A wave of mist rolled across the rocks, but the vapor was faintly
luminous, as if a light shone through. Deering, Stannard, Jardine and
Jimmy waited on the steep bank above the ledge; Gillane had gone back
for the others. When he arrived the party would start.
Deering knew the venture was rash and the labor heavy. They would use
two ropes and the leader must kick and cut steps in the snow; the others
behind would then occupy the holes and hold him up until he cut another
lot. Cutting steps, however, soon tired one's arms, and when the leader
was exhausted to pull him up and tie on a fresh man might be dangerous.
Then nobody knew what was at the bottom and the gully might break off on
the front of an icy cliff.
All the same, some rashness was justified. Nothing indicated that the
mist would altogether roll away, and in two or three hours it would be
dark. If they stopped for another night on the high rocks, all would
freeze; an effort to reach the timber and camp by a fire was, so to
speak, their forlorn hope. Besides, Stannard was persuaded they could
get down, and Deering admitted his judgment was good. By and by
Stannard gave him a careless glance.
"I'll lead on the first rope and take Gillane and Stevens. Jimmy and the
others will go with you."
Deering wondered. He was resolved Jimmy should use his rope, but
Stannard's proposing it was significant. If Stannard knew why he had
joined them on the ledge, it looked as if he were resigned to let Jimmy
go. Then Stannard pulled out his watch.
"We must get off. Shout for Gillane. Your voice carries well."
Deering shouted and fixed his glance on the slope behind the group.
After a few minutes, two or three indistinct objects loomed in the mist.
"The boys are coming," he said, and resumed in a puzzled voice: "Gillane
went for Stevens and Dillon; but I see _four_."
"There are four," said Jimmy, and Deering's mouth got tight.
He thought the first man did not belong to Stannard's party, and now he
saw two others behind the advancing group.
"The police!" said Stannard, and shrugged resignedly.
Jimmy turned. His face was pinched and his pose was slack, but his look
was calm.
"You have played up nobly, but we're beaten and I've had enough. In
fact, to know I'm beaten is rather a relief."
Deering nodded gloomily. There was no use in trying to get away; the
Royal North-West are empowered to shoot, and, as a rule, shoot straight.
He waited and noted mechanically that Stannard was a few yards nearer
the top of the rocks. By and by a police sergeant stopped opposite the
group.
"We have got you! Don't move until you get my orders," he said, and
signing a trooper, indicated Gillane's party. "Hold that lot off!"
"We are not looking for trouble and the boys won't bother you," said
Deering. "What's your business?"
He turned and glanced at Stannard, who said nothing. The mist was
getting thin and Deering thought his look strained. Gillane had stopped
behind the police, and the sergeant advanced, pulling at his belt.
"I have a warrant, but my hands are frozen and I can't get inside my
coat."
"You can show us the warrant later," said Jimmy. "I'm James Leyland, the
man you want."
"We _don't want you_," the sergeant replied.
Jimmy's legs shook and he sat down in the snow. After the long strain,
his relief was poignant and reacted on his exhausted body. He gave the
sergeant a dull, puzzled look.
"Then whom do you want?"
"Harvey Stannard," said the other, and Stannard turned.
His figure cut the misty background and he carried himself as if he were
not disturbed. In fact, Jimmy imagined he had expected something like
this.
"I am Stannard. Why do you want me?"
"When I can loose my belt I'll read you the warrant. The charge is
killing game-warden Douglas."
"Then Douglas is dead?" said Stannard in a quiet voice.
"He died four or five days since," the sergeant replied.
"Ah!" said Stannard, and braced himself. "Well, I have nothing to state.
I reserve my defense----"
"Stop him!" shouted the sergeant, and leaped across the snow.
Stannard stepped back, stumbled on the steep bank and vanished.
For a moment Jimmy, numbed by horror, wondered whether his imagination
had cheated him. Then he saw Stannard was really gone and he ran for the
ledge. The others joined him, but Stannard was not on the ledge. Two or
three hundred feet below a dark object rolled down a long slab and at
the bottom plunged into a gulf where the gray mist tossed.
"He's gone," Deering remarked to the sergeant. "Perhaps you'll find him
when the snow melts."
They went back to the spot where they had left their packs and ropes.
For a time all were quiet, and then the sergeant said to Deering: "He
beat me, but I don't get it yet. I didn't reckon on his going over; he
stated he reserved his defense."
"Perhaps he was rash," Deering remarked in a thoughtful voice. "In the
meantime, however, we must let it go and think about getting down to
the bush. How did you find us?"
"We went for a neck behind Mr. Leyland's shack. When we saw no tracks we
pushed along the main range. We reckoned you'd gone by the long ridge
and we might cut your trail. We were three nights in the rocks and are
all played out."
"Then you had better join us. We are going to try Stannard's line down
the gully. I don't engage to make the woods, but I don't see another
plan."