_ CHAPTER XIV. THE HUE AND CRY
"A thousand head of cattle, John! A thousand; and 'hustled' from under our very noses. By thunder! it is intolerable. Over thirty-five thousand dollars gone in one clean sweep. Why, I say, do we pay for the up-keep of the police if this sort of thing is allowed to go on? It is disgraceful. It means ruination to the country if a man cannot run his stock without fear of molestation. Who said that scoundrel Retief was dead--drowned in the great muskeg? It's all poppy-cock, I tell you; the man's as much alive as you or I. Thirty-five thousand dollars! By heavens!--it's--it's scandalous!"
Lablache leant forward heavily in his chair and rested his great arms upon John Allandale's desk. "Poker" John and he were seated in the former's office, whither the money-lender had come, post-haste, on receiving the news of the daring raid of the night before. The great man's voice was unusually thick with rage, and his asthmatical breathing came in great gusts as his passionate excitement grew under the lash of his own words. The old rancher gazed in stupefied amazement at the financier. He had not as yet fully realized the fact with which he had just been acquainted in terms of such sweeping passion. The old man's brain was none too clear in the mornings now. And the suddenness of the announcement had shocked his faculties into a state of chaos.
"Terrible--terrible," was all he was able to murmur. Then, bracing himself, he asked weakly, "But what are you to do?"
The weather-beaten old face was working nervously. The eyes, in the past keen and direct in their glance, were bloodshot and troubled. He looked like a man who was fast breaking up. Very different from the night when we first met him at the Calford Polo Club ball. There could be no doubt as to the origin of this swift change. The whole atmosphere of the man spoke of drink.
Lablache turned on him without any attempt to conceal the latent ferocity of his nature. The heavy, pouchy jowl was scarlet with his rage. The money-lender had been flicked upon a very raw and tender spot. Money was his god.
"What am I to do?" he retorted savagely. "What are
we to do? What is all the ranching world of Alberta to do? Why, fight, man. Hound this scoundrel to his lair. Follow him--track him. Hunt him from bush to bush until we fall upon him and tear him limb from limb. Are we going to sit still while he terrorizes the whole country? While he 'hustles' every head of stock from us, and--and spirits it away? No, if we spend fortunes upon his capture we must not rest until he swings from a gibbet at the end of his own lariat."
"Yes, of course--of course," the rancher responded, his cheek twitching weakly. "You are quite right, we must hunt this scoundrel down. But we know what has gone before--I mean, before he was supposed to have died. The man could never be traced. He seemed to vanish into thin air. What do you propose?"
"Yes, but that was two years ago," said Lablache, moodily. "Things may be different now. A thousand head of cattle does not vanish so easily. There is bound to be some trace left behind. And then, the villain has only got a short start of us. I sent a messenger over to Stormy Cloud Settlement the first thing this morning. A sergeant and four men will be sent to work up the case. I expect them here at any moment. As justices of the peace it devolves on both of us to set an example to the settlers, and we shall then receive hearty co-operation. You understand, John," the money-lender went on, with pompous assertiveness, "although, at present, I am the chief sufferer by this scoundrel's depredations, it is plainly your duty as much as mine to take this matter up."
The first rough storm of Lablache's passion had passed. He was "yanking" himself up to the proper attitude for the business in hand. Although he had calmed considerably his lashless eyes gleamed viciously, and his flabby face wore an expression which boded ill for the object of his rage, should that unfortunate ever come within the range of his power.
"Poker" John was struggling hard to bring a once keen intellect to bear upon the affair. He had listened to the money-lender's account of the raid with an almost doubtful understanding, the chief shock to which was the re-appearance of the supposed dead Retief, that prince of "hustlers," who, two years ago, had terrorized the neighborhood by his impudent raids. At last his mind seemed to clear and he stood up. And, bending across the desk as though to emphasize his words, he showed something of the old spirit which had, in days gone by, made him a successful rancher.
"I don't believe it, Lablache. This is some damned yarn to cover the real culprit. Why, man, Peter Retief is buried deep in that reeking keg, and no slapsided galoot's goin' to pitch such a crazy notion as his resurrection down my throat. Retief? Why, I'd as lief hear that Satan himself was abroad duffing cattle. Bah! Where's the 'hand' that's gulled you?"
Lablache eyed the old man curiously. He was not sure that there might not be some truth in the rancher's forcible skepticism. For the moment the old man's words carried some weight, then, as he remembered the unvarnished tale the cowboy had told, he returned to his conviction. He shook his massive head.
"No one has gulled me, John. You shall hear the story for yourself as soon as the police arrive. You will the better be able to judge of the fellow's sincerity."
At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs came in through the open window. Lablache glanced out on to the veranda.
"Ah, here he is, and I'm glad to see they've sent Sergeant Horrocks. The very man for the work. Good," and he rubbed his fat hands together. "Horrocks is a great prairie man."
"Poker" John rose and went out to meet the officer. Later he conducted him into the office. Sergeant Horrocks was a man of medium height, slightly built, but with an air of cat-like agility about him. He was very bronzed, with a sharp, rather than a clever face. His eyes were black and restless, and a thin mouth, hidden beneath a trim black mustache, and a perfectly-shaped aquiline nose, completed the sum of any features which might be called distinctive. He was a man who was thoroughly adapted to his work--work which needed a cool head and quick eye rather than great mental attainments. He was dressed in a brown canvas tunic with brass buttons, and his riding breeches were concealed in, a pair of well-worn leather "chaps." A Stetson hat worn at the exact angle on his head, with his official "side arms" secured round his waist, completed a very picturesque appearance.
"Morning, Horrocks," said the money-lender. "This is a pretty business you've come down on. Left your men down in the settlement, eh?"
"Yes. I thought I'd come and hear the rights of the matter straight away. According to your message you are the chief victim of this 'duffing' business?"
"Exactly," replied Lablache, with a return to his tone of anger, "one thousand head of beeves! Thirty-five thousand dollars' worth!" Then he went on more calmly: "But wait a moment, we'll send down for the 'hand' that brought in the news."
A servant was despatched, and a few minutes later Jim Bowley entered. Jacky, returning from the corrals, entered at the same time. Directly she had seen the police horse outside she knew what was happening. When she appeared Lablache endeavored to conceal a look of annoyance. Sergeant Horrocks raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was not accustomed to petticoats being present at his councils. John, however, without motive, waived all chance of objection by anticipating his guests.
"Sergeant, this is my niece, Jacky. Affairs of the prairie affect her as nearly as they do myself. Let us hear what this man has to tell us."
Horrocks half bowed to the girl, touching the brim of his hat with a semi-military salute. Acquiescence to her presence was thus forced upon him.
Jacky looked radiant in spite of the uncouthness of her riding attire. The fresh morning air was the tonic she loved, and, as yet, the day was too young for the tired shadows to have crept into her beautiful face. Horrocks, in spite of his tacit objection, was forced to admire the sturdy young face of this child of the prairie.
Jim Bowley plunged into his story with a directness and simplicity which did not fail to carry conviction. He told all he knew without any attempt at shielding himself or his companions. Horrocks and the old rancher listened carefully to the story. Lablache looked for discrepancies but found none. Jacky, whilst paying every attention, keenly watched the face of the money-lender. The seriousness of the affair was reflected in all the faces present, whilst the daring of the raid was acknowledged by the upraised brows and wondering ejaculations which occasionally escaped the police-officer and "Poker" John. When the narrative came to a close there followed an impressive pause. Horrocks was the first to break it.
"And how did you obtain your release?"
"A Mennonite family, which had bin travelin' all night, came along 'bout an hour after daylight. They pitched camp nigh on to a quarter mile from the bluff w'ere we was tied up. Then they came right along to look fur kindlin'. There wasn't no other bluff for half a mile but ours. They found us all three. Young Nat 'ad got 'is collar-bone broke. Them 'ustlers 'adn't lifted our 'plugs' so I jest came right in."
"Have you seen these Mennonites?" asked the officer, turning sharply to the money-lender.
"Not yet," was the heavy rejoinder. "But they are coming in."
The significance of the question and the reply nettled the cowboy.
"See hyar, mister, I ain't no coyote come in to pitch yarns. Wot I've said is gospel. The man as 'eld us up was Peter Retief as sure as I'm a living man. Sperrits don't walk about the prairie 'ustling cattle, an' I guess 'is 'and was an a'mighty solid one, as my jaw felt when 'e gagged me. You take it from me, 'e's come around agin to make up fur lost time, an' I guess 'e's made a tidy haul to start with."
"Well, we'll allow that this man is the hustler you speak of," went on Horrocks, bending his keen eyes severely on the unfortunate cowboy. "Now, what about tracking the cattle?"
"Guess I didn't wait fur that, but it'll be easy 'nough."
"Ah, and you didn't recognize the man until you'd seen his horse?"
The officer spoke sharply, like a counsel cross-examining a witness.
"Wal, I can't say like that," said Jim, hesitating for the first time. "His looks was familiar, I 'lows. No, without knowing of it I'd recognized 'im, but 'is name didn't come along till I see that beast, Golden Eagle. I 'lows a good prairie hand don't make no mistake over cattle like that. 'E may misgive a face, but a beastie--no, siree."
"So you base your recognition of the man on the identity of his horse. A doubtful assertion."
"Thar ain't no doubt in my mind, sergeant. Ef you'll 'ave it so, I did--some."
The officer turned to the other men.
"If there's nothing more you want this man for, gentlemen, I have quite finished with him--for the present. With your permission," pulling out his watch, "I'll get him to take me to the er--scene of disaster in an hour's time."
The two men nodded and Lablache conveyed the necessary order to the man, who then withdrew.
As soon as Bowley had left the room three pairs of eyes were turned inquiringly upon the officer.
"Well?" questioned Lablache, with some show of eagerness.
Horrocks shrugged a pair of expressive shoulders.
"From his point of view the man speaks the truth," he replied decisively. "And," he went on, more to himself than to the others, "we never had any clear proof that the scoundrel, Retief, came to grief. From what I remember things were very hot for him at the time of his disappearance. Maybe the man's right. However," turning to the others, "I should not be surprised if Mr. Retief has overreached himself this time. A thousand head of cattle cannot easily be hidden, or, for that matter, disposed of. Neither can they travel fast; and as for tracking, well," with a shrug, "in this case it should be child's play."
"I hope it will prove as you anticipate," put in John Allandale, concisely. "What you suggest has been experienced by us before. However, the matter, I feel sure, is in capable hands."
The officer acknowledged the compliment mechanically. He was thinking deeply. Lablache struggled to his feet, and, supporting his bulk with one hand resting upon the desk, gasped out his final words upon the matter.
"I want you to remember, sergeant, this matter not only affects me personally but also in my capacity as a justice of the peace. To whatever reward I am able to make in the name of H.M. Government I shall add the sum of one thousand dollars for the recovery of the cattle, and the additional sum of one thousand dollars for the capture of the miscreant himself. I have determined to spare no expense in the matter of hunting this devil," with vindictive intensity, "down, therefore you can draw on me for all outlay your work may entail. All I say is, capture him."
"I shall do my best, Mr. Lablache," Horrocks replied simply. "And now, if you will permit me, I will go down to the settlement to give a few orders to my men. Good-morning--er--Miss Allandale; good day, gentlemen. You will hear from me to-night."
The officer left in all the pride of his official capacity. And possibly his pride was not without reason, for many and smart were the captures of evil-doers he had made during his career as a keeper of the peace. But we have been told that "pride goeth before a fall." His estimation of a "hustler" was not an exalted one. He was accustomed to dealing with men who shoot quick and straight--"bad men" in fact--and he was equally quick with the gun, and a dead shot himself. Possibly he was a shade quicker and a trifle more deadly than the smartest "bad man" known, but now he was dealing with a man of all these necessary attainments and whose resourcefulness and cleverness were far greater than his own. Sergeant Horrocks had a harder road to travel than he anticipated.
Lablache took his departure shortly afterwards, and "Poker" John and his niece were left in sole possession of the office at the ranch.
The old man looked thoroughly wearied with the mental effort the interview had entailed upon him. And Jacky, watching him, could not help noticing how old her uncle looked. She had been a silent observer in the foregoing scene, her presence almost ignored by the other actors. Now, however, that they were left alone, the old man turned a look of appealing helplessness upon her. Such was the rancher's faith in this wild, impetuous girl that he looked for her judgment on what had passed in that room with the ready faith of one who regards her as almost infallible, where human intellect is needed. Nor was the girl, herself, slow to respond to his mute inquiry. The swiftness of her answer enhanced the tone of her conviction.
"Set a thief to catch a thief, Uncle John. I guess Horrocks, in spite of his shifty black eyes, isn't the man for the business. He might track the slimmest neche that ever crossed the back of a choyeuse. Lablache is the man Retief has to fear. That uncrowned monarch of Foss River is subtle, and subtlety alone will serve. Horrocks?" with fine disdain. "Say, you can't shoot snipe with a pea-shooter."
"That's so," replied John, with weary thoughtlessness. "Do you know, child, I can't help feeling a strange satisfaction that this Retief's victim is Lablache. But there, one never knows, when such a man is about, who will be the next to suffer. I suppose we must take our chance and trust to the protection of the police."
The girl had walked to the window and now stood framed in the casement of it. She turned her face back towards the old man as he finished speaking, and a quiet little smile hovered round the corners of her fresh ripe lips.
"I don't think Retief will bother us any--at least, he never did before. Somehow I don't think he's an ordinary rascal." She turned back to the window. "Hulloa, I guess Bill's coming right along up the avenue."
A moment later "Lord" Bill, lazily cheerful as was his wont, stepped in through the open French window. The selling up of his ranch seemed to have made little difference to his philosophical temperament. In his appearance, perhaps, for now he no longer wore the orthodox dress of the rancher. He was clad in a tweed lounging suit, and a pair of well-polished, brown leather boots. His headgear alone pertained to the prairie. It was a Stetson hat. He was smoking a cigarette as he came up, but he threw the insidious weed from him as he entered the room.
"Morning, John. How are you, Jacky? I needn't ask you if you have heard the news. I saw Sergeant Horrocks and old Shylock leaving your veranda. Hot lot--isn't it? And all Lablache's cattle, too."
A look of deep concern was on his keen face. Lablache might have been his dearest friend. Jacky smiled over at him. "Poker" John looked pained.
"Guess you're right, Bill," said the rancher. "Hot--very hot. I pity the poor devil if Lablache lays a hand on him. Excuse me, boy, I'm going down to the barn. We've got a couple of ponies we're breaking to harness."
The old man departed. The others watched the burly figure as he passed out of the door. His whole personality seemed shrunken of late. The old robustness seemed a thing of the past. The last two months seemed to have put ten years of ageing upon the kindly old man. Jacky sighed as the door closed behind him, and there was no smile in her eyes as she turned again to her lover. Bill's face had become serious.
"Well?" in a tone of almost painful anxiety.
The girl had started forward and was leaning with her two brown hands upon the back of a chair. Her face was pale beneath her tan, and her eyes were bright with excitement. For answer, Bunning-Ford stepped to the French window and closed it, having first glanced up and down the veranda to see that it was empty. Not a soul was in sight. The tall pines, which lined the approach to the house, waved silently in the light breeze. The clear sky was gloriously blue. On everything was the peace of summer.
The man swung round and came towards the girl. His eagle face was lit up by an expression of triumph. He held out his two hands, and the girl placed her own brown ones in them. He drew her towards him and embraced her in silence. Then he moved a little away from her. His gleaming eyes indexed the activity of his mind.
"The cattle are safe--as houses. It was a grand piece of work, dear. They would never have faced the path without your help. Say, girlie, I'm an infant at handling stock compared with you. Now--what news?"
Jacky was smiling tenderly into the strong face of the man. She could not help but wonder at the reckless daring of this man, who so many set down as a lazy good-for-nothing. She knew--she had always known, she fancied--the strong character which underlay that indolent exterior. It never appealed to her to regret the chance that had driven him to use his abilities in such a cause. There was too much of the wild half-breed blood in her veins to allow her to stop to consider the might-have-beens. She gloried in his daring, and something of the spirit which had caused her to help her half-brother now forced from her an almost worshiping adoration for her lover.
"Horrocks is to spare no expense in tracking--Retief--down." She laughed silently. "Lablache is to pay. They are going over the old ground again, I guess. The tracks of the cattle. Horrocks is not to be feared. We must watch Lablache. He will act. Horrocks will only be his puppet."
Bill pondered before he spoke.
"Yes," he said thoughtfully at last, "that is the best of news. The very best. Horrocks can track. He is one of the best at that game. But I have taken every precaution. Tracking is useless--waste of time."
"I know that from past experience, Bill. Now that the campaign has begun, what is the next move?"
The girl was all eagerness. Her beautiful dark face was no longer pale. It was aglow with the enthusiasm of her feelings. Her deep, meaning eyes burned with a consuming brilliancy. Framed in its setting of curling, raven hair, her face would have rejoiced the heart of the old masters of the Van Dyke school. She was wondrously beautiful. Bill gazed upon her features with devouring eyes, and thoughts of the wrongs committed by Lablache against her and hers teemed through his brain and set his blood surging through his veins in a manner that threatened to overbalance his usual cool judgment. He forced himself to an outward calmness, however, and the lazy tones of his voice remained as easy as ever.
"On the result of the next move much will depend," he said. "It is to be a terrific
coup, and will entail careful planning. It is fortunate that the people at the half-breed camp are the friends of--of--Retief."
"Yes, and of mine," put in the girl. Then she added slowly, and as though with painful thought, "Say, Bill, be--be careful. I guess you are all I have in the world--you and uncle. Do you know, I've kind of seen to the end of this racket. Maybe there's trouble coming. Who's to be lagged I can't say. There are shadows around, Bill; the place fairly hums with 'em. Say, don't--don't give Lablache a slant at you. I can't spare you, Bill."
The tall thin figure of her companion stepped over towards her, and she felt herself encircled by his long powerful arms. Then he bent down from his great height and kissed her passionately upon the lips.
"Take comfort, little girl. This is a war, if necessary, to the death. Should anything happen to me, you may be sure that I leave you freed from the snares of old Shylock. Yes, I will be careful, Jacky. We are playing for a heavy stake. You may trust me." _