

Gertrude let her go with a cruel smile. She thought she knew how matters stood, and if the girl were suffering, she had no pity for her. Then she waited until the police trotted by, and afterward walked slowly toward the house. On reaching it, she met Curtis coming out and he asked for a word with her.

"I understand you were the last person to see Prescott when he left this place the other night," he said.

Gertrude admitted it, watching the man. He looked disturbed, as if he did not know what to think. Private Stanton was sitting in his saddle with an expressionless face a few yards away, but she imagined it was intended that he should hear her answers.

"Well," Curtis resumed, "I have to ask what he said to you; anyway, so far as it bears on the business we have in hand. You know why I was sent for?"

Gertrude hesitated. She was very angry with Prescott, and there was a statement he had made which would prove damaging to him if she repeated part of it without the rest. She shrank from this course, but her rancor against the man suddenly grew too strong for her.

"I suppose I must answer that?"

"It's your duty."

"Then," she said in a strained voice, "Mr. Prescott told me he was going away."

"Going away!" Curtis looked astonished. "I guess you realize that this is a serious matter. Did he mention when?"

"I understood it would be very soon." Gertrude looked at the man haughtily. "That is all I have to tell."

She went into the house, feeling that she had said enough, and Curtis motioned to his companion and rode away. They had gone some distance when Stanton turned to his superior.

"Pretty significant. What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"I'll have to apply for a warrant."

"You certainly will."

"Well," Curtis went on, "this thing isn't quite so simple as it seems. To begin with, it's my idea that Miss Jernyngham hasn't told us all she knows; you want to remember that Prescott's a good-looking fellow with a taking manner. I can see complications, though I can't get the right drift of them."

"Guess the matter will be worse mussed up if Prescott lights out. Now that Bardsley's gone down the line, you can't get your warrant for a day or two."

"That's so," Curtis agreed. "I'll make for the settlement and wire Bardsley and our bosses at Regina; you'll ride on and keep Prescott in sight--though it would be better if you didn't let him know you were watching him. When he clears, take the trail behind him and send back word to Sebastian. Soon as I get the warrant or instructions, I'll come after you."

They separated and some time later Stanton took up his station in a bluff which commanded a view of the Prescott homestead. Lying hidden with his horse, he saw the rancher drive up and disappear within the house.

Prescott had been very busy during the past two days and had found strenuous application something of a relief. He recognized that suspicion was centering on him and that he might expect a visit from the police, but the only way of proving his innocence that he could see was to produce his supposed victim. He foresaw that it might take a long while to find the man, and he must make preparations for a lengthy absence. The risk he ran in remaining until he had completed them was grave, but there was a vein of dogged persistency in him and he would not go before he was ready.

He had, however, other matters to think of. Miss Jernyngham had turned against him; after the confidence she had expressed, he could not understand why she had done so. Muriel Hurst, however, still believed in him, which was a comforting thought, though he would not permit himself to dwell on it. He loved the girl, but it seemed impossible that she should marry him. There was so much against this: the mode of life to which she had been accustomed, his obscure position, the prejudices of her relations. He blamed himself for not struggling more determinedly against the charm she had exerted on him; but it was too late to regret this now. He must bear his trouble and try to think of her as seldom as possible, which would be the easier, inasmuch as the work that waited him would demand his close attention. As soon as it grew dark that evening, he must set off on his search for Cyril Jernyngham.

Dusk was falling when he rode away from the homestead with a couple of blankets and provisions for a few days strapped to his saddle. Though he could trust Svendsen to look after things in his absence, he was anxious and dejected, and it was with keen regret that he cast a last glance across the sweep of shadowy stubble toward the lighted windows of the house. All he saw belonged to him; he had by patient labor in frost and scorching sun built up the farm, and he was conscious of a strong love for it. It was hard to go away, an outcast, branded with black suspicion, leaving the place in another's charge; but there was no remedy.

The sky was faintly clouded, the moon, which was near its setting, obscured; the prairie ran back, dim and blurred; the air was keen and still. Prescott thought he heard a soft beat of hoofs behind him. He could, however, see n.o.body, and he rode on faster, heading for the house of a neighbor with whom he had some business, near the trail to the settlement. After a while he pulled up, and listening carefully heard the sound again. It looked as if he were being followed and he thought that if the police were on his trail, they would expect him to make for the American frontier, and to do that he must pa.s.s through or near Sebastian.

If they believed this was his object, it might save him trouble, for he meant to ride north in search of Jernyngham after calling at the farm.

Checking his horse, he rode on without haste until it became obvious that the man behind was drawing up, then he set off at a gallop. Behind the farm he meant to visit lay a belt of broken ground, marked by scrub and scattered bluffs, where it should not be difficult to evade his pursuer.

The staccato thud of the gallop would ring far through the still, night air, but this was of no consequence; he was some distance ahead and his horse was fresh and powerful. In a few minutes he believed that he was gaining and when he rode into sight of the little wooden house, which showed up black against the sky with one dim light in it, he was seized by a new idea. A horse stood outside the door, and he supposed the rancher had just returned. The man was a friend of Prescott's and believed in his innocence.

"Larry," he cried as he rode up, and added when a shadowy figure came out: "You can send along your teams and do that breaking we were speaking of. Svendsen will pay you when you're through with it. I'm off to the north."

"Ah!" exclaimed the other sharply. "I guess I know what you're after. It strikes me you should have gone before."

He paused with a lifted hand as he heard the drumming of hoofs, and Prescott laughed.

"That's so. I believe you'll have a police trooper here in the next few minutes. Your horse is still saddled?"

"Yes; I've just come back from Gillom's."

"Then get up and ride for the settlement. Mail an order for some harness or anything useful to Regina by the night train, when you get there; you can let Svendsen have the bill. You had better go pretty fast and keep ahead of the trooper as long as you can. I guess you understand."

"Sure," grinned the other, and getting into the saddle, rode away at a smart trot, while Prescott dismounted and led his horse quietly toward the nearest bluff.

On reaching it he stopped and, listening carefully, heard the rancher riding down the trail to Sebastian, and another beat of hoofs that grew rapidly louder. By and by he made out a dim mounted figure that pressed on fast across the shadowy waste, and for a few anxious moments wondered whether the policeman would call at the house and discover its owner's absence. He pa.s.sed on, however, and was presently lost in the darkness.

When the drumming of his horse's hoofs gradually died away, Prescott mounted and rode hard toward the north. It would, he thought, be an hour or two before the trooper found out his mistake; the rancher would not betray him, and there was a prospect of his getting clear away.

CHAPTER XIII

THE CONSTRUCTION CAMP

The light was fading when Prescott walked into sight of the construction camp. It was situated on the edge of a belt of a muskeg sprinkled with birches and small pines, where the new railroad, leaving the open country to the south, ran up toward the great coniferous forest that fringes the northern portion of the prairie. Prescott had sold his horse at a lonely farm and he was now tired and hungry, but he felt satisfied that he was on the right track and had succeeded in eluding the police. Curtis and Private Stanton were men of fixed ideas; believing Jernyngham to be dead, they had, no doubt, merely made a few perfunctory inquiries at the nearest railroad camps. Moreover, as they had reason for concluding that Prescott would seek refuge across the American boundary, they would concentrate their efforts on looking for him there. Accordingly, he felt safe from pursuit.

By and by he stopped to look about. To the eastward all was gray, a dim waste of gra.s.s dotted with shadowy trees; but a vivid band of green still glowed on the western horizon. In front lay a broad shallow basin, streaked with filmy trails of mist, between which came the wan gleam of little pools. A causeway stretched out into the mora.s.s, sprinkled with the indistinct figures of toiling men. At its inner end, where it left the higher ground, a row of cars stood on a side-track, and near-by there were ranged straggling lines of tents and wooden shacks. Wisps of blue smoke drifted across the swamp, and a beam of strong white light streamed out from the electric head-lamp of a locomotive. The still air was filled with the clink of shovels, the clang of flung-down rails, and the sharp rattle of falling gravel.

Going on until he reached the camp, Prescott stopped beside a group of men sitting about a fire, and loosed the heavy pack that galled his shoulders.

"If you can give me a place to lie down and a bit of supper, boys, I'd be obliged," he said.

Two or three of them turned and looked at him without much curiosity.

They were strong, brown-faced fellows, dressed in old duck overalls and slate-colored s.h.i.+rts, with shapeless hats and dilapidated knee-boots.

"Why, certainly," responded one in a clean English intonation. "However, as we're paying for our board, we'll have to invite you as the guest of the construction contractor; but there's no reason you should be shy about accepting his hospitality. Sit down until Shan Li brings the grub along."