THE LEADING WITNESS
Three or four weeks passed quietly without any news from Flett until
one evening when Edgar sat talking to Miss Taunton in the office of her
father's store at Sage Butte. The little, dusty room was unpleasantly
hot and filled with the smell of resinous pine boards; there was a
drawl of voices and an occasional patter of footsteps outside the door;
and a big book, which seemed to have no claim on her attention, lay
open on the table in front of the girl.
She was listening to Edgar with a smile in her eyes, and looking, so he
thought, remarkably attractive in her light summer dress which left her
pretty, round arms uncovered to the elbow and displayed the polished
whiteness of her neck. He was expressing his approval of the current
fashions, which he said were rational and particularly becoming to
people with skins like ivory. Indeed, he was so engrossed in his
subject that he did not hear footsteps approaching until his companion
flashed a warning glance at him; and he swung round with some annoyance
as the door opened.
"I guessed I would find you here," said the station-agent, looking in
with an indulgent smile.
"You're a thoughtful man," retorted Edgar. "You may as well tell me
what you want."
"I've a wire from Flett, sent at Hatfield, down the line."
"What can he be doing there?" Edgar exclaimed; and Miss Taunton showed
her interest.
"He was coming through on the train. Wanted Mr. Lansing to meet him at
the station, if he was in town. Hadn't you better go along?"
"I suppose so," said Edgar resignedly, glancing at his watch. "It
looks as if your men had taken their time. Flett should be here in
about a quarter of an hour now."
"Operator had train orders to get through; we have two freights
side-tracked," the agent explained. "Don't be late; she's coming along
on time."
He hurried out, and a few minutes later Edgar crossed the street and
strolled along the low wooden platform, upon which a smart constable
was waiting. A long trail of smoke, drawing rapidly nearer, streaked
the gray and ochre of the level plain, and presently the big engine and
dusty cars rolled into the station amid the hoarse tolling of the bell.
As they ran slowly past him, Edgar saw a police trooper leaning out
from a vestibule, and when the train stopped the constable on the
platform hurried toward the car. A hum of excited voices broke out and
Edgar had some difficulty in pushing through the growing crowd to reach
the steps. A constable, who had hard work to keep the others back, let
him pass, and he found Flett standing on the platform above, looking
rather jaded, with a pistol loose in his holster.
"Isn't Mr. Lansing here?" Flett asked eagerly, and then turned to the
trooper. "Keep those fellows off!"
"No," answered Edgar; "he hasn't come into town. But what's the cause
of this commotion? Have you got your men?"
"Three of them," said Flett, with a look of pride. "I expect we'll get
the fourth. But come in a minute, out of the noise."
The car was besieged. Curious men were clambering up the side of it,
trying to peer in through the windows; others disputed angrily with the
trooper who drove them off the steps. Eager questions were shouted and
scraps of random information given, and groups of people were excitedly
running across the street to the station. It was, however, a little
quieter in the vestibule when Flett had banged the door. He next
opened the inner door that led to the smoking compartment of the
Colonist car. In spite of its roominess, it was almost insufferably
hot and very dirty; the sunlight struck in through the windows; sand
and fine cinders lay thick upon the floor. A pile of old blue blankets
lay, neatly folded, on one of the wooden seats, and on those adjoining
sat three men. Two wore brown duck overalls, gray shirts, and big soft
hats; one was dressed in threadbare cloth; but there was nothing that
particularly suggested the criminal in any of their sunburned faces.
They looked hot and weary with the journey, and though their expression
was perhaps a little hard, they looked like harvest hands traveling in
search of work. One, who was quietly smoking, took his pipe from his
mouth and spoke to Flett.
"Can't you get us some ice?" he asked. "The water in the tank isn't
fit to drink."
"They haven't any here. You'll have to wait until we get to the
junction," Flett told him, and drew Edgar back into the vestibule.
"We're taking them right along to Regina," he explained. "I'm sorry I
couldn't see Mr. Lansing, but I'll ride over as soon as I'm sent back.
If he's likely to be away, he'd better send word to the station."
"I don't expect he'll leave the farm during the next few weeks," said
Edgar.
Then one of the constables looked in.
"Conductor says he can't hold up the train."
"I'll be off," said Edgar, with a smile at Flett. "This should mean
promotion; it's a fine piece of work."
He jumped down as the train pulled out and hurried back to the store
where Miss Taunton was eagerly awaiting news. Soon afterward he left;
and as he rode up to the homestead day was breaking, but he found
George already at work in the stable.
"It's lucky we don't need your horse. If you're going to keep up this
kind of thing, you had better buy an automobile," he remarked.
Edgar laughed.
"I don't feel remarkably fresh, but I'll hold out until to-night.
There's the fallowing to be got on with; I suppose nothing must
interfere with that. But aren't you up a little earlier than usual?"
"I want to haul in the posts for the new fence. Grierson has his hands
full, and now that there are four of us, Jake spends so much time in
cooking."
"A reckless waste of precious minutes!" Edgar exclaimed ironically.
"If one could only get over these troublesome bodily needs, you could
add hours of work to every week and make Sylvia Marston rich. By the
way, Jake's cooking is getting awful."
He put up his horse and busied himself with several tasks before he
went in to breakfast. When it was finished, and the others went out,
he detained George.
"What did you think of that meal?" he asked.
"Well," said George, "it might have been better."
Edgar laughed scornfully.
"It would take some time to tell you my opinion, but I may as well
point out that you're paying a big bill for stores to Taunton, though
we never get anything fit to eat. Helen and I were talking over your
account, and she wondered what we did with the things, besides giving
me an idea. It's this--why don't you tell Grierson to bring out his
wife?"
"I never thought of it. She might not come; and she may not cook much
better than Jake."
"She certainly couldn't cook worse! I expect she would save her wages,
and she would set a hired man free. Jake can drive a team."
"It's a good idea," George agreed. "Send Grierson in."
The man came a few minutes later.
"We get on pretty well; I suppose you are willing to stay with me?"
George said to him.
Grierson hesitated and looked disturbed.
"The fact is, I'd be very sorry to leave; but I'm afraid I'll have to
by and by. You see, I've got to find a place I can take my wife to."
"Can she cook?"
"Yes," said Grierson, indicating the remnants on the table with
contempt. "She would do better than this with her eyes shut! Then,"
he continued eagerly, "she can wash and mend clothes. I've noticed
that you and Mr. West throw half your things away long before you need
to."
"That's true," Edgar admitted. "It's the custom of the country; time's
too valuable to spend in mending anything, though I've noticed that one
or two of the people who tell you about the value of time get through a
good deal of it lounging round the Sachem. Anyway, amateur
laundering's an abomination, and I'm most successful in washing the
buttons and wrist-bands off." He turned to his companion. "George,
you'll have to send for Mrs. Grierson."
The matter was promptly arranged, and when Grierson went out with a
look of keen satisfaction, Edgar laughed.
"I feel like pointing out how far an idea can go. Helen only thought
of making me a little more comfortable, and you see the result of
it--Grierson and his wife united, things put into shape here, four
people content! Of course, one could cite a more striking example; I
mean when Sylvia Marston thought you had better go out and look after
her farm. There's no need to mention the far-reaching consequences
that opinion had."
"I volunteered to go out," George corrected him.
"Well," said Edgar, "I quite believe you did so. But you're no doubt
pining to get at the fence."
They went off to work, but Edgar, driving the gang-plow through the
stubble under a scorching sun, thought that Sylvia's idea might bear
more fruit than she had calculated on, and that it would be bitter to
her. His mind, however, was chiefly occupied with a more attractive
person, and once when he turned the heavy horses at the end of the
furrows he said softly, "May I deserve her!" and looked up with a tense
expression in his hot face, as if making some firm resolve, which was a
procedure that would have astonished even those who knew him well.
A week passed, each day growing brighter and hotter, until the glare
flung back by sandy soil and whitening grass became painful, and George
and his assistants discarded most of their clothing when they went
about their tasks. The oats began to show a silvery gleam as they
swayed in the strong light; the wheat was changing color, and there
were warm coppery gleams among the heavy ears; horses and cattle sought
the poplars' shade. Then one evening when the Grants had driven over,
Flett arrived at the homestead, and, sitting on the stoop as the air
grew cooler, related his adventures.
"I guess my chiefs wouldn't be pleased to hear me; we're not encouraged
to talk, but there's a reason for it, as you'll see when I'm through,"
he said, and plunged abruptly into his narrative.
It proved to be a moving tale of weary rides in scorching heat and in
the dusk of night, of rebuffs and daunting failures. Flett, as he
admitted, had several times been cleverly misled and had done some
unwise things, but he had never lost his patience nor relaxed his
efforts. Slowly and doggedly, picking up scraps of information where
he could, he had trailed his men to the frontier, where his real
troubles had begun. Once that he crossed it, he had no authority, and
the American sheriffs and deputies were not invariably sympathetic.
Some, he concluded, were unduly influenced by local opinion, which was
not in favor of interfering with people who confined their depredations
to Canadian horses. Others, who acknowledged past favors from Regina,
foresaw troublesome complications before he could be allowed to deport
the offenders; but some, with a strong sense of duty, offered willing
help, and that was how he had been able to make the arrests on Canadian
soil.
"Now," he concluded, "we tracked these men from point to point and I've
evidence to prove most of their moves, but they never had the four
horses in a bunch until they made Montana, which is a point against us.
We can show they were working as a gang, that they were altogether with
the horses on American soil, but as we haven't corralled the only man
Mr. Grant could swear to, there's only one way of proving how they got
them. You see where all this leads?"
"It looks as if you depended on my evidence for a conviction," said
George.
Flett nodded.
"You saw Mr. Grant attacked and the horses run off. You can identify
one man, and we'll connect him with the rest."
He took out a paper and handed it to George.
"It's my duty to serve you with this; and now that it's done, I'll warn
you to watch out until after the trial. If we can convict these
fellows, we smash the crowd, but we'd be helpless without you."
George opened the document and found it a formal summons to attend the
court at Regina on a date specified. Then he produced another paper
and gave it to Flett with a smile.
"The opposition seem to recognize my importance, and they move more
quickly than the police."
The trooper took the letter, which was typed and bore no date or name
of place.
"'Keep off this trial and you'll have no more trouble,'" he read aloud.
"'Back up the police and you'll be sorry. If you mean to drop them,
drive over to the Butte, Thursday, and get supper at the Queen's.'"
"Yesterday was Thursday, and I didn't go," George said after a moment's
silence.
The quiet intimation was not a surprise to any of them, and Flett
nodded as he examined the letter.
"Not much of a clue," he remarked. "Toronto paper that's sold at every
store; mailed two stations down the line. Nobody would have met you at
the Queen's, but most anybody in town would know if you had been there.
Anyway, I'll take this along." He rose. "I can't stop, but I want to
say we're not afraid of your backing down."
He rode off in a few more minutes and after a while the Grants took
their leave, but Flora walked down the trail with George while the team
was being harnessed.
"You'll be careful, won't you?" she said. "These men are dangerous;
they know yours is the most important evidence. I shall be anxious
until the trial."
There was something in her eyes and voice that sent a curious thrill
through George.
"I don't think that's needful; I certainly won't be reckless," he said.
Then Flora got into the vehicle; and during the next week or two George
took precautions. Indeed, he now and then felt a little uncomfortable
when he had occasion to pass a shadowy bluff. He carried a pistol when
he went around the outbuildings at night, and fell into a habit of
stopping to listen, ready to strike or shoot, each time he opened the
door of one in the dark.
For all that, nothing occurred to excite suspicion, and after a while
he felt inclined to smile at his nervousness. At length, one day when
the trial was close at hand, and Edgar had gone to the Butte, the
mail-carrier brought him a note from Grant.
It consisted of a couple of lines asking him to come over during the
evening, and as supper had been finished two hours before, George
realized that there was not much time to spare. Laying down the note,
he walked to the door and called his Canadian hired man.
"Put the saddle on the brown horse, Jake; I'm going to Grant's."
The man did as he was bidden, and when George was about to mount handed
him a repeating rifle.
"Better take this along; cylinder's full," he said. "It will be dark
before you get there."
George hesitated. The rifle was heavy, but it was a more reliable
weapon than a pistol, and he rode off with it. The sun had dipped when
he started, the air was rapidly cooling, and after spending the day
sinking holes for fence posts in the scorching sun, he found the swift
motion and the little breeze that fanned his face pleasant. To the
northwest, a flush of vivid crimson glowed along the horizon, but the
sweep of grass was growing dim and a bluff he reached at length stood
out, a sharp-cut, dusky mass, against the fading light. He pulled up
his horse on its outskirts. A narrow trail led through the wood, its
entrance marked by a dark gap among the shadowy trees, and it somehow
looked forbidding. The bluff, however, stretched across his path; it
was getting late, and George was a little impatient of the caution he
had been forced to exercise. Laying his rifle ready across the saddle,
he sent his horse forward.
It was quite dark in the bluff, though here and there he could see a
glimmer of faint red and orange between the trees, and the stillness
had a slightly disturbing effect on him. Not a leaf moved, the beat of
his horse's hoofs rang sharply down the narrow trail above which the
thin birch branches met. He wanted to get out into the open, where he
could see about, as soon as possible. There was, however, no
ostensible cause for uneasiness and he rode on quietly, until he heard
a soft rustling among the slender trunks. Pulling up the horse, he
called out, and, as he half expected, got no answer. Then he cast a
swift glance ahead. There was a gleam of dim light not far away where
the trail led out of the bluff. Throwing the rifle to his shoulder,
George fired into the shadows.
The horse plunged violently and broke into a frightened gallop. George
heard a whistle and a sharper rustling, and rode toward the light at a
furious pace. Then his horse suddenly stumbled and came down. The
rifle flew out of George's hand, and he was hurled against a tree. The
next moment he felt himself rudely seized, and what he thought was a
jacket was wrapped about his head. Shaken by his fall, he could make
no effective resistance, and he was dragged a few yards through the
bush and flung into a wagon. He tried to pull the jacket from his
face, and failed; somebody brutally beat him down against the side of
the vehicle when he struggled to get up. He heard a whip crack, the
wagon swayed and jolted, and he knew the team was starting at a gallop.