Raw Gold: A Novel Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII.

  LYN.

  Whereas Lessard had acted the martinet with MacRae, he took another tackand became the very essence of affability toward me. (I'd have enjoyedpunching his proud head, for all that; it was a dirty way to serve a manwho had done his level best.)

  "Rather unfortunate happening for you, Flood," he began. "I think,however, that we shall eventually get your money back."

  "I hope so," I replied coolly. "But I must say that it begins to looklike a big undertaking."

  "Well, yes; it is," he observed. "Still, we have a pretty thoroughsystem of keeping track of things like that. This is a big country, butyou can count on the fingers of one hand the places where a man canspend money. Of course, you probably realize the difficulty of layinghands on men who know they are wanted, and act accordingly. We can'tarrest on a description, because you wouldn't know the men if you sawthem. Our only chance is to be on the lookout for free spenders. It's acertainty that they will be captured if they spend that money at anytrading-post within our jurisdiction. I'll find out if the quartermasterknows the numbers and denomination of the bills. On the other hand, ifthey go south, cross the line, you know, we won't get much of a show atthem. But we'll have to take chances on that."

  "I've done all I can do in that direction," I said. "I've sent word toLa Pere."

  "You had better stay hereabout for a while," he decided. "You can put upat one of the troop-messes for a few days. I'll send a despatch to WhoopUp and MacLeod, and we'll see what turns up. Also I think I shall send adetail to bring in those bodies. The identification must be madecomplete. No doubt it will be a trial for Miss Rowan, but I think shewould feel better to have her father buried here. By the way, you knewthe Rowans in the States, I believe."

  "Was trail-boss three seasons for Hank Rowan and his partner," Ireturned briefly. I didn't much like his offhand way of asking; not thatit wasn't a perfectly legitimate query. But I couldn't get rid of thenotion that he would hand me out the same dose he had given MacRae ifonly he had the power.

  "Ah," he remarked. "Then perhaps you would like to go out and help bringin those bodies. It will save taking the Pend d' Oreille riders fromtheir regular patrol, and we are having considerable trouble withwhisky-runners these days."

  I agreed to go, and that terminated the conversation. I didn't mindgoing; in fact some sort of action appealed to me just then. I had noidea of going back to Benton right away, and sitting around Fort Walshwaiting for something to turn up was not my taste. It never struck metill I was outside the office that Lessard had passed up the goldepisode altogether; he hadn't said whether he would send any one toprognosticate around Writing-Stone or not. I wondered if he took anystock in Rutter's story, or thought it merely one of the queer turns aman's brain will sometimes take when he is dying. It had soundedoff-color to me, at first; but I knew old Hans pretty well, and healways seemed to me a hard-headed, matter of fact sort of man, not atall the flighty kind of pilgrim that gets mixed in his mental processeswhen things go wrong. Besides, if there wasn't some powerful incentive,why that double killing, to say nothing of the incredible devilishnessthat accompanied it.

  Once out of the official atmosphere, I hesitated over my next move.Lessard's high-handed squelching of MacRae had thrown everything out offocus. We'd planned to report at headquarters, see Lyn, if she were atWalsh, and then with Pend d' Oreille as a base of operations go on astill hunt for whatever the Writing-Stone might conceal. That scheme wasknocked galley-west and crooked, for even when MacRae's term expiredhe'd get a long period of duty at the Fort; he'd lost his rank, and as aprivate his coming and going would be according to barrack-rule insteadof the freedom allowed a sergeant in charge of an outpost like Pendd' Oreille--I knew that much of the Mounted Police style of doingbusiness. And so far as my tackling single-handed a search for HankRowan's _cache_--well, I decided to see Lyn before I took thatcontract.

  I hated that, too. It always went against my grain to be a bearer of illtidings. I hate to make a woman cry, especially one I like. Some one hadto tell her, though, and, much as I disliked the mission, I felt that Iought not to hang back and let some stranger blurt it out. So I nailedthe first trooper I saw, and had him show me the domicile of Mrs.Stone--who, I learned, was the wife of Lessard's favorite captain--andthither I rambled, wishing mightily for a good stiff jolt out of the kegthat Piegan Smith and Mac had clashed over. But if there was any bottlednerve-restorer around Fort Walsh it was tucked away in the officers'cellars, and not for the benefit of the common herd; so I had to fallback on a cigarette.

  Lyn was sitting out in front when I reached the place. Another femaleperson, whom I put down as Madam Stone, arose and disappeared throughan open door at my approach. Lyn motioned me to a camp-stool close by. Isat down, and immediately my tongue became petrified. My think-machinerywas running at a dizzy speed, but words--if silence is truly golden, Iwas the richest man in Fort Walsh that afternoon, for a few minutes, atleast. And when my vocal organs did at last consent to fulfil theirnatural office, they refused to deliver anything but empty commonplaces,the kind one's tongue carries in stock for occasional moments of barrenspeech. These oral inanities only served to make Lyn give me the benefitof a look of amused wonder.

  "Dear me," she laughed at last. "I wonder what weighty matter iscrushing you to the earth. If you've got anything on your conscience,Sarge, for goodness' sake confess. I'll give you absolution, if youlike, and then perhaps you'll be a little more cheerful."

  "No, there's nothing particular weighing me down," I lied flatly."Anyway, I don't aim to unload my personal troubles on you. I came overhere to acquire a little information. How came you away up here by yourlonesome, and what brought your father and old Hans----"

  Her purple-shaded eyes widened, each one a question-mark.

  "Who told you that Hans was up North? I know I didn't mention him," shecut in quickly. "Have you seen them?"

  It's a wonder my face didn't betray the fact that I was holdingsomething back. I know I must have looked guilty for a second. That wasa question I would gladly have passed up, but her eyes demanded ananswer.

  "Well," I protested, "it occurred to me that if you expected to meetyour father here in a day or two, Rutter would naturally be with him,seeing that they've paddled in the same canoe since a good many yearsbefore you were born, my lady. What jarred you all loose from Texas? Andwhat the mischief did you do to MacRae that he quit the South nextspring after I did, and straightway went to soldiering in thiscountry?"

  She shied away from that query, just as I expected. "We had oceans oftrouble after you left there, Sarge," she told me, turning her head fromme so that her gaze wandered over the barrack-square. "It really doesn'tmake pleasant telling, but you'll understand better than some one thatdidn't know the country. You remember Dick Feltz, and that old troubleabout the Conway brand that dad bought a long time back?"

  I nodded; I remembered Mr. Feltz very well indeed, for the well-meritedkilling of one of his hired assassins was the main cause of my hastydeparture from Texas.

  "Well, it came to a head, one day, in Fort Worth. They shot each otherup terribly, and a week or so later Feltz died. His people in the Eastgot it into their heads that it was a case of murder. They stirred upthe county authorities till every one was taking sides. Of course, dadwas cleared; but that seemed to be the beginning of a steady run of badluck. The trial cost an awful lot of money, and made enemies, too. Feltzhad plenty of friends of his own calibre--you know that to your sorrow,don't you, Sarge?--and they started trouble on the range. It was simplyterrible for a while. Dad can supply the details when he comes." ("whenhe comes"--I tell you, that jarred me.) "Finally things got to such apass that dad had to quit. And what with a deal in some Mexican cattlethat didn't turn out well, and some other business troubles that I neverquite understood, we were just about finished when we closed out."

  She let her eyes meet mine for an instant, and they were smiling, makinglight of it all. Most women, I thought, would have had a good cry, or atleast pulled a long face, over a hard-luck story like that. But she wasreally more of a woman than I had thought her, and I thanked the Lordshe was game when I remembered what I had to tell her before I wasthrough.

  "Dad and Hans Rutter, as you know, weren't the sort of men to sit aroundand mourn over anything like that," she laughed. "I don't know wherethey got the idea of going to Peace River. But dad settled me and MammyThomas in a little cottage in Austin, and they started. I wanted to goalong, but dad wouldn't hear of it. They've been gone a little over twoyears. I'd get word from them about every three months, and early thisspring dad wrote that they had made a good stake and were coming home.He said I could come as far as Benton to meet them, and we would takethe boat from there down to St. Louis. So I looked up the lay of thecountry, and sent him word I would come as far as Walsh. He had saidthey would come out by way of this place. And then I rounded up MammyThomas and struck out. I've rather enjoyed the trip, too. They should behere any day, now."

  My conscience importuned me to tell her bluntly that they would onlycome into Walsh feet first. But I dodged the unpleasant opening. Therewas another matter I wanted to touch upon first.

  "Look here, Lyn," I said--rather dubiously, it must be confessed, for Ididn't know how she would take it, "I'm going to tell you something onmy own responsibility, and you mustn't get the idea that I'm trying tomix into your personal affairs without a warrant. But I have a hunchthat you're laboring under a mistaken impression, right now; that is, ifyou care anything about an old friend like MacRae."

  "I can't really say that I do, though," she assured me quickly, but shecolored in a way that convinced me that her feeling toward MacRae was ofthe sort she would never admit to any one but himself.

  "Well," I continued, "I imag
ined you would think it queer that he shouldpass you up as he did a while ago. But here at Fort Walsh we're among aclass of people that are a heap different from Texas cow-punchers. Theseredcoats move along social lines that don't look like much to a cowman;but once in the Force you must abide by them. It was consideration foryou that forbade MacRae to stop. Any woman in the company of an officeris taboo to an enlisted man, according----"

  "I know all that," she interrupted impatiently. "Probably they'd cut me,and all that sort of thing. I understand their point of view, exactly,but I'm not here to play the social game, and I shall talk to whom itpleases me. Do you or Gordon MacRae honestly believe I care a snap fortheir petty conventions?"

  "No, I know you better than that," I responded. "All the same, this is apretty rough country for a woman, and if you've made friends among thepeople on top, they may come in handy. For that matter," I concluded,"you won't get a chance to have the cold shoulder turned to you forassociating with MacRae; not for some time, anyway."

  "What do you mean?" she demanded, in that answer-me-at-once way I knewof old.

  "MacRae has gotten into a bad hole," I told her plainly. "Major Lessard,who happens to be the big chief in this neck of the woods, seems to havedeveloped a sudden grouch against him. There was a hold-up night beforelast--in fact, I was the victim. I was separated from a big bunch ofmoney that belongs to the outfit I'm working for. Mac was with me at thetime. He had to come in here and report it, for it happened in hisdistrict, and the major raked him over the coals in a way that was hardto stand. You know MacRae, Lyn; it's mighty poor business for any man totread on his toes, much less go walking rough-shod all over him. Lessardwent the length of accusing him of being in with these hold-up men,because he did a little investigating on his own account before comingin to report. Mac took that pretty hard, and came mighty near making themajor eat his words with gunpowder sauce on the side. So, for having thenerve to declare himself, he has lost his sergeant's stripes and haslikewise gone to the guardhouse to meditate over the foolishness oftaking issue with his superiors. If you don't see him for the nextthirty days, you'll have the consolation of knowing that he isn'tavoiding you purposely."

  It was a rather flippant way to talk, but it was the best I could dounder the circumstances. The last three days hadn't been exactlyfavorable to a normal state of mind, or well-considered speech.

  But--who was the wise mortal that said: "No man knoweth the mind of amaid"?--she sat there quite unmoved, her hands resting quietly in herlap. "We all seem to be more or less under a cloud, Sarge," she saidslowly. "Maybe when dad comes he can furnish a silver lining for it. Isometimes--what makes you look that way? You look as if you werethinking it my fault that Gordon is in trouble."

  "You're wrong there," I protested, truthfully enough.

  "But you have that air," she declared. "And I'm not to blame. If hehadn't been so--so--I'm sure he'd get out of the Mounted Police fastenough if he didn't like it. I can't imagine him doing anything againsthis will. I never knew him"--with a faint smile--"to stay anywhere or doanything that didn't suit him." She took to staring out across thegrounds again, and one hand drew up slowly till it was doubled into atight-shut little fist.

  "Well, he's in that very fix right now. And he's likely to continue so,unless some one buys his release from the service and makes him apresent of it. You might play the good angel," I suggested, half inearnest. "It only costs about five hundred dollars"--Mac had told methat--"and I'm sure he'd be properly grateful."

  The red flag waved in her cheeks again. "I don't particularly like theidea," she said, rather crossly, still keeping her face turned away fromme, "and I'm very sure he wouldn't care to have me. But dad thinks a lotof him; he might do something of the kind when he gets here. Dear, Iwish they'd hurry along."

  She had me at the end of my rope at last, and I felt like breaking awayright there; any one not utterly calloused would, I think, have felt thesame squeamishness with that sort of a tale crowding close. If she hadbeen expecting bad news of any kind it wouldn't have been so hard to goon; but I couldn't beat about the bush any longer, so I made the plungewith what grace I could.

  "Lyn, I've got something to tell you about your father and old Hans, andI'm afraid it's going to hurt," I prefaced gently, and went on beforeshe could interrupt. "The fellows who held MacRae and me up had somewaygot wind of the gold they were packing out. They tried to get it. So faras I know, they haven't succeeded yet. Rutter tried to tell us where itwas _cached_. There was a fight over it, you see, and he was shot. Macand I came across him--but not soon enough." I stopped and got outcigarette material in an absent sort of way. My lips, I remember, werealmighty dry just then.

  "And dad?" Lyn was looking at me intently, and her voice was steady;that squeezed kind of steadiness that is almost worse than tears.

  "He wasn't with Rutter." I drew a long breath and hurried on, slurringover the worst of it. "They had got separated. Hans was about done whenwe found him--he died in a few minutes--but he told us where to go. Thenwe went to look for your father. We found him; too late to do any good.We buried him--both of them--and came on here."

  I felt like a beast, as if I had struck her with my fist, but at anyrate, it was all told; all that she need ever know. I sat still andwatched her, wondering nervously what she would do.

  It was a strain to sit there silent, for Lyn neither did or saidanything at first. Perhaps she cried afterward, when she got by herself,but not then; just looked at me, through me, almost, her face white anddrawn into pained lines, and those purple-blue eyes perfectly black. Igot up at last, and put one hand on her shoulder.

  "It's hell, little girl, I know." I said this hardly realizing that Iswore. "We can't bring the old man back to life, but we can surely rundown the cold-blooded devils that killed him. I have a crow to pick withthem myself; but that doesn't matter; I'd be in the game anyway. We'llget them somehow, when Mac gets out and can play his hand again. It wasfinding your father and giving him decent burial that kept us out solong. I don't understand, yet, why Lessard should pitch into MacRae sohard for doing that much. You know Mac, Lyn, and you know me--we'll dowhat we can."

  She didn't move for a minute, and the shocked, stricken look in her eyesgrew more intense. Then she dropped her head in the palms of her handswith a little sobbing cry. "Sarge, I--I wish you'd go, now," shewhispered. "I want to--to be all by myself, for a while. I'll be allright by and by."

  I stood irresolute for a second. It may have been my fancy, but I seemedto hear her whisper, "Oh, Gordon, Gordon!" Then I hesitated no longer,but turned away and left her alone with her grief; it was not for me tocomfort her. And when I had walked a hundred yards or more, I lookedback. She was still sitting as I had left her, head bowed on her hands,and the afternoon sun playing hide-and-seek in the heavy coils of hertawny-gold hair.