Northwest!

Deering heard hammers and the clang of rails. A construction gang was obviously at work and he imagined a trestle had broken or perhaps another train had jumped the track. When he waited at the station, he had not tried to hide himself; to do so was risky, since he imagined the police had warned the agent to study the passengers. If the agent had remarked him, the delay would be awkward and he wondered whether the telegraph wires were broken.

Jumping down, he went along the track and stopped in the strong light a blast-lamp threw across a gap. The road-bed was gone and a great bank of stones and snow rested on the hillside. Bent rails slanted into the hole and a broken telegraph pole hung by the tangled wires. Shovels rattled and a gang of men threw down soil and stones. Deering stopped one.

"How long is it since the land-slide cut the track?"

"About two hours since we got the call."

"Then, they rushed you up pretty quick. I expect you got the call by wire?"

The other indicated the broken post. "Wires went when the track went. The section man came for us on a trolley; we're grading for a new bridge a few miles down the line."

"Are you going to be long filling her up?"

"Three or four hours, I reckon. The boys are loading up the gravel train. But if the boss spots me talking, I'll get fired."

Deering pondered. If the agent had been warned to look out for him, the fellow had had time to telegraph before the wires broke, and the police could arrange to watch the stations or put a trooper on board the train. Deering did not think they had a warrant for his arrest, but they would try to use him in order to get on Jimmy's track. There was not much use in leaving the train, because he would be spotted when he boarded another. He resolved to go back to his berth and soon after he did so he went to sleep.

In the morning the train started. Deering got a good breakfast at a meal station and afterwards occupied a corner of a smoking compartment. Sleep and food had refreshed him and his mood was cheerful. He admitted he was perhaps ridiculous, but he had begun to enjoy his excursion; Deering was marked by a vein of rather boyish humor and to cheat the police amused him. By and by he speculated about his object for going after Jimmy when the warden was shot.

Jimmy had plunged into the gully sooner than let him go, but perhaps this did not account for all. Stannard had urged Jimmy to push for the plains, although Stannard ought to know the lad could not cross the mountains. Then he had indicated a line over the neck and Deering had stopped Jimmy at the top of a pitch that dropped to a horrible crevasse. The thing was strange and sinister, but Jimmy trusted Stannard. Deering did not. He was intrigued, and felt he ought to see Jimmy out.

After a time a police trooper came from the vestibule and stopped for a moment at the door of the smoking compartment. His glance rested carelessly on Deering, and then he went through into the car. At the next station the policeman got down and went to the office. When the train started Deering did not see him get on board, but people moved about and the end cars were behind the water tank.

In the afternoon, when he leaned back, half asleep, in his corner, the trooper came in again. Deering did not move, but his eyes were not altogether shut and he saw the fellow's glance was keen and fixed. In a moment or two the trooper turned his head, and going into the vestibule, did not shut the door quietly. Deering's curiosity was satisfied; the police knew he was on board.

Lighting his pipe, he looked out of the window. The train was speeding down the lower Fraser valley. Orchards, fields with white snake-fences, and wooden homesteads rolled by. The sun was near the hilltops and the shadows of the pines were long. When they reached Vancouver it would be dark and the trooper's duties would be undertaken by the municipal police. The Royal North-West had nothing to do with the British-Columbian cities; their business was in the wilds.

Deering pulled out his watch. A short distance from Vancouver they would stop at a junction where a line for Washington State branched off, but his business was not in Washington.

Fast steamers sailed from Vancouver for the ports on Puget Sound, and since the police would expect him to go on board, he thought he saw a plan. Some time after dark he went to the platform in front of the car. A half-moon shone between slow-moving clouds and he saw vague hills and sparkling water. Then the lights of anchored steamers began to twinkle and sawmill chimney stacks cut the sky. Lights in rows and clusters marked the front of a low hill, the cars rolled along the waterside, and presently stacks of lumber blocked the view. Then the whistle screamed, the brakes jarred, and the passengers began to push out from the vestibule.

Deering jumped down and looked about. Freight cars occupied the tracks and the dazzling beam from a locomotive's headlamp touched piles of goods and hurrying people. Round the tall electric standards were pools of light, but smoke and steam blew about the wharf and where the strong illumination was cut off all was dark. Bells tolled, wheels rattled, and the clang of the steamer's winches pierced the din. Her double row of passenger decks towered above the wharf, and Deering joined the crowd at the slanted gangway. He was willing for the city police to see him board the steamer.

At the top of the gangway a steward indicated the way to the second-class deck, but Deering pushed by and went to the saloon. Since he was playing a bush rancher's part, the police would expect him to travel second class, and he must for a few minutes put them off his track. As soon as the luggage was on board, the boat would start.

For the most part, the people were on deck, and the spacious saloon was quiet. Deering thought he did not look like a first-class passenger. His hair was long, his hat was battered, and Jardine's rather ragged clothes were tight on his big body. Searching the room with a keen glance, he stopped, for a group of three people occupied a seat at the other end. He wondered whether he ought to steal off, but Dillon jumped up.

"Why, it's Deering!" he exclaimed.

Laura started and her companion turned. Deering imagined the lady was Mrs. Dillon and he crossed the floor. Dillon's surprise was obvious, but he gave Deering his hand.

"We have been bothered about you for some time and it looks as if you had got up against it. But where's Jimmy?"

"Jimmy's at the shack we built in the rocks. What about the warden?"

"We can get no news. I imagine the police are hiding the fellow."

"Why did you leave Jimmy?" Laura interrupted, and Deering saw she did not altogether trust him. "Has he food and proper clothes? If he is in trouble, we must try to help."

"That is so," said Dillon. "If Jimmy wants me, I'll get off the boat."

"Jimmy's clothes are worse than mine, but he doesn't particularly want your help. I pulled out because I must transact some business, and I've pretty good grounds to imagine the police are on my track."

"I expect we'll sail in a few minutes," said Dillon. "Do you think the police know you got on board?"

Deering glanced at the others. He thought Laura imagined he had meant to join them and she was not yet satisfied. Mrs. Dillon was frankly annoyed.

"So long as they don't know I got off again, it's not important," he replied.

"Are you going to get off?"

"Certainly," said Deering and turned to Laura with a twinkle. "The trick is not remarkably fresh, but since the police reckon I'm bound for the United States, it ought to work. You see, Jimmy's my friend, and when I've put across my business I'm going back."

Laura gave him her hand. "I didn't know – I wish you luck! When you think we can help, you must send us a letter."

The whistle blew, a bell rang, and people began to enter the saloon.

"Thank you, Miss Stannard," said Deering and crossed the floor.

He went along an alley and through the second-class saloon to the deck in front. The steamer's bows were in the gloom and a number of wharf-hands hurried down a plank. Deering joined the row and followed the men to a cargo shed. The shed was dark, but the sliding doors on the other side were open and he crawled under a freight car and crossed the track. A minute or two afterwards he stopped. So far as he could see, nobody but a few train-hands were about; the steamer had swung away from the wharf and was steering for the Narrows. Deering laughed and went up the hill behind the water-front.

XXII

DEERING TAKES COUNSEL

A Canadian hotel is something of an inexpensive club. People who sleep elsewhere come for meals, and a number come to smoke and talk. In Western towns their manners and clothes are marked by sharp contrasts, but so long as they observe a few primitive rules, nobody inquires if they are customers of the house.

In consequence, when Deering stopped in front of an ambitious building he was not at all embarrassed. The noise he heard indicated that the rotunda was occupied, but while some of its occupants were, no doubt, important citizens, he expected to find lumbermen and miners from the bush whose clothes were like his. Pushing round the revolving doors, he went in, waited until he saw the clerk was engaged, and then went upstairs. A noisy electric elevator was running, but Deering thought he would not bother the boy.

On the second landing he opened a door. An electric lamp threw a strong light about the room, and a gentleman leaned back in a hardwood chair and rested his feet on the ornamental radiator. He was dressed like a prosperous citizen, and he gave Deering a keen glance.

"Hello!" he said. "Have you been in the woods?"

"Looks like that!" said Deering. "I want a razor and a bath; then I want a suit of clothes, the biggest standard size. I doubt if the clerk and bell-boys saw a bushman come up, but if they did so, I'd sooner they didn't see him come down."

"I can fix you," said the other, smiling. "All the same, I expect you must get a barber to finish the job."

When Deering used a glass he admitted that his friend's remark was justified, but so long as he looked like a wild man from the woods, to recline, wrapped in a white sheet, in a barber's front window had obvious drawbacks. As a rule, a North American barber carries on his occupation as publicly as possible. He got a bath, and when he returned to his friend's room Neilson gave him a cigar and they began to talk.

"Very well," said Neilson, "I can get the money for you and will soon fix up the other matters. I have sent for some clothes and booked your room. But you look as if you'd hit some adventures in the woods, and I'd rather like to know – "

"Perhaps you noted something in the newspapers about a game-warden's getting shot?"

"The Colonist printed a short paragraph; I imagined the police edited the story. Old man Salter knows his job, although the shooting was on the Royal North-West's ground. Anyhow, the tale left you to guess. But were you in it?"

"Sure thing," said Deering, dryly. "I'll tell you – "

When he finished his narrative, Neilson knitted his brows. He was frankly an adventurer, but he had his code and Deering trusted the fellow. Moreover, Neilson knew men, and particularly men who lived by exploiting others' weaknesses.

"I'm not a hunter. We'll cut out the shooting and concentrate on the gang," he said. "I want to get Stannard right. His occupation's ours?"

"Something like ours," Deering agreed. "We play a straight game, because we know a straight game pays; I've spotted Stannard using a crook's cheap trick. But he doesn't bet high at cards. His line's financing extravagant young suckers."

"Then, he's rich?"

"I think not. Not long since he wanted money. My notion is, he's got a partner in the Old Country who supplies him. Stannard's something of a highbrow and a smart clubman. He has qualities – I rather like the fellow, although I know him."

"What about the girl? Does Stannard use her?"

"Not at all," said Deering. "Miss Laura's straight; I doubt if she really knows her father's occupation. Maybe she's ambitious and calculating, but she's not his sort."

"Is Leyland much in Stannard's debt?"

"Stannard's an expensive friend; but I guess he wanted Jimmy for Laura and didn't take all he might. Still I expect Jimmy owes a useful sum, and Laura's going to marry Dillon."

"Ah," said Neilson, "perhaps that's important! I reckon Stannard has got Leyland insured?"

Deering nodded. He saw where Neilson's remarks led and on the whole agreed. He had given the fellow his confidence because he wanted to see the arguments another would use.

"Well," resumed Neilson, "what about Dillon and your guide?"

"Dillon was not in the woods. I don't know much about the guide. Bob's a queer fellow and is not all white. Then he has a pick on Jimmy. I reckon he took a shine to the rancher's daughter who is now Jimmy's girl."

"Jealousy bites hard, and I wouldn't trust a breed," Neilson remarked. "Well, perhaps we have got Bob's object; let's study Stannard's. Leyland's wanting the ranch girl wasn't in his plan, and when he knew Miss Stannard meant to marry Dillon he'd make another. Leyland owes him much, can't pay yet, and is insured. Let it go in the meantime, and weigh another thing. Leyland doesn't altogether know if he shot the warden, but if he did shoot him, he thought him a deer. All the same, he pulled out! Is the boy a fool? Is his nerve weak?"

"Jimmy's clean grit," said Deering. "Still he is a boy."

"Then it's possible he got rattled. Suppose when he was rattled an older man he trusted put it up to him that he ought to light out? The kid wouldn't ponder; he'd start."

"That is so," said Deering. "Stannard did talk like that."

Neilson shrugged meaningly. "Very well! I'm through with my argument. If we could find warden Douglas, he might tell us something useful. I'll try."

Deering thought the plan good. Neilson was a gambler, but his word went; in fact, Deering imagined it sometimes went with the police. Neilson knew the half-world, and now that he had undertaken an awkward job strange helpers would be put to work.

When he had lighted a fresh cigar he resumed: "I don't see your object for hiding in the woods."

"Sometimes I'm romantic; you don't know me yet," Deering said, and laughed. "Jimmy's my pal; when I came near getting a fall that would have knocked me out, he held me up. Then I was born a bushman and the bush calls. I like it in the woods and I'm keen about the detective game – " He stopped and went on in a thoughtful voice: "The strange thing is, when Jimmy went over the rocks, Stannard went after him. Snow and stones were coming down, but he stayed with the kid."

"That was when it looked as if Miss Stannard would marry your pal!" said Neilson meaningly. "Well, I wouldn't bother about the police. Watch out for Stannard —"

Somebody knocked at the door and Neilson, getting up, came back with a parcel.

"Your clothes," he said.

Deering put on the clothes and packed up Jardine's to be thrown into the harbor. For a few days he stopped at the hotel, and then Neilson admitted that his inquiries about Douglas had not carried him far.

"We know where he is and he's very sick, but that's all," he said. "The police mean to use him and he can't be got at."

"Then, I'll start for the woods," said Deering. "The trouble is to hit the proper line. It's possible the police are willing to leave me alone, but I mustn't help them get on to Jimmy."

In the morning he started for New Westminster, although this was not the line to the mountains. At Westminster he vanished in the meadows along the Fraser, and after a time turned north into the woods. In order to rejoin Jimmy, he must follow the great river gorge, and at Mission he risked getting on board the cars. Nobody bothered him, and at length he labored one evening up the rugged valley in which was the shack. He had bought a skin coat and carried a heavy pack, but he was not warm. The sky was dark and threatening, the ground was hard, and a bitter wind shook the tops of the stiff pines. Deering thought snow was coming and pushed on as fast as possible, until he saw a gleam of light.

A big fire threw a cheerful glow about the shack and Jimmy occupied a pile of branches by the snapping logs. He had pulled a blanket over his shoulders, but when he heard Deering's step he jumped up. Deering dropped his load, straightened his back and looked about.

"Where's the Indian?"

"He's gone," said Jimmy. "I expect he had enough. In fact, I'd begun to feel I'd had enough, and when I heard your step my relief was pretty keen."

"Oh, well," said Deering. "Let's get supper and then we'll talk."

When he had satisfied his appetite he narrated his adventures and his meeting Laura and Dillon.

"If you want Frank, he's your man and he might be useful," he remarked. "Then I reckon Miss Laura's willing for him to help. Your friends are good."

"That is so," said Jimmy, looking at Deering hard. "My friends are better than I deserve. But what about Douglas? Did you find out much?"

Deering admitted that he did not, but when he talked about Neilson he used some caution. Since Jimmy trusted Stannard, there was no use in trying to warn him; some time he would get enlightenment.

"On the whole, I think the police knew I was at Vancouver," he said. "Their plan was to hit my trail when I started back. I don't expect they did so, but it's possible. Anyhow, now the Indian's gone, and a cold snap threatens, we have got to quit. My plan's to start for your ranch."

"The ranch is not far from the railroad."

"Its being near the track has some advantages. Since the police searched the spot, I guess they're satisfied. Then we want food, and packing supplies for a long distance is a strenuous job. The Indian could move a useful load, but to carry fifty pounds across rocks and fallen trees makes me tired."

"A rifle, a blanket, and twenty pounds is my load," said Jimmy and resumed in a thoughtful voice: "Yet I started for the plains – "

Deering used some control and let Jimmy's remark go.

"You could not have made it," he said quietly. "But what about our jumping off?"

"We'll talk about it again," Jimmy replied. "I suppose we must go, but now you're back, I don't want to bother. You brace me up. Until I heard your step, I felt down and out."

He threw fresh wood on the fire, and soon afterwards they went to sleep. Jimmy's sleep was broken, and when he woke at daybreak he shivered. He did not want to get up, but he must fetch water. The kettle handle stung his skin, the pools on the creek were frozen, and he saw the snow had moved five or six hundred feet down the rocks. Rose-pink light touched the high peaks and hoar frost sparkled on the pines, but the stern beauty of the wilds was daunting. Jimmy wanted the deep valleys up which the soft Chinook blew.

When he went back, Deering was occupied at the fire. He looked up and remarked with a twinkle: "The cold is pretty fierce. If we're going to stay, you'll want a skin coat and another blanket."

"When we have got breakfast we'll start for the ranch," Jimmy replied.

XXIII

MARGARET TAKES A PLUNGE

For a time Jimmy was not disturbed at the ranch. On the high rocks the frost was keen, but in the deep valley a gentle wind from the Pacific melted the snow. Jimmy dared not order sawed lumber, but Jardine got him a door and windows and the house was warm. Sometimes he went shooting and sometimes he went to Kelshope. Jardine was friendly, but when the rancher had gone to look after his stock Jimmy was resigned. To sit by the fire and talk to Margaret was a delightful occupation.

At the beginning he had remarked her beauty, but now he knew beauty was not all her charm. Margaret was clever; she saw his point of view, and when she did not agree her argument was logical and keen. Then she was proud and fearless, and he sensed in her something primitive. Margaret was his sort and sprang from stock like his. Yet he felt her physical charm. Her eyes were sea-blue, and in the firelight her hair was like red California gold. She had a bushman's balance, and her unconscious pose was Greek. Although she was frank, with something of a great lady's frankness, Jimmy soon knew her fastidious.

But for his part in the shooting accident, his satisfaction would have been complete. It looked as if the police had resolved to leave him alone, and Deering had made one or two excursions to the cities, but Jimmy doubted. He knew the Royal North-West do not forget. Moreover, somebody shot Douglas, and on the whole he thought he had done so. Sometimes he wondered whether he ought to go to Kelshope, but all the same he went.

When Deering was at Calgary, Margaret one afternoon rode home from the station as fast as possible. At the ranch she took down the load of groceries but left the horse tied to a post. Jardine was by the fire and had pulled off his boot. In the morning he had cut his foot with his ax. He gave Margaret a keen glance and saw she had ridden fast.

"Weel?" he said. "Is something bothering ye?"

"Two troopers and their horses came in on the freight train. I expect they're looking for Mr. Leyland."

"Ah," said Jardine. "Somebody has given the lad away."

"Bob," said Margaret and her eyes sparkled.

Jardine knitted his brows. "Maybe, but I dinna ken; Bob hasna been around for long. Did the troopers saddle up?"

"When I left, they were cinching on their camp truck. I thought they'd soon start. Mr. Leyland can't come down the valley and Deering's not with him. Where is he to go?"

"If he could make Green Lake, Peter would put him on the Mission trail."

"He cannot make Green Lake," Margaret rejoined. "He doesn't know the bench country and must start in the dark."

"Jimmy must start soon. If he stays, the troopers will get him," Jardine agreed, and indicated his cut foot. "Somebody must warn the lad, but I canna gang."

Margaret tried to brace up, for she had not reckoned on her father's lameness. The strange thing was, Jardine had walked some distance to round up his cattle. She must, however, weigh this again. Speed was important and Jimmy was her friend; in fact, she had begun to think him her lover.

"You could ride the cayuse and carry the packs. If Mr. Leyland was not loaded he could make a good pace."

"The cayuse wouldna carry a weight like mine across the bench belt and Green Lake's a two-days' hike. I canna walk; I doubt if I could get on my boot," Jardine replied, and added with philosophical resignation: "It's a pity o' the lad! I expect the police are noo on the ranch trail, but I dinna see how we can help."

Margaret clenched her hands. Somebody must warn Jimmy and her father declared he could not. She looked at him hard and knew he could not be moved. He gave her an apologetic glance and began to fill his pipe, as if the thing was done with. Yet it was not done with. Margaret saw, rather vaguely because she refused to think about it, all her going to warn Jimmy implied, since if her help was to be useful, she must go with him to Green Lake. For a few moments she hesitated, but she was generous and her pluck was good. Then she turned to Jardine, who had begun to smoke.

"The police shall not get Mr. Leyland. I will go."

"Verra weel," said Jardine. "If ye mean to gang, ye had better start. Ye'll need to take some food; I'll get the saddle bag."

He crossed the floor and Margaret remarked that for a few steps he went lightly, as if his foot did not hurt. Then he limped, and when he got to the door he stopped and leaned against the post. All the same, it was not important and Margaret began to pack some food and clothes. Ten minutes afterwards, she untied the horse and gave Jardine her hand.

"Good-bye," she said in a quiet voice. "I don't know when I shall get back."

Jardine held the stirrup, she seized the bridle, set her mouth and started the horse. When she vanished in the woods Jardine went back to the house, rested his foot on a chair, and knitted his brows. He saw he ran some risk, but he knew his daughter and thought he knew Jimmy. Jimmy was a white man; Jardine, so to speak, bet all he had on that.

Some time afterwards, Jimmy, cooking his supper, heard a horse's feet and went to the door. He smiled, because he thought he knew the horse; but Margaret was obviously riding fast and snapping branches indicated that she had cut out a bend of the trail. When she got down her color was high and the horse's coat was white.