Jimmy imagined he did for a few minutes go to sleep, because he did not
know when the noise began. Branches cracked as if a deer pushed through
the brush a short distance off. Jimmy was not excited; in fact, he was
cold and dull, and he used some effort to wake up.
The noise stopped and then began again. It now looked as if a large
animal plunged across the clearing. Jimmy did not think a deer went
through the brush like that, but for a moment he saw a luminous spot in
the dark. Something reflected the beam from his candle and he threw the
rifle to his shoulder.
His hand shook and he tried to steady the barrel. He felt a jerk and was
dully conscious of the report. As a rule, when one concentrates on a
moving target one does not hear the gun; the strange thing was Jimmy
imagined he heard his a second before the trigger yielded.
The deer did not stop and he pumped in another cartridge. He heard
nothing, but red sparks leaped from the rifle and then all was dark. A
heavy object rolled in the young willows and somebody shouted. Lights
tossed and it looked as if people ran about.
Jimmy shouted to warn the others and left the stump. When he jumped
across the ditch his candle went out, and on the other side his foot
struck something soft. Stooping down, he felt about and then got up and
gasped. His heart beat, for he knew the object he had touched was not a
deer.
After a moment or two Stannard joined him and took a miner's lamp from
his hat. Jimmy shivered, for the light touched a man who lay in the
willows. His arms were thrown out, and as much of his face as Jimmy saw
was very white. The other side was buried in the wet grass.
"Is he dead?" Jimmy gasped.
"Not yet, I think," said Stannard, and Deering, running up, pushed him
back and got on his knees.
Using some effort, he lifted the man's head and partly turned him over.
The others saw a few drops of blood about a very small hole in the
breast of his deerskin jacket.
"A blamed awkward spot!" Deering remarked and gave Jimmy a sympathetic
glance. "Your luck's surely bad, but get hold. We must carry him to the
house."
Stannard got down; he was cooler than Jimmy, but they heard an angry
shout, and Deering jumped for the lamp. When he ran forward the others
saw a young police-trooper crawl from the ditch. Stopping on the bank,
he looked down into the mud, and Bob, a few yards off, studied him with
a grim smile. Jimmy remarked that Okanagan had not a rifle.
"If you try to get your blasted gun, I'll sock my knife to you," said
Bob. "Shove on in front and stop where the light is."
The trooper advanced awkwardly. His Stetson hat was gone and his head
was cut. When he saw the man on the ground he stopped.
"You've killed him," he said. "Put up your hands! You're my prisoners!"
Bob laughed.
"Cut it out! That talk may go at Regina; we've no use for it in the
bush."
"An order from the Royal North-West goes everywhere. Quit fooling with
that knife. My duty is--"
"Oh, shucks!" said Bob, and turned to the others. "The kid fell on his
head and is rattled bad."
"He's hurt; give him a drink, Stannard," said Deering. "We must help the
other fellow. Lift his feet; I'll watch out for his head. Get hold,
Bob."
They carried the man to the house. When they put him down he did not
move, but Jimmy thought he breathed. Deering pushed a folded coat under
his neck and held Stannard's flask to his mouth. His lips were tight and
the liquor ran down his skin.
"A bad job!" said Deering, who opened the man's jacket. "All the same,
his heart has not stopped."
The packers from the barn were now pushing about the door and he
beckoned one.
"Take the best horse and start for the hotel. Get the clerk to wire for
a doctor and bring him along as quick as you can make it."