Bindloss Harold
Delilah of the Snows

XIX
TROOPER PROBYN COMES BACK

It was late next night when the corporal reached the police outpost, and on the following morning Esmond and Major Coulthurst sat at a little table in the latter's dwelling. The corporal, who had told his story concisely, had just gone out, and Coulthurst, who rolled an unlighted cigar between his fingers, was grave in face. Esmond glanced at him inquiringly.

"It is, in one respect, not exactly your business; but you and I are between us responsible for the tranquillity of the Green River country, and I should be glad of your opinion, sir," he said. "I don't want to make a mistake just now. There is no doubt that most of the men are in an uncertain temper, and they do not seem pleased with me."

Coulthurst smiled, a trifle drily. "I presume you don't want me to go into that?"

"No. The fact is, after all, of no great importance. The point is – what do you make of the corporal's story?"

The major appeared to be taxing his brain for a moment or two. "Not being a detective, I can make nothing at all. I suppose he is trustworthy?"

"As reliable a man as there is in the force. Let me try to set out what we know. Tomlinson thrashed Probyn and pitched him into the creek. Neither of them would explain the cause of the trouble, which is a trifle significant; but Tomlinson was heard to say that if the trooper played the same game again he would kill him. He is apparently not an impulsive man, and the corporal seems to think it was a warning and not mere bluster."

"That," said Coulthurst, "gives you a little to go upon. We can admit that Tomlinson fancied he had a grievance against the trooper. He is not the man to say a thing of that kind without sufficient reason."

"Then Probyn leaves Sewell's camp, and never comes back. Sewell, Ingleby, and the corporal hear two shots, apparently from the same part of the range."

"I understand Ingleby does not admit that."

Esmond smiled. "One would scarcely expect Ingleby to agree with a corporal of police. Still, I may point out that he has been less than a year in the bush, and the corporal has, at least, spent most of his life on the prairie. You know the effect the life my troopers lead has in quickening the perceptions. Most of them could locate and tell you the meaning of a sound I couldn't hear at all."

Coulthurst made a sign of concurrence. "His view is certainly worth a good deal more than Ingleby's. Still, admitting that the two shots were fired from about the same place, it doesn't necessarily follow that they were fired by the same person."

"We know that, leaving out Probyn, Tomlinson and the Indian could have been the only men on that part of the range just then. When Tomlinson appeared he seemed disconcerted to find the corporal there. He also showed signs of embarrassment when questioned about the shots, and persisted that he fired no more than one. When told which way the trooper had gone he stated that he had come in just the opposite one. It is significant that he did not mention where he had been until then. Several hours later Probyn's horse came back grazed by a bullet, and a forty-four cartridge was found beside the trail. That is the size of rifle Tomlinson uses."

"It seems to me the several hours are the difficulty."

"Not necessarily. Whoever shot Trooper Probyn would naturally be afraid of his horse doing exactly what it did, and fired at it. The wounded beast would probably run as long as it was able. It is evident that it must have smashed through several thickets. Somebody fired at it, and the man who did so was the one who shot Probyn."

"You don't know he was shot. I'm not sure I should find it necessary to keep quite as tight a hand on your troopers as you do," said the major suggestively.

Esmond flushed a little. "I feel absolutely certain the lad never intended to give us the slip."

"There were two men in the vicinity about that time," said Coulthurst reflectively.

"Tomlinson was known to have a grievance against Probyn. The Indian, who apparently did not turn up at all, had never seen him. Men do not kill one another without a strong inducement, and nobody would expect to find much money on a police trooper."

"His carbine," said the major, "would be worth a little."

"The man had an excellent rifle of his own."

"Well," said Coulthurst, "it is tolerably easy to see what all this points to, but I could never quite believe Tomlinson would do the thing. There's another point that strikes me."

Esmond appeared expectant, though he had consulted Coulthurst more from a sense of duty than because he looked for any brilliant suggestion.

"It's rather an important one," said the major gravely. "You can't well have a murder without a corpse, you see."

Esmond failed to hide a little sardonic smile. "That is a trifle obvious, sir. You have no advice to offer me?"

"I have. It's good as far as it goes. Lie low, and keep your eyes open until you find Probyn."

Esmond rose. "I suppose that is the only thing, after all, though it looks very much like wasting time. I feel quite sure there will be a nicked forty-four bullet in him when I do."

He went out; but the longer he considered the major's advice the more reasonable it appeared to him. Esmond, with all his shortcomings, had a keen sense of duty, and had he consulted his own inclination would have wasted no time in seizing Tomlinson. He was, however, quite shrewd enough to recognize that he was not regarded with favour, and that, although the major did not seem to realize it, the miners were not likely to content themselves with looking on while he did anything that did not meet their views. He had reasons for believing that once Tomlinson's culpability was evident he need expect no trouble from them; but it was equally plain that unless he had definite proof it would be a risky thing to lay hands on him. Esmond was arrogant and impulsive, but he had discovered in the Northwest that it is not always advisable to run counter to popular opinion, and in this case there was a faint probability that Tomlinson's friends might be right. He therefore set himself to wait as patiently as he could until Trooper Probyn should be found; while the men, who for the most part believed Probyn to be living, waited for him to come back – which he eventually did, though by no means in the fashion they had expected.

There had been a sudden rise of temperature, and a warm wind from the Pacific had sent the white mists streaming across the mountain land. It had rained for several days, as it usually does in the northern wilderness in those circumstances, and the snow on the lower slopes had melted under the warm deluge. The river swirled by, thick with the wreckage of the forests the snow had brought down, frothing between its crumbling banks; and on a certain Saturday evening most of the men in the valley assembled by the ford where the trail crept perilously down the opposite side of the cañon. It appeared very doubtful whether any man or beast could cross it then, but the freighter, with mails and provisions, was already overdue, and they had awaited him anxiously for a week or so. It was possible that he might arrive that evening; and, in any case, the six o'clock supper was over and there was very little else to do.

Ingleby, Leger, Hetty, and Tomlinson were there with the rest, and they sat among the roots of a great cedar where it was a little drier. The rain had stopped at last, but all the pines were dripping, and the river came swirling out of a curtain of drifting mist. The hoarse roar it made filled all the cañon.

Hetty was vacantly watching the slow whirl of an eddy when a great trunk that plunged into it held her eye. It had been a stately hemlock well over a hundred feet in height and great of girth, and now it gyrated slowly round the pool, a splendid wreck, with far-flung limbs that thrashed the water as they rose and fell. Then the great butt tilted, and there was a crash that rang high above the turmoil of the flood as the branches that smashed and splintered struck a boulder whose wet head rose just above the foam. The forks held for a moment, and then the ponderous trunk swung again and, with its shattered limbs whirling about it, drove madly down the white rush of a rapid.

It was an impressive sight, and the sound of rending and smashing was more impressive still; but when the trunk had gone Hetty found her attention fixed upon the pool. It swirled and lapped upon the rocks with nothing on its surface now but muddy smears of foam, but she watched it with a vague sense of expectancy. It seemed to her that she and that sullen eddy alike were waiting for what should follow. Another trunk, with branches that heaved out of the turmoil and sank into it again, was coming down the river, but a dusky, half-submerged object slid on in front of it. Hetty could scarcely see it save when it was lifted by the buffeting of the flood, until it plunged into the head of the eddy. Then she rose suddenly.

"Look at it," she said. "It's like – a bundle of old clothes!"

Ingleby, who was nearest her, stood up. The light was growing dim in the cañon, and it was a moment before he could make out what she pointed to. Hetty, however, was staring at it with a curious intensity, and there was, he noticed, apprehension in her eyes. The object drove on quietly, an insignificant dusky blur, swinging and swaying with the pulsations of the river, and Ingleby felt the girl's hand close suddenly on his arm.

"Oh," she said, with a little gasp, "it's coming straight here. I'm afraid of it, Walter."

The thing swung in towards them with the whirl of the eddy, and Ingleby had for a moment a glimpse of a white patch in the water that was horribly suggestive of a face. Then he seized Hetty's hand, and drew her with him as he turned away.

"Stay there!" he said, when a great pine rose between them and the river, and went scrambling back to the water's edge.

Two or three other men, among whom was Tomlinson, had reached it by this time, and Sewell stood on a boulder gazing at the stream, while the dusky object, drawn almost under now, swung by amidst a rush of foam. Then he stepped down, and looked steadily at the men about him.

"I fancy Trooper Probyn has come back," he said.

Ingleby was close beside him, and for a moment the two men looked into each other's eyes. In less than another minute the object they had seen would swing out with the outflow at the tail of the pool, and the long white rapid would whirl it beyond their reach into the gloom again. Night was close at hand, and, if they let him pass, Trooper Probyn would by morning have travelled far into the heart of a wilderness where it was scarcely likely that any of them would ever overtake him. The rivers of the North run fast, and that is a country wherein the strongest man must travel slowly. It seemed to Ingleby that it might be better to let him go. Then he was ashamed of the doubt that this implied, and Sewell, who knew what he was thinking, glanced for just a second in Tomlinson's direction.

"One can't hide the truth. It will come out," he said, and then raised his voice. "That's a man we have something to do for. The rapid will have him in a minute, boys."

Tomlinson was first into the water, with Ingleby almost at his side, and the rest floundering and splashing close behind. They went straight, while the thing that swung with the eddy went round, but they were in the lip of the rapid before they came up with it. Ingleby gasped as he braced himself against the flood which broke in a white swirl to his waist, while the stream-borne gravel smote his legs, and he clutched at the big miner as Trooper Probyn drove down on them.

He evaded Tomlinson, but Ingleby, stooping, seized his uniform, and tightened his hold on his companion as his feet were dragged from under him. He could almost have fancied that Trooper Probyn struggled to be free from them, and while the current frothed about him Tomlinson was dragged backwards by the strain. Ingleby went under, still clinging fiercely to the sodden tunic, and for a second or two it seemed that all of them, the dead and the living, must go down the rapid together, in which case no man could have distinguished between them when they were washed out at the tail of it. Then a man clinging to his comrade with one hand seized Tomlinson; there was a straining of hardened muscles, a wild splashing and floundering, and, while one who leaned across a boulder gasped and wondered if his arm was leaving its socket, the line swung into slack water again. Still, Ingleby had driven against a stone with a thud that drove out most of the little breath left in him.

They brought Probyn ashore between them, and Sewell, who kept his head, left them a moment and went straight up the bank, where he came upon Hetty standing with hands closed at her sides. She could see very little beyond a group of men bending over something that lay between them.

"Go back to the shanty. Make a big fire and some coffee," he said.

Hetty did not seem to understand him. "Tomlinson held on to him, but he struck a stone," she said. "I couldn't see any more, but – of course – you brought him out? Is he hurt?"

Sewell looked astonished. "Hurt!" he said. "You must know that the man is dead."

Then comprehension dawned upon him, as he remembered that he had for several anxious moments fancied that the man who seized Trooper Probyn would drive with him down the rapid.

"I scarcely think Tom is any the worse – and Ingleby appears to have got off with a bruise on his head," he said.

He saw the sudden relief in Hetty's face, for she had not remembered the need of reticence then; but she turned away from him silently, and he went back to the river, where the group made way for him. Sewell, who held only an unremunerative claim, was already an influence in the Green River country.

The light was rapidly failing, but he could still see the faces of the men, who turned to him as though uncertain what to do. Tomlinson stood still among the rest, and his voice and attitude were both unmistakably compassionate.

"I hove him into the creek. I 'most wish I hadn't now," he said. "He was young and had no sense, but there was good hard sand in him."

Sewell turned, and looked down on Trooper Probyn, who lay very still, a rigid shape in sodden uniform, with the water running from him, and his face partly turned away from them, which was just as well.

"Two of you go for Captain Esmond, boys," he said. "It will be some time before you make the outpost, and I want the rest of you. There is something we have to do in the meanwhile. The police make mistakes now and then, and it is, I think, our business as well as Captain Esmond's."

He knelt down, and presently pointed to a little hole, very small and cleanly cut, in the soaked tunic.

"I think you know what made that," he said. "One of you get down. I can't do what is necessary, alone."

Nobody seemed very anxious, which was, perhaps, not astonishing, and it was not until Sewell looked up again that Ingleby, who shivered a little, knelt down. He wondered when he saw that Sewell's fingers were very steady as he opened the tunic and saturated vest. Then the latter signed to the men to draw a little nearer, and pointed to what appeared to be a folded pad of wet cotton held in place by a strip of hide. He moved it a little so that all could see it, and then let the tunic fall again. Ingleby was, however, the only one who noticed that there was something in Sewell's hand that had not been there before.

"There is nothing to show whether Trooper Probyn was dead when he reached the water, though I think he was," he said. "He was certainly shot, and it is evident that he did not shoot himself. His uniform isn't charred, you see. Then you saw the pad. Police troopers do not make their shirts or patch their clothes with cotton flour-bags, and a man hit where Probyn was would not be very likely to bandage himself. The man who shot him tried to save his life. Why should he do that if he meant to kill him?"

There was no answer, and Sewell stood up. "We don't know what has happened, boys. Perhaps we never shall; but it seems to me one thing is certain – it wasn't murder."

There was a little murmur of concurrence, and then Sewell made a gesture.

"It's getting dark, and we're most of us very wet," he said. "One or two of you cut a few fir boughs, and we'll make a litter."

It was done, and in another few minutes a line of wet and silent men plodded behind their comrades who carried Trooper Probyn up the climbing trail.

XX
ACCESSORIES

Esmond was not at the outpost when the messengers reached it, nor was the corporal there, and it was two troopers to whom the miners delivered the dead lad. This fact, however, appeared to afford Sewell a certain satisfaction, and he and Tomlinson went back with Ingleby through the growing darkness to Leger's shanty. It was once more raining hard when they reached it, and when Hetty had set a kettle of coffee before them they sat steaming in the little log-walled room with the door shut. Each of them was aware that there was a good deal to be said, and in all probability little time in which to say it; but the subject was difficult, and Hetty had cleared the table when Sewell turned to Tomlinson.

"There's a plant in this country whose leaves the Indians believe are efficacious in stopping blood," he said. "I wonder if you could tell me where to find it?"

Tomlinson looked up with evident astonishment.

"If there is, I never heard of it," he answered. "I've no use for worrying 'bout any plants just now."

Then he glanced round at the faces of the rest, and his eyes rested a moment upon Hetty. "I'm in a tight place, but you don't believe I did the thing?"

"Of course not!" said Hetty, with a little flash in her eyes. "Why don't you answer him, some of you?"

Ingleby would have spoken, but Sewell held up his hand. "I'm not sure you know how tight the place is, Tomlinson. If you'll listen I'll try to show you."

He spoke for two or three minutes, and even Ingleby, who had long looked up to him as a man of brilliant ability, was a trifle astonished at the acumen which marked every point of the tersely logical exposition. It apparently left no loophole for doubt as to who had killed Trooper Probyn, and once or twice Leger moved uneasily. There was, however, a little incredulous smile in Hetty's eyes.

"Now," said Sewell incisively, "have you anything to tell us?"

Tomlinson sat gazing at them stupidly, with the veins on his bronzed forehead swollen, and a dusky hue in his face. Ingleby was troubled as he watched him, and Leger leaned forward in his seat as though in a state of tense expectancy, but still the faint smile flickered in Hetty's eyes. For almost a minute they could hear the wailing of the pines and the rain falling on the roof. Then Tomlinson spoke.

"I fired once – at a deer. That's all," he said.

Ingleby was conscious at once of a certain sense of shame and an intense relief, for he recognized the truth in the miner's voice, and Sewell had set out with relentless effectiveness the view the prosecution might be expected to take. The latter laughed as he glanced at Hetty.

"You would not have believed he did it if I had talked for hours?" he asked.

"No," said Hetty simply.

Sewell made her a little inclination, and then turned to the rest with a smile.

"We have only reason to guide us, and we argue clumsily," he said. "Women, we are told, have none – in their case it apparently isn't necessary. They were made differently. Insight, it seems, goes along with the charity that believes no evil."

It was not evident that Hetty quite understood him, for she sat looking at the fire with hands crossed in her lap, and Sewell turned to Tomlinson.

"I think the boys would believe you, as we do, but that, after all, scarcely goes very far. We have Esmond and the corporal to consider, and they are certainly not troubled with instinctive perceptions or any excess of charity. What is more to the purpose, they wouldn't try you here."

Tomlinson made a little forceful gesture. "Now, if I'd nobody else to think of I'd stop right where I am; but there's an old woman back there in Oregon who's had trouble with the rest of us – 'most all she could bear – and half of what I took out of the claim was to go to her. She was just to sit still and be happy, and never work any more. I guess it would break her heart if they hung me here in Canada."

He stopped a moment, and glanced at Hetty. "Still, she'd never believe I did it. She's like you."

There was very little on the face of the statement, but a good deal lay behind it, as Hetty apparently realized, for a flush spread across her cheek for a moment and then faded away.

Tomlinson turned to the others with a gesture that was merely clumsy now. "I'm going away, boys, and I want a partner to hold my claim for me. If I leave it without an owner it falls to the Crown. You'd do the square thing by me and a widow woman on a half-share, Mr. Sewell?"

It was an offer most men would have eagerly closed with, but Sewell shook his head.

"You must ask some one else – it wouldn't do," he said. "I have never taken a dollar I didn't earn, and, you see, I would scarcely have tried to show you that you must clear out right away if I had meant to make a profit by your doing so."

Tomlinson smiled a little. "Is there a man along the Green River who'd believe that of you?"

"There are," said Sewell drily, "at least a few in other places who would be glad to make the most of the story. In fact, if certain papers got hold of it, I'm not sure I could live it down. That wouldn't matter greatly, only, you see, a professional agitator's character doesn't belong to himself alone. Still, you are quite right on one point. You must have a partner – now. The agreement could, perhaps, be upset if it was made after it was known that there was a warrant out for you."

It appeared to all of them that Sewell had thrown away an opportunity for winning what might amount to a competence for life; but he only smiled at Tomlinson, who turned to Ingleby.

"Then it has to be you. A half-share, and you and Leger can work the thing between you. Neither of you is going to go back on me?"

Ingleby almost gasped, and his face flushed a little. It had seemed quite fitting that the offer should be made to Sewell, but there was no apparent reason why it should be thrust on him. He also saw that Leger was as little anxious to profit by it as he was himself.

"Do you suppose I would take advantage of your necessity by making a bargain of that kind?" he asked.

Tomlinson made a clumsy gesture. "You'd have to let your own claim go. A man can't hold two placer claims, and you're on the lead," he said. "I've got to have a partner, and I guess I'm not offering any more than the thing's worth to me."

"He's right in one respect," said Sewell. "There are, of course, men in the valley who would be glad to take the claim on a smaller share – but they're not here now, and Esmond and his troopers may turn up at any minute. Besides, the prospects of your finding gold on the claim you hold are tolerably good."

"I'll be gone in 'bout five minutes," said Tomlinson quietly. "If none of you will have the claim, it falls to the Crown."

That, at least, was evident, and Leger nodded when Ingleby glanced at him.

"A half-share is more than you are entitled to, but what you can do for Tomlinson is, as he pointed out, worth something, and you would have to let your own claim go," he said.

"Then I'll offer him a thousand dollars for a third share, on condition that he takes a four months' bill for them. I'll divide the risk and profit with you, Leger."

Leger smiled. "It seems to me Tomlinson is taking all the risk there is. If you don't find the money in the mine it's scarcely likely that you will meet the bill. Still, the notion's a good one. The thing has a more genuine look when it's based on value received."

The agreement was drawn up hastily on a scrap of uncleanly paper with Sewell's fountain pen, but he made it hard and fast, while Hetty flitted busily between the shed and the shanty. Then Sewell carefully wiped and put away his pen.

"Do you know where you're going, Tomlinson?" he asked.

"No," said the miner simply, "I hadn't quite thought of that."

"Then if you head south for the settlements you will certainly be overtaken. In fact, I'm not sure the corporal will not have sent a man along the trail already. You can't live in the ranges with nothing to eat, and that only leaves Westerhouse. They would never expect you to strike out for there, but if you will listen for two minutes I'll tell you the trail."

He was scarcely so long, for time was precious, but, though few men unused to the wilderness would have understood or remembered most of what he said, it was quite plain to Tomlinson, who nodded.

"Well," he said, "I'll light out when I've got the major to record the agreement."

They pointed out that this was not exactly necessary and entailed a risk, but Tomlinson was quietly resolute.

"I'm going away to save my claim, and I'll make quite sure," he said. "It's an old woman back in Oregon I want the money for. She hasn't another son – they're all gone but me. Well, I guess I'm ready. The troopers would pick up my trail if I took a horse along."

He was scarcely a minute stowing the provisions Hetty thrust upon him inside two blankets, which he rolled up and lashed with strips of deer-hide to pack upon his back; and he wasted no time in thanks; but when Sewell opened the door he walked gravely up to the girl, and laid both his big hands on the one she held out to him.

"I guess I'm not going to worry you any more. It's scarcely likely I'll ever come back," he said.

Hetty's face flushed a little, and there was a slight tremor in her voice.

"It's all my fault," she said.

Tomlinson slowly shook his head. "You couldn't do anything that wasn't just right if you tried, and you'll think of me now and then," he said. "I'm going to remember you while I live."

He did not wait for her answer, but turned abruptly away, and Hetty stood still a moment with hot cheeks and misty eyes. Then she moved hastily forward, and touched Ingleby's arm as he went out of the door.

"There's one of the horses in the swamp. Couldn't you put the pack-saddle on him and make a trail down to the ford?" she said. "The troopers couldn't help seeing it. The ground's quite soft."

Ingleby laughed. "Of course! It's an inspiration, Hetty."

He was some little time catching the horse, and when he reached the commissioner's house Coulthurst was already sitting with a book in front of him. He looked up with a little dry smile when Ingleby came in.

"It is after my usual office hours, but I understand from Mr. Sewell that you are anxious I should register you to-night as one of the owners of the claim held by Tomlinson?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Ingleby. "There are one or two reasons that make it advisable."

He fancied there was a very faint twinkle which might have suggested comprehension in Coulthurst's eyes as the latter took up a pen.

"Then I think I can make an exception in your case, especially as Tomlinson seems equally anxious, and we will get the business done," he said.

There was silence for a minute or two, and they waited with an impatience that was the fiercer because it was suppressed while Coulthurst turned over the papers in front of him and took down a book. There was no sound but the splashing of the rain upon the roof and the snapping of the little stove, but Ingleby felt his nerves tingle as he listened. Coulthurst, however, closed the book at last and handed him a paper.

"That should meet your requirements, and it will be quite in order for you to carry on the work at the claim should Tomlinson be absent from any cause," he said, and stopping abruptly looked up as though listening. "I fancy you were wise in getting the agreement recorded – now. Delays, as you are aware, are apt to be especially dangerous in case of a placer claim."

He appeared to busy himself again with his book; but Tomlinson rose suddenly, and stood a moment, tense and strung up, with head turned towards the door, as a sound that suggested men and horses splashing in the mire reached them faintly through the rain. Then he stepped forward towards the veranda by which they had entered, but Ingleby seized his arm and pointed towards the other door at the back of the room. He and Sewell knew that one could reach the bush that way through the outbuilt kitchen.

Coulthurst, who could not see the door from where he sat, looked up from his book for just a moment, and did not appear to notice that Tomlinson was no longer in front of him.

"I presume there is nothing more I can do for you, and that is apparently Captain Esmond. I think he has some business with me," he said.

The hint that he would excuse them was plain enough, even if it went no further, and he drew another bundle of papers towards him. This, no doubt, accounted for the fact that he failed to notice that while Leger and Sewell moved towards the veranda, Ingleby slipped out through the other door. Sewell, however, gasped with relief when he saw it swing silently to. Just then there was a tramp of feet outside, and in another few moments Esmond sprang upon the veranda, splashed with mire and dripping with rain. Two wet troopers appeared behind him, carbines in hand. He stopped them with a little gesture of command, and then, striding past Sewell and Leger into the room, appeared to have some difficulty in restraining himself when he saw only the major there.

"You will excuse me for coming in unceremoniously, sir, but I had reasons for believing Tomlinson was here," he said.

"He was here," said Coulthurst. "In fact, I don't quite understand how it was you didn't meet him going away."

"I certainly did not," and Esmond flashed a keen glance at him. "If I had done so, I should naturally not have troubled you about him."

Coulthurst appeared reflective.