GRANT COMES TO THE RESCUE
The storm had raged for twenty-four hours, but it had now passed, and
it was a calm night when a little party sat in George's living-room.
Outside, the white prairie lay still and silent under the Arctic frost,
but there was no breath of wind stirring and the room was comfortably
warm. A big stove glowed in the middle of it, and the atmosphere was
permeated with the smell of hot iron, stale tobacco, and the exudations
from resinous boards.
Grant and his daughter had called when driving back from a distant
farm, and Trooper Flett had returned to the homestead after a futile
search for the liquor smugglers. He was not characterized by mental
brilliancy, but his persevering patience atoned for that, and his
superior officers considered him a sound and useful man. Sitting
lazily in an easy chair after a long day's ride in the nipping frost,
he discoursed upon the situation.
"Things aren't looking good," he said. "We've had two cases of
cattle-killing in the last month, besides some horses missing, and a
railroad contractor knocked senseless with an empty bottle; and
nobody's locked up yet."
"I don't think you have any reason to be proud of it," Edgar broke in.
Flett spread out his hands in expostulation.
"It's not our fault. I could put my hands on half a dozen men who're
at the bottom of the trouble; but what would be the use of that, when
the blamed jury would certainly let them off? In a case of this kind,
our system of justice is mighty apt to break down. It's a pet idea of
mine."
"How would you propose to alter it?" Edgar asked, to lead him on.
"If we must have a jury, I'd like to pick them, and they'd be men who'd
lost some stock. You could depend on them."
"There's something to be said for that," Grant admitted with a dry
smile.
"This is how we're fixed," Flett went on. "We're up against a small,
but mighty smart, hard crowd; we know them all right, but we can't get
after them. You must make good all you say in court, and we can't get
folks to help us. They'd rather mind the store, have a game of pool,
or chop their cordwood."
"I can think of a few exceptions," Edgar said. "Mrs. Nelson, for
example. One could hardly consider her apathetic."
"That woman's dangerous! When we were working up things against
Beamish, she must make him look like a persecuted victim. She goes too
far; the others won't go far enough. Guess they're afraid of getting
hurt."
"You couldn't say that of Mr. Hardie," Flora objected.
"No. But some of his people would like to fire him, and he's going to
have trouble about his pay. Anyhow, this state of things is pretty
hard on us. There's no use in bringing a man up when you've only got
unwilling witnesses."
"What you want is a dramatic conviction," said Edgar sympathetically.
"Sure. It's what we're working for, and we'd get it if everybody
backed us up as your partner and Mr. Grant are doing." He turned to
George. "My coming back here is a little rough on you."
George smiled.
"I dare say it will be understood by the opposition, but I don't mind.
It looks as if I were a marked man already."
A few minutes later Flett went out to attend to his horse; George took
Grant into a smaller room which he used for an office; and Edgar and
Flora were left alone. The girl sat beside the stove, with a
thoughtful air, and Edgar waited for her to speak. Flora inspired him
with an admiration which was largely tinged with respect, though, being
critical, he sometimes speculated about the cause for this. She was
pretty, but her style of beauty was rather severe. She had fine eyes
and clearly-cut features, but her face was a little too reposeful and
her expression usually somewhat grave; he preferred animation and a
dash of coquetry. Her conversation was to the point--she had a way of
getting at the truth of a matter--but there was nevertheless a certain
reserve in it and he thought it might have been more sparkling. He had
discovered some time ago that adroit flattery and hints that his
devotion was hers to command only afforded her calm amusement.
"Mr. Lansing looks a little worried," she said at length.
"It strikes me as only natural," Edgar replied, "He has had a steer
killed since the rustlers shot the bull; we have foiled one or two more
attempts only by keeping a good lookout, and he knows that he lies open
to any new attack that may be made on him. His position isn't what you
could call comfortable."
"I hardly think that would disturb your comrade very much."
Edgar saw that she would not be put off with an inadequate explanation,
and he was a little surprised that she did not seem to mind displaying
her interest in George.
"Then," he said, "for another thing, he's disappointed about having to
give up an English visit he had looked forward to."
He saw a gleam that suggested comprehension in her eyes.
"You mean that he is badly disappointed?"
"Yes," said Edgar; "I really think he is."
He left her to make what she liked of this, and he imagined that there
was something to be inferred from it. He thought it might be wise to
give her a hint that George's affections were already engaged.
"Besides," he resumed, "it's no secret that the loss of his harvest hit
him pretty hard. We'll have to curtail our spring operation in several
ways and study economy."
Flora glanced toward the door of the room her father had entered with
George. Edgar thought she had done so unconsciously; but it was
somewhat suggestive, though he could not see what it implied.
"Well," she said, "I'm inclined to believe that he'll get over his
difficulties."
"So am I," Edgar agreed. "George isn't easy to defeat."
In the meanwhile Grant sat in the next room, smoking thoughtfully and
asking George rather direct questions about his farming.
"I've made some inquiries about that new wheat your English botanist
friend reported on," he said at length. "Our experimental farm people
strongly recommend it, and there's a man I wrote to who can't say
enough in its favor. You'll sow it this spring?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to stick to the common kinds," George said
gloomily. "I've a pretty big acreage to crop and that special seed is
remarkably dear."
"That's so," Grant agreed. "As a matter of fact, they haven't quite
made their arrangements for putting it on the market yet, and the
surest way to get some is to bid for a round lot. After what I'd
heard, I wired a Winnipeg agent and he has promised to send me on what
looks like more than I can use. Now I'll be glad to let you have as
much as you want for your lightest land."
George felt grateful. He did not think that this methodical man had
made any careless mistake over his order; but he hesitated.
"Thanks," he said. "Still, it doesn't get over the main difficulty."
"I guess it does. You would have had to pay money down for the seed,
and I'll be glad to let the thing stand over until you have thrashed
out. The price doesn't count; you can give me back as many bushels as
you get."
"Then," said George with a slight flush, "you're more generous than
wise. They haven't produced a wheat yet that will stand drought and
hail. Suppose I have another year like last? I'm sorry I can't let
you run this risk."
"We'll quit pretending. I owe a little to the country that has made me
what I am, and these new hardy wheats are going to play a big part in
its development. I want to see them tried on the poorest land."
"That's a good reason. I believe it goes some way, but I hardly think
it accounts for everything."
His companion looked at him with fixed directness.
"Then, if you must be satisfied, you're my neighbor; you have had
blamed hard luck and I like the way you're standing up to it. If
anybody's on meaner soil than yours I want to see it. Anyway, here's
the seed; take what you need, pay me back when you're able. Guess
you're not too proud to take a favor that's gladly offered."
"I'd be a most ungrateful brute if I refused," George replied with
feeling.
"That's done with," Grant said firmly; and soon afterward he and George
returned to the other room.
After a while he went out with Edgar to look at a horse, and George
turned to Flora.
"Your father has taken a big weight off my mind, and I'm afraid I
hardly thanked him," he said.
"Then it was a relief?" she asked, and it failed to strike him as
curious that she seemed to know what he was alluding to.
"Yes," he declared; "I feel ever so much more confident now that I can
get that seed. The fact that it was offered somehow encouraged me."
"You never expected anything of the kind? I've sometimes thought
you're apt to stand too much alone. You don't attach enough importance
to your friends."
"Perhaps not," admitted George. "I've been very wrong in this
instance; but I suppose one naturally prefers to hide one's
difficulties."
"I don't think the feeling's universal. But you would, no doubt, be
more inclined to help other people out of their troubles."
George looked a little embarrassed, and she changed the subject with a
laugh.
"Come and see us when you can find the time. On the last occasion, you
sent your partner over."
"I'd made an appointment with an implement man when I got your father's
note. Anyway, I should have fancied that Edgar would have made a
pretty good substitute."
"Mr. West is a favorite of ours; he's amusing and excellent company, as
far as he goes."
Her tone conveyed a hint that Edgar had his limitations and he was not
an altogether satisfactory exchange for his partner; but George laughed.
"He now and then goes farther than I would care to venture."
Flora looked at him with faint amusement.
"Yes," she said. "That's one of the differences between you; you're
not assertive. It has struck me that you don't always realize your
value."
"Would you like one to insist on it?"
"Oh," she said, "there's a happy medium; but I'm getting rather
personal, and I hear the others coming."
She drove away a little later, and when Flett had gone to bed George
and Edgar sat talking a while beside the stove.
"Grant's a staunch friend, and I'm more impressed with Flora every time
I see her," said the lad. "She's pleasant to talk to, she can harness
and handle a team with any one; but for all that, you recognize a trace
of what I can only call the grand manner in her. Though I understand
that she has been to the old country, it's rather hard to see how she
got it."
George signified agreement. Miss Grant was undoubtedly characterized
by a certain grace and now and then by an elusive hint of stateliness.
It was a thing quite apart from self-assertion; a gracious quality,
which he had hitherto noticed only in the bearing of a few elderly
English ladies of station.
"I suppose you thanked her for that seed?" Edgar resumed.
"I said I was grateful to her father."
"I've no doubt you took the trouble to mark the distinction. It might
have been more considerate if you had divided your gratitude."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hardly likely that the idea of helping you in that particular way
originated with Alan Grant, though I shouldn't be surprised if he had
been allowed to think it did."
George looked surprised and Edgar laughed.
"You needn't mind. It's most improbable that Miss Grant either wished
or expected you to understand. She's a very intelligent young lady."
"It strikes me that you talk too much," George said severely.
He went out, feeling a little disturbed by what Edgar had told him, but
unable to analyze his sensations. Putting on his furs, he proceeded to
look around the stable, as he had fallen into a habit of doing before
he went to rest. There was a clear moon in the sky, and although the
black shadow of the buildings stretched out across the snow, George on
approaching one noticed a few footprints that led toward it. There
were numerous other tracks about, but he thought that those he was
looking at had been made since he had last entered the house. This,
however, did not surprise him, for Flett had recently visited the
stable.
On entering the building, George stopped to feel for a lantern which
was kept on a shelf near the door. The place was very dark and
pleasantly warm by contrast with the bitter frost outside, and he could
smell the peppermint in the prairie hay. Familiar sounds reached
him--the soft rattle of a shaking rope, the crackle of crushed
straw--but they were rather more numerous than usual, and while he
listened one or two of the horses began to move restlessly.
The lantern was not to be found; George wondered whether Flett had
carelessly forgotten to replace it. He felt his way from stall to
stall, letting his hand fall on the hind quarters of the horses as he
passed. They were all in their places, including Flett's gray, which
lashed out at him when he touched it; there was nothing to excite
suspicion, but when he reached the end of the row he determined to
strike a match and look for the lantern. He was some time feeling for
the match-box under his furs, and while he did so he heard a soft
rustling in the stall nearest the door. This was curious, for the
stall, being a cold one, was unoccupied, and there was something
significantly stealthy in the sound; but it ceased, and while he
listened with strained attention a horse moved and snorted. Then,
while he fumbled impatiently at a button of his skin coat which would
not come loose, an icy draught stole into the building.
It was obvious that the door was open; he had left it shut.
Breaking off his search for the matches, he made toward the entrance
and sprang out. There was nobody upon the moonlit snow, and the
shadows were hardly deep enough to conceal a lurking man. He ran
toward the end of the rather long building; but, as it happened, he had
to make a round to avoid a stack of wood and a wagon on the way. When
he turned the corner, the other side of the stable was clear in the
moonlight and, so far as he could see, the snow about it was untrodden.
It looked as if he had made for the wrong end of the building, and he
retraced his steps toward a barn that stood near its opposite
extremity. Running around it, he saw nobody, nor any footprints that
seemed to have been recently made; and while he stood wondering what he
should do next, Grierson appeared between him and the house.
"Were you in the stables a minute or two ago?" George called to him,
"No," said the other approaching. "I'd just come out for some wood
when I saw you run round the barn."
George gave him a brief explanation, and the man looked about.
"Perhaps we'd better search the buildings; if there was any stranger
prowling round, he might have dodged you in the shadow. It's hardly
likely he'd make for the prairie; the first clump of brush big enough
to hide a man is a quarter of a mile off."
They set about the search, but found nobody, and George stopped outside
the last building with a puzzled frown on his face.
"It's very strange," he said. "I left the door shut; I couldn't be
mistaken."
"Look!" cried Grierson, clutching his arm. "There's no mistaking about
that!"
Turning sharply, George saw a dim mounted figure cross the crest of a
low rise some distance away and vanish beyond it.
"The fellow must have run straight for the poplar scrub, keeping the
house between you and him," Grierson explained. "He'd have left his
horse among the brush."
"I suppose that was it," George said angrily. "As there's no chance of
overtaking him, we'll have a look at the horses, with a light, and then
let Flett know."
There was nothing wrong in the stable, where they found the lantern
George had looked for flung down in the empty stall, and in a very
short space of time after they had called him Flett appeared. He
walked round the buildings and examined some of the footprints with a
light, and then he turned to George.
"Looks like an Indian by his stride," he said. "Guess I'll have to
saddle up and start."
"You could hardly come up with the fellow; he'll have struck into one
of the beaten trails, so as to leave no tracks," Edgar pointed out.
"That's so," said Flett. "I don't want to come up with him. It
wouldn't be any use when your partner and Grierson couldn't swear to
the man."
"What could have been his object?" George asked. "He seems to have
done no harm."
"He wanted to see if my gray was still in the stable," Flett said
dryly. "His friends have some business they'd sooner I didn't butt
into fixed up somewhere else."
"But you have no idea where?"
"I haven't; that's the trouble. There are three or four different
trails I'd like to watch, and I quite expect to strike the wrong one.
Then, if the man knows you saw him, he might take his friends warning
to change their plans. All the same, I'll get off."
He rode away shortly afterward, and as the others went back toward the
house Edgar laughed.
"I don't think being a police trooper has many attractions in winter,"
he remarked. "Hiding in a bluff for several hours with the temperature
forty degrees below, on the lookout for fellows who have probably gone
another way, strikes me as a very unpleasant occupation."