Delilah of the Snows
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The same thought had occurred to Ingleby, and it troubled him again that night as he kept his watch behind the tree, for he could not altogether understand the tense anxiety he felt about Hetty. She had scarcely been out of his thoughts since the night she fainted at the bakery, which, considering that he was in love with Grace Coulthurst, appeared an almost unnatural thing. There was no doubt that he was in love with the commissioner's daughter, he assured himself. All his hopes and projects for the future were built upon the fact; but he was commencing to realize vaguely that she appealed, for the most part, to his intellect, while he felt for Hetty a curious, unreasoning tenderness which was quite apart from admiration of her or her qualities. He puzzled over it that night, sitting still while the men slept about him under the stars, and then gave it up as beyond solution when one of them relieved him.
In the meanwhile Trooper Grieve had found the gorge through the barrier-range, and was pushing on through dim fir forests and over snowy hillsides for Westerhouse. Esmond lay half-insensible in the outpost, for fever and dangerous inflammation had supervened; but nobody told the American where the lieutenant was going when he fell from the tree or anything about Trooper Grieve. There was thus no apparent change in the state of affairs until one night, when every man who could be spared was away at the settlement, a stranger worn with travel was brought in by two miners. Sewell was standing with the others about the fire behind the tree, and Ingleby saw the colour sink from his face when it was told them that the stranger was from Westerhouse.
"You have got to do something right away," said the visitor. "Slavin's coming in with every trooper he can raise. He went round the way the trooper came, and I pushed on by the trail Sewell told us of to get in ahead of him. A few of the boys are coming along behind me."
There was a murmur of astonishment and consternation, and then a somewhat impressive silence, which Leger broke.
"You mean that one of the Green River troopers reached Westerhouse?" he said.
"That's just what I do mean. Your man sent him."
Leger looked hard at Sewell, who stood back a little in the shadow now.
"It isn't quite clear how he found the way, but, after all, we needn't worry about that in the meanwhile," he said. "You are still our acknowledged leader, Mr. Sewell. Hadn't you better ask him a question or two? We want to understand the thing."
Sewell stood still for almost a minute, and the men, who were tensely impatient, wondered at it and the hardness of Leger's voice. Then he sat down on a branch where the wood-smoke drifted between them and him.
"Try to tell us as clearly as you can what happened," he said.
"Well," said the stranger, "one of the Green River troopers came in badly played out, and when he asked us where the outpost was we took him along. After what you'd told us we guessed it meant trouble for you. It was dark then, and one of us crawled round to the little back window; but a trooper came round the house, and we lit out kind of quietly for the bush. Then a trooper started out on the trail as hard as he could hit it, and 'bout half an hour later Slavin came out in front of the outpost. 'I'm going away by and by – for my health – but I've sent to Clatterton Creek for two or three more policemen, and if you start any blame circus while I'm away, I'll see the boys who made it are sorry for themselves,' he said."
"The boys took it quietly?" asked Ingleby.
"Yes," said the stranger. "That's what they did. You see, the folks in Victoria had moved on Eshelby, and the new man was doing what he could for us within reason. Anyway, we hadn't heard from you, and the boys weren't going to make trouble for nothing when Slavin was there."
Again Leger glanced at Sewell, who said nothing, and then made a little sign to the speaker. "Nobody would expect it of them," he said. "Get on."
"Well," said the stranger, "when Slavin and his troopers lit out quietly 'bout an hour after, we got our packs made and came on after them. That is, a few of us who hadn't struck any dirt that was worth the washing. We were willing to take a hand in if we were wanted, because we heard of Hall Sewell before he came to Westerhouse. If he was in a tight place, we figured we'd stand behind him. He'd often done what he could for men like us."
Sewell made no sign, but leaned back, a shadowy figure, against the tree, and there was something in his silence that set Ingleby's nerves on edge.
"We kept 'most a league behind Slavin, and we had to get a move on at that," continued the speaker. "He wasn't wasting time. Then when we'd got through the range he broke off to the north, and we figured that was the way the trooper came. We let him go, and came right on by the trail Sewell told us of."
"How many are there of you?" asked Leger.
"Eight. They're 'most as cleaned out of grub and money as I am. We'd have sent you a hundred if you'd wanted them soon after Sewell came."
Ingleby laughed harshly, a jarring, hopeless laugh, and there was a murmur from the men.
"Our hand's played out. The contract was too big for us," said one of them. "What d'you figure on doing – now – Mr. Sewell?"
Sewell rose slowly, as though it cost him an effort, and, face to face with them, stood where the firelight fell upon him. The bronze had faded from his cheeks, and his glance was vacillating.
"Nothing in the meanwhile, boys," he said. "In fact, there is nothing we can do but try to extort some trifling concession from Slavin before we surrender to-morrow."
He stopped a moment, and looked at them with steadying eyes. "If we had Westerhouse behind us I would have asked you to make a fight for it. It would at least have been an easy way out of the tangle for one of us – but it would only mean useless bloodshed as it is. I can't get you into further trouble, boys."
His voice had been growing hoarser, and there was an uncomfortable silence when he stopped. This was not what the men had expected, and everybody seemed to feel that there was something wrong. Then Ingleby looked at Leger with a little bitter smile.
"Well," he said, "we have made our protest, and, as any one else would have foreseen, have found it useless. Established order is too strong for us. I never felt of quite so little account as I do to-night."
Leger nodded sympathetically. "That," he said, "isn't, after all, of any particular consequence – and I scarcely think it was quite our fault. Why didn't Sewell send over to Westerhouse?"
"I don't know," said Ingleby. "It doesn't matter now."
"Have you asked yourself how the trooper found his way across the range?"
Ingleby turned round on him suddenly. "What do you mean by that?"
"If you can't find an answer, I think you should ask Sewell. It seems to me you are entitled to know."
Ingleby met his eyes for a moment, and then the blood rushed to his face as he rose. He said nothing, but he saw Sewell leave the fire, and, turning abruptly, he moved on behind him up the little trail to the bakery, though he made no effort to overtake him. It was very dark beneath the pines, and he felt that he must see the man he had believed in. It seemed a very long while before he reached the bakery and, going in quietly, saw Hetty regarding Sewell with a flash of scornful anger in her eyes.
"Oh," she said, "it's perfectly plain to me! The girl tricked you. I knew she would."
Then she started as she saw Ingleby in the doorway, though the flush in her cheeks grew deeper and the little vindictive glow in her eyes plainer still.
"You heard me, Walter? Well, he knows she did. Look at him," she said.
"If you will go away for about five minutes, Hetty, I shall be much obliged to you," said Ingleby quietly. "Mr. Sewell has something to say to me."
Hetty swung round and swept out of the room, and, when the door closed behind her, Sewell sat down at the table, and Ingleby stood in front of him. His face was grim, and his lips were tightly set.
"Well?" he said at length.
Sewell made a little gesture. "I can't admit that Hetty was quite correct in one respect," he said. "It was my mad impulsiveness misled me."
"I want to be quite clear," said Ingleby in a low, even voice. "You told Miss Coulthurst the way to the Westerhouse Gully?"
"I did. If I were not sure that you knew it already, I would never have admitted it to you."
A little grey patch showed in Ingleby's cheek, and the pain in his face was unmistakable, while Sewell clenched one hand on the table as he looked at him.
"Walter," he said, "what is Miss Coulthurst to you?"
"I don't know," said Ingleby, with a very bitter laugh. "I am not sure that she is anything whatever to me. I, however, asked her to marry me not so very long ago, and she led me to believe that when circumstances were more propitious she might do so."
Sewell seemed to gasp, and his hand closed more tightly on the table; but he said nothing, and Ingleby spoke again.
"I would," he said, "have believed in you, in spite of everything – but there is nothing to be gained by reproaching you. Hetty was right, as usual, and you never belonged to us, you know. There is, however, something to be done, since it seems to me that it would be better to keep out of the affair the girl who was apparently willing to look with favour on both of us. You must be out of the valley before daylight to-morrow."
Sewell stood up slowly and took a carefully folded packet from his pocket. "I will be gone in half an hour," he said. "Take care of these. They are the leaves that were under the bandage on Probyn's body, and may go a little way towards clearing Tomlinson. I will not offer to shake hands with you, Walter; but I would like you to believe that I was sincere enough when I came into the valley. If it is any consolation to you, my punishment will be heavy. My name will be a byword after what I have done, and the work I once believed in must be left to clean-handed men."
Ingleby took the packet. "I could have forgiven you for stealing Miss Coulthurst's favour from me – since I scarcely think it was ever mine – but, just now, at least, I can't forgive the rest," he said.
Sewell made no answer, and when he went out Ingleby sat down limply at the table and, with his chin in his hand, gazed at the fire. For the time even his physical strength seemed to have gone out of him. All his faith had been given one man and one woman, and now it was clear that both had betrayed him, and through him the miners who had placed their confidence in him. He did not know how long he sat there, but he started suddenly as he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and saw Hetty standing beside him.
"I am so sorry, Walter. Is it very hard?" she said.
Ingleby took her hand and held it.
"I believe you are sorry," he said. "After all, old friends are best. I have been a colossal idiot, Hetty, and it does hurt a little to have the recognition of a fact of that kind suddenly forced on one. Still, I must go back to the boys now. There are several little points that must be decided before to-morrow."
XXXII
HIS APPOINTED STATION
A faint light was creeping across the snow when Ingleby rose from his bed of cedar twigs, behind the log, and stood up shivering. It was very cold, and most of his companions were still sleeping, though there were more of them than there had been the night before. During the darkness a handful of strangers had come limping in, and one of them had told him a somewhat astonishing story about Trooper Probyn. He could grasp the significance of it, but that was all, for though the rapid was partly ice-bound now, one white sluice of water still frothed about the tree, and the sound it made seemed to keep his thoughts from crystallizing. He was, however, glad of the distraction.
A man who flung down an armful of fuel stopped and shook two or three of his comrades, who got up and stretched themselves before they set about preparing their morning meal. The pines had grown sharper in outline by the time it was finished, and the snow beneath them had changed in hue and was now a flat, lifeless white; and, though most of the men had risen, the stillness was more impressive than ever. Ingleby had grown accustomed to the roar of the river and could have heard the slightest sound through its pulsations; but there was nothing for him to hear beyond the sharp crackle of the fire and the restless movements of one or two of his companions. The rest were expectantly watching the man upon the log; but he stood motionless, with his face turned steadfastly down the valley. Ingleby, however, felt the tension less than he might have done under different circumstances. The game was up, and he had no doubt that the law he had defied would crush him for his contumacy; but that, after all, seemed of no great moment then. His faith was shattered, his hopes were gone, and it only remained for him to exculpate his comrades as far as he could and face his downfall befittingly. He took out his pipe and lighted it, but the tobacco seemed tasteless, and he let it go out again, and sat listening until the man upon the log raised a warning hand, and a faint tramp of feet came out of the silence. There was a rhythm in it, and he knew that Slavin had come in with the troopers from Westerhouse. The men also heard it, and Ingleby stood up as they glanced at him.
"I'm afraid you have gained very little by listening to Sewell or me, boys, but it might save confusion if you still leave me to do what I can for you," he said. "The police will be here in two or three minutes, and somebody must speak to them."
There was a little murmur from the men, which suggested sympathy with and confidence in him. Then one of them, who was an American, waved his hand.
"Mr. Ingleby will go right ahead, and he'll find us behind him whatever he does," he said. "It isn't his fault this thing didn't quite pan out as we had figured. He's here just where he's wanted, to see it out with us, and, anyway, it's a big, cold bluff he and the rest of us – a handful of placer miners of no account – have put up on the British Empire. We're beat, but the man who wants anything has got to show he means to have it, and they'll listen to the others because we shut our fist."
Again there was a murmur, harsh but expressive, and the man upon the log looked down.
"They're taking front among the firs," he said. "There's a stranger, who must be Slavin, with them. I guess they'll be wanting you."
He sprang down, and Ingleby climbed up on the log. There was a suggestive jingle and clatter among the trees, where dusty shapes flitted in the shadows; but two men were moving forward across the open strip of snow where the light was clearer, and Ingleby recognized one of them as Coulthurst. The other was a stranger who wore a somewhat ragged fur-coat over his uniform. They stopped near the barricade, and Coulthurst looked at Ingleby. The latter stood erect and very still, with the smoke of the fire rising in a pale blue column behind him.
"I presume you are there to speak for your comrades?" said the major.
"Your surmise is quite correct," said Ingleby.
Coulthurst turned towards his companion. "This is Captain Slavin, in charge of the police detachment at Westerhouse. He has come in with enough of his men to make any attempt to oppose him likely to result in disaster to yourselves. Captain Esmond being quite incapable of duty, this affair is in his hands."
Ingleby raised his shapeless hat, and wondered if this had been intended as a hint that he had no longer Esmond's rancour to fear; but the police officer, who looked at him sharply, made no sign of noticing the salute.
"Well," he said, "what does Captain Slavin want?"
"In the first place, the unconditional surrender of Sewell, Leger, and yourself."
"That can be counted on, so far as Leger and I are concerned. Sewell is no longer in the valley. What comes next?"
"The dispersing of the men you have with you."
"Which implies the arrest of Tomlinson?" asked Ingleby.
"It does, naturally."
"Well," said Ingleby, "we have heard your demands, and now we would like to know what you have to offer."
"That," said Coulthurst, "is simply answered. Nothing whatever. I may, however, say that, as usual in an affair of the kind, proceedings will only be taken against the recognized leaders – yourself, Sewell, and Leger – and that Captain Slavin intends to hold an inquiry on the spot into the death of Trooper Probyn."
Slavin, at whom he glanced, made a little gesture of concurrence.
"Major Coulthurst is correct," he said. "You have, however, to understand that the inquiry is in no way a concession. I have, as it happens, some information bearing on the case which has not come into Captain Esmond's possession. That is all. Now, what are you going to do?"
Ingleby spent little time in consideration. The attitude of the two officers was just what he had expected it would be. They could make no concession; but Coulthurst had nevertheless conveyed the impression that they would by no means proceed to extremities.
"In ten minutes Leger and I will give ourselves up, and you will not find a man behind the tree," he said. "That is, on condition that you wait with your men among the firs yonder until the time is up."
Slavin made a sign of comprehension, and when he moved back with Coulthurst, Ingleby turned to the miners.
"It's all fixed now, boys," he said. "Leger and I decided last night to give ourselves up. You couldn't have prevented us, and all we wanted for Tomlinson was a straight inquiry on the spot. Now, I want you to slip away quietly, and hang your rifles up where you keep them. You have to remember that the police don't know who held up the outpost, and have nothing definite against anybody but myself and Leger."
The men went reluctantly, and when the ten minutes had expired Ingleby and Leger climbed down from the log. Two troopers accompanied them to the outpost, where, when Ingleby had spoken a few words to Slavin, they were left to their reflections for several hours. Then there was a tramp of feet outside, and a trooper led them into the adjoining room where Coulthurst and Slavin sat. The door was open, and the corporal and a cluster of miners stood just outside. A carbine lay upon the table in front of Slavin, who turned to the miners as Ingleby came in.
"I want you to understand that this is not a trial, boys," he said. "It's an inquiry into the death of Trooper Probyn, and I expect the truth from you. I have seen Prospector Tomlinson, and I'll now ask the corporal to give us his account of what happened the night Probyn disappeared."
There was a little movement among the miners, and one or two of them glanced significantly at Ingleby. Slavin, it seemed, had already gained their confidence, and they felt that if Tomlinson was sent down for trial it would be because he was guilty. Then the corporal told his story briefly, and admitted that Ingleby had differed from him concerning the locality in which one of the shots had apparently been fired. After that several of the miners narrated how they had assisted to draw Probyn from the river, and the discovery of the bullet-wound in him.
Slavin, who listened to them quietly, nodded and signed to Ingleby. "You didn't agree with the corporal that the shots were fired in the same place?"
"No, sir," said Ingleby. "One of them, I feel certain, came from quite an opposite direction. The corporal was busy at the time, or he would have recognized it."
"The men who have just spoken were correct in their account of what Sewell did when Trooper Probyn had been taken out of the water?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did Sewell remove anything from the body?"
"He did," and Ingleby took a little packet from his pocket and opened it. "These leaves. They had evidently been placed upon the wound. He said Probyn could not have placed them there himself, and they were what the Indians often used to stanch a flow of blood."
Slavin glanced at the desiccated fragments, and turned to the miners. "Have any of you heard of the Indians using a plant for that purpose?"
"I guess I have," said one. "One of them tried to fix up a partner of mine, who'd cut himself chopping, with the thing. It didn't seem to work on a white man."
Slavin nodded. "I believe there is such a plant," he said. "Now, so far as we have gone, circumstances seem to point to Probyn having been shot by a man who afterwards tried to save him. He used a plant that only the Indians seem to believe in. Come right in, Corporal. Do you recognize this carbine?"
A trace of astonishment crept into the corporal's face as he took up the weapon.
"Yes, sir," he said. "It's Probyn's. Am I quite sure? I know the number, and that dint under the barrel. He fell and struck it on a rock one day when I was with him."
"Well," said Slavin, who took out a little book, "that's all I want from you. Now, boys, this inquiry is in my hands; but I don't know of any reason I shouldn't read you a little statement that was made on oath to me by a prospector who brought this carbine into Westerhouse Gully.
"'I was working on a bench-claim back under the range when an Indian came along,' he said. 'He had a carbine with him. Offered to sell it me for tea and flour, as he was lighting out of the country. This is just what he told me. He was hired to take two troopers from Green River across the range, and was waiting for them just after sundown. He'd heard a black bear moving round – a black bear doesn't worry much about the noise he makes – and when something came smashing through a thicket he loosed off at it. It was getting kind of dark, and when he clawed into the thicket he found he'd got the trooper, who, as the trail was steep there, had left his horse. Did what he could to save him, but the man died, and the Indian got scared that the folks he pitched the tale to wouldn't believe him. That was why he dragged the trooper under a big rock by the river and put some stones and branches on him. Somehow the horse got away from him, though he fired at it. He didn't want that horse walking round making trouble. I gave him the flour and tea, and kept the trooper's carbine.'"
Slavin closed the book, and looked at the men. "Now," he said, "who would you say killed that trooper?"
"The Indian, sure!" said somebody, and there was a murmur of concurrence from the rest.
"Well," said Slavin drily, "I believe he did. Anyway, no proceedings will be taken against anybody in this valley. Tell the boys to light out, Corporal."
The miners went away contented. They understood, and appreciated, men of Slavin's kind. Then the latter turned, and looked reflectively at Leger and Ingleby.
"It's quite a good thing you had sense enough to keep the boys off their rifles," he said. "If there had been any shooting, you would have found yourselves unpleasantly fixed."
His face was quietly grave, but there was the faintest suggestion of a twinkle in Coulthurst's eyes.
"I, at least, saw no weapons among them," he said.
"Well," said Slavin, "that simplifies the thing. Still, you see, you can't go holding up police outposts and heaving troopers about with impunity. Where's the man who set you up to it?"
"I almost think it was the drift of circumstances rather than Mr. Sewell that was to blame," said Leger. "Anyway, I expect he is a considerable distance from the valley by this time. In fact, it's scarcely likely that you could overtake him, and there's nothing to show which trail he has taken."
It occurred to Ingleby that it was somewhat astonishing that such a capable officer as Slavin appeared to be had allowed so much time to pass before he asked the question. That, however, was Slavin's business.
"Well," said the latter, "if I had a little more to go upon, I might make quite a serious thing out of this. As it is, all I'm very sure about is that you and your partner conspired to prevent the troopers getting at Tomlinson; but as Tomlinson didn't kill Probyn, that doesn't count for so much, after all. Still, we have no use for you up here just now, and you have two days in which to clear out of the valley. Tomlinson will get his ticket, too, when he's able to take the trail."
"That would mean the sequestration of our claims," said Ingleby.
"Exactly. You're not compelled to go. Stay right here if you'd sooner, and take your chances of any charge I may be able to work up against you."