II

It was a gay little party of three that left Montreal for Vancouver the

following Saturday. The red-headed Patrick pruned his speech and proved

himself a most entertaining comrade, as he recounted his adventures in

securing the return of divers famous criminals under the difficult

process of extradition. He had brought safely back "Red" McIntosh from

New Orleans, and Trelawney, the English forger, from Quebec; had

captured "Strong Arm" Moore in St. Louis, and been an important figure

in the old Manhattan Bank cases. He insisted on addressing Dockbridge as

"Judge," and introducing him to all strangers as "me distinguished

frind, the Disthrick Attorney av Noo York."

There were few passengers for the West, and the triumvirate easily

became friendly with the conductors, brakemen, and engine hands upon the

various divisions. The trip itself proved one unalloyed delight. Peggy

sat for hours spellbound at the windows as the train sang along the

frozen rails around the ice-bound shores of Superior and through the

snow-mantled forests of Ontario. Sometimes the three in furs and

mufflers clung to the reverberating platform of the end car watching

the diminishing track, or held their breath in the swaying cab as the

engine thundered through the drifts of Manitoba and Assiniboia toward

Moose Jaw, Calgary, and the Rockies.

In the monotonous hours across the frozen prairie Peggy learned all the

mysteries of the throttle, the magic of the reversing gear, the

pressure-valve and the brakes, and once, when there was a clear track

for a hundred miles, the driver, with his perspiring brow and frosty

back, allowed her slender fingers to guide the dangerous steed. For an

hour he stood behind her as she opened and closed the valve, pulled the

whistle at his direction, and slackened on the curves. She was

undeniably pretty. The driver had been stuck on a girl that looked a bit

like her out on the Edmonton run. He opined loudly that by the time they

reached Vancouver Peggy could send her along about as well as he could

himself. He repeated this emphatically, with much blasphemy, to the

fireman.

Peggy lived in an ecstasy of happiness. At odd moments she perused

diligently her husband's copy of "Moore on Extradition." She didn't

intend to be the man of the family--she was too sensible for that--but

she saw no reason why a woman should not know something about her

husband's profession, particularly when it was as exciting a one as

Jack's.

Four days brought them within sight of the mountains, and the next

morning, when they stopped for water, the whole range of the Canadian

Rockies lay around and above them, their virgin summits sparkling in the

winter sun.

"Glad you came, Peg?" shouted Dockbridge, hurling a feather-weight

snowball in her direction as she stood on the platform in silent wonder

at the scene.

She answered only with a deep inspiration of the dry, cold air.

"Shure, ain't we all av us?" inquired McGinnis lighting his pipe. "Say,

this beats th' Bowery. Th' Tenderloin ain't in it wid this. I'd loike to

camp right here for the rest of me days!"

There was something so unlikely in this, since, apart from the

mountains, the only visible object in the landscape was a watering-tank,

that they all laughed.

Up they climbed into the glistening teeth of the divide, clearing at

last the first Titanic bulwark, now in the darkness of Stygian tunnels,

now bathed in glittering ether, until, sweeping down past the whole

magnificent range of the Selkirks, they dropped into the boisterous

cañon of the Fraser, and knew that their journey was drawing to a close.

The blue shadows of morning melted into the breathless splendor of high

noon upon the summit of the world, then, reappearing, faded to purple,

azure, gray, until the blazing sun sank in an iridescent line of burning

crests. Night fell again, and the stars crowded down upon them like

myriads of flickering lamps, while the moon swung in and out behind the

giant peaks.

"Shure, 'tis a sad thing we can't ride in a train, drawin' th' county's

money foriver!" sighed McGinnis as the sunset died over the foaming

rapids.

"Ah, but we've work to do, Pat!" answered Peggy. "You mustn't forget Sam

Andrews and the Boodle Bank. There's fame and fortune waiting for us."

On the run down the coast they held a council of war. Pat was to

continue on to Seattle and arrest the fugitive, while Jack and Peggy

hastened to Olympia to secure the Governor's recognition of their

credentials and his warrant for the deliverance of Andrews to the

representatives of the State of New York.

The Governor, a short, fat man, with a black beard, proved unexpectedly

tractable, and not only issued the warrant, but invited them both to

lunch. It developed that he had graduated from Jack's college. Oh, yes,

he knew Andrews! Not a bad sort at all. One of those fellows that under

pressure of circumstances had technically violated the law, but a

perfect gentleman. Of course he had to honor their requisition, but he

was really sorry to see such a decent fellow as Andrews placed under

arrest. He was sure that Sam would take the affair in the proper spirit

and return with them voluntarily. You must not be too hard on people!

Everybody committed crime--inadvertently. There were so many statutes

that you never knew when you were stepping over the line. He frankly

sympathized with the fugitive, although obliged officially to assist

them. You could not help feeling that way about a man you always dined

with at the club. Well, the law was the law. He hoped they would have a

pleasant trip back. He must return himself to the Council Chamber to a

blasted hearing--a delegation of confounded Chinese merchants.

They took the train for Seattle, highly elated. They found McGinnis,

together with the prisoner and his lawyer, awaiting them at The

Ranier-Grand. Andrews proved to be another stout man, with a brown beard

and a pair of genial gray eyes. As the Governor had stated, it was clear

that he was a perfect gentleman. He apologized for bringing his lawyer.

It was only, they would understand, to make sure that his arrest was

entirely legal. He had no intention of attempting to retard or thwart

their purpose in any way. Of course, the whole thing was unfortunate in

many respects, but that he should be desired in New York to unravel the

complicated affairs of the bank was only natural. Everything could be

easily explained, and, in the meantime, the only thing to do was to

return with them as quickly as possible. Altogether he was very charming

and entirely convincing. He hoped they would not consider him presuming

if he suggested that a few days in Seattle would prove interesting to

them; there was so much that was beautiful in the way of scenery of easy

access; and in the meantime he could get his affairs in shape a little.

Peggy thought that was a splendid idea. It would be mean to take Mr.

Andrews away without giving him a chance to say good-by to his friends,

and she wanted to see Victoria and Esquimault, and Tacoma. While Mr.

Andrews (in charge of McGinnis) was arranging his business matters, she

and Jack could do the sights. In the meantime they could all live

together at the hotel, and no one need know that Mr. Andrews was under

arrest at all. Jack saw no harm in this, and neither did McGinnis.

Andrews was politely grateful. It was most kind of them to treat him

with such courtesy. He hastened to assure them they would not have any

reason to regret so doing.

Two days passed. The Dockbridges wearied themselves with sight-seeing,

while Andrews busied himself with arrangements to depart. The favorable

impression made by the prisoner upon his captors had steadily increased,

and in a short time they found themselves regarding him in the light of

a most agreeable companion whom fate had thrown in their way.

"And now for New York!" exclaimed Jack, lighting his cigar, as they sat

around the dinner-table on the evening of the third day after their

arrival in Seattle. "How shall we go--Northern Pacific, Union, or The

Short Line and across on The Rock Island?"

"Divel a bit do I care," answered Pat comfortably from behind an

enormous Manuel Garcia Extravaganza, tendered him by Mr. Andrews. "Th'

longer th' better, suits _me_. 'Tis the county pays me, an' I loike

ridin' in the cars down to th' ground."

"What is the prettiest way, Mr. Andrews?" inquired Peggy, "You know the

country. Where would we see the most mountains?"

Had it not been for the thick clouds of cigar smoke, they would have

noticed the flash of Andrews' gray eyes which so quickly died away. He

hesitated a moment, as if giving the matter the consideration it

deserved.

"There's practically no choice," he replied at length, knocking the ash

from his cigar. "They're all lovely at this time of year. The Rock

Island route is longer, but perhaps it is the more interesting." He

paused doubtfully, then resumed his cigar.

But Peggy, who at the thought of the trip had become all eagerness, had

observed his manner.

"You were going to add something, Mr. Andrews; what was it?"

Andrews smiled. "Oh, nothing! I was about to say that if it wasn't such

a tough journey you might go back by the Northern Montana and connect

with the Soo. It's a magnificent trip in summer, but I dare say pretty

cold in winter. Wonderful scenery, though."

"Let's go!" exclaimed Peggy. "That's what we are after--scenery! I don't

care if it _is_ cold. I've got my furs. Montana, you say? And the Soo?

That sounds like Indians. What do you say, Jack?"

"Oh, I don't mind!" answered her husband. "Andrews knows best. He's been

that way. Sure, if you say so."

Andrews hid a smile by lighting another cigar.

[Illustration: He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the

consideration it deserved.]