WITHAM'S DECISION
Farmer Witham crossed the frontier without molestation and spent one
night in a little wooden town, where several people he did not speak
to apparently recognized him. Then he pushed on southwards, and passed
a week in the especially desolate settlement he had been directed to.
A few dilapidated frame houses rose out of the white wilderness beside
the broad, beaten trail, and, for here the prairie rolled south in
long rises like the wakes of a frozen sea, a low wooden building on
the crest of one cut the skyline a league away. It served as outpost
for a squadron of United States cavalry, and the troopers daily
maligned the Government which had sent them into that desolation on
police duty.
There was nothing else visible but a few dusky groves of willows and
dazzling snow. The ramshackle wooden hotel was rather more than
usually badly kept and comfortless, and Witham, who had managed to
conciliate his host, felt relieved one afternoon when the latter flung
down the cards disgustedly.
"I guess I've had enough," he said. "Playing for stakes of this kind
isn't good enough for you!"
Witham laughed a little to hide his resentment, as he said, "I don't
quite understand."
"Pshaw!" said the American with a contemptuous gesture. "Three times
out of four I've spoiled your hand, and if I didn't know that black
horse I'd take you for some blamed Canadian rancher. You didn't handle
the pictures that way when you stripped the boys to the hide at
Regent, Mr. Courthorne?"
"Regent?" said Witham.
The hotel-keeper laughed. "Oh yes," he said. "I wouldn't go back there
too soon, anyway. The boys seem quite contented, and I don't figure
they would be very nice to you. Well, now, I've no use for fooling
with a man who's too proud to take my dollars, and I've a pair of
horses just stuffed with wickedness in the stable. There's not much
you don't know about a beast, anyway, and you can take them out a
league or two if you feel like it."
Witham, who had grown very tired of his host, was glad of any
distraction, especially as he surmised that while the man had never
seen Courthorne, he knew rather more than he did himself about his
doings. Accordingly, he got into the sleigh that was brought out by
and by, and enjoyed the struggle with the half-tamed team which stood
with ears laid back, prepared for conflict. Oats had been very
plentiful, and prices low that season. Witham, who knew at least as
much about a horse as Lance Courthorne, however, bent them to his will
and the team were trotting quietly through the shadow of a big birch
bluff a league from town, when he heard a faint clip-clop coming down
the trail behind him. It led straight beneath the leafless branches,
and was beaten smooth and firm; while Witham, who had noticed already
that whenever he strayed any distance from the hotel there was a
mounted cavalryman somewhere, in the vicinity, shook the reins.
The team swung into faster stride, the cold wind whistled past him,
and the snow whirled up from beneath the runners; but while he
listened the rhythmic drumming behind him also quickened a little.
Then a faintly musical jingle of steel accompanied the beat of hoofs,
and Witham glanced about him with a little laugh of annoyance. The
dusk was creeping across the prairie, and a pale star or two growing
into brilliancy in the cloudless sweep of indigo.
"It's getting a trifle tiresome. I'll find out what the fellow wants,"
he said.
Wheeling the team, he drove back the way he came, and, when a dusky
object materialized out of the shadows beneath the birches, swung the
horses right across the trail. The snow lay deep on either side of it
just there, with a sharp crust upon its surface, which rendered it
inadvisable to take a horse round the sleigh. The mounted man
accordingly drew bridle, and the jingle and rattle betokened his
profession, though it was already too dark to see him clearly.
"Hallo!" he said. "Been buying this trail up, stranger?"
"No," said Witham quietly, though he still held his team across the
way. "Still, I've got the same right as any other citizen to walk or
drive along it without anybody prowling after me, and just now I want
to know if there is a reason I should be favoured with your company."
The trooper laughed a little. "I guess there is. It's down in the
orders that whoever's on patrol near the settlement should keep his
eye on you. You see, if you lit out of here we would want to know just
where you were going to."
"I am," said Witham, "a Canadian citizen, and I came out here for
quietness."
"Well," said the other, "you're an American too. Anyway, when you were
in a tight place down in Regent there, you told the boys so. Now, no
sensible man would boast of being a Britisher unless it was helping
him to play out his hand."
Witham kept his temper. "I want a straight answer. Can you tell me
what you and the boys are trailing me for?"
"No," said the trooper. "Still, I guess our commander could. If you
don't know of any reason, you might ask him."
Witham tightened his grip on the reins. "I'll ride back with you to
the outpost now."
The trooper shook his bridle, and trotted behind the sleigh, while, as
it swung up and down over the billowy rises of the prairie, Witham
became sensible of a curious expectancy. The bare, hopeless life he
had led seemed to have slipped behind him, and though he suspected
that there was no great difference between his escort and a prisoner's
guard, the old love of excitement he once fancied he had outgrown for
ever awoke again within him. Anything that was different from the past
would be a relief, and the man who had for eight long years of
strenuous toil practised the grimmest self-denial wondered with a
quickening of all his faculties what the future, that could not be
more colourless, might have in store for him.
It was dark, and very cold, when they reached the wooden building, but
Witham's step was lighter, and his spirits more buoyant than they had
been for some months when, handing the sleigh over to an orderly, he
walked into the guard-room, where bronzed men in uniform glanced at
him curiously. Then he was shown into a bare, log-walled hall, where a
young man in blue uniform with a weather-darkened face was writing at
a table.
"I've been partly expecting a visit," he said. "I'm glad to see you,
Mr. Courthorne."
Witham laughed with a very good imitation of the outlaw's
recklessness, and wondered the while because it cost him no effort. He
who had, throughout the last two adverse seasons, seldom smiled at
all, and then but grimly, experienced the same delight in an adventure
that he had done when he came out to Canada.
"I don't know that I can return the compliment just yet," he said. "I
have one or two things to ask you."
The young soldier smiled good-humouredly, as he flung a cigar case on
the table. "Oh, sit down and shake those furs off," he said. "I'm not
a worrying policeman, and we're white men, anyway. If you'd been
twelve months in this forsaken place you'd know what I'm feeling. Take
a smoke, and start in with your questions when you feel like it."
Witham lighted a cigar, flung himself down in a hide chair, and
stretched out his feet towards the stove. "In the first place, I want
to know why your boys are shadowing me. You see, you couldn't arrest
me unless our folks in the Dominion had got their papers through."
The officer nodded. "No. We couldn't lay hands on you, and we only had
orders to see where you went to when you left this place, so the folks
there could corral you if they got the papers. That's about the size
of it at present, but, as I've sent a trooper over to Regent, I'll
know more to-morrow."
Witham laughed. "It may appear a little astonishing, but I haven't the
faintest notion why the police in Canada should worry about me. Is
there any reason you shouldn't tell me?"
The officer looked at him thoughtfully. "Bluff? I'm quite smart at it
myself," he said.
"No," and Witham shook his head. "It's a straight question. I want to
know."
"Well," said the other, "it couldn't do much harm if I told you. You
were running whisky a little while ago, and, though the folks didn't
seem to suspect it, you had a farmer or a rancher for a partner--it
appears he has mixed up things for you."
"Witham?" and the farmer turned to roll the cigar which did not need
it between his fingers.
"That's the man," said his companion. "Well, though I guess it's
no news to you, the police came down upon your friends at a
river-crossing, and farmer Witham put a bullet into a young trooper,
Shannon, I fancy."
Witham sat upright, and the blood that surged to his forehead sank
from it suddenly, and left his face grey with anger.
"Good Lord!" he said hoarsely. "He killed him?"
"Yes, sir," said the officer, "Killing's not quite the word, because
one shot would have been enough to free him of the lad, and the
rancher fired twice into him. They figured, from the way the trooper
was lying and the footprints, that he meant to finish him."
The farmer's face was very grim as he said, "They were sure it was
Witham?"
"Yes," and the soldier watched him curiously. "Anyway, they were sure
of his horse, and it was Witham's rifle. Another trooper nearly got
him, and he left it behind him. It wasn't killing, for the trooper
don't seem to have had a show at all, and I'm glad to see it makes you
kind of sick. Only that one of the troopers allows he was trailing you
at a time which shows you had no hand in the thing, you wouldn't be
sitting there smoking that cigar."
It was almost a minute before Witham could trust his voice. Then he
said slowly, "And what do they want me for?"
"I guess they don't quite know whether they do or not," said the
officer. "They crawl slow in Canada. In the meanwhile they wanted to
know where you were, so they could take out papers if anything turned
up against you."
"And Witham?" said the farmer.
"Got away with a trooper close behind him. The rest of them had headed
him off from the prairie, and he took to the river. Went through the
ice and drowned himself, though as there was a blizzard nobody quite
saw the end of him, and in case there was any doubt they've got a
warrant out. Farmer Witham's dead, and if he isn't he soon will be,
for the troopers have got their net right across the prairie, and the
Canadians don't fool time away as we do when it comes to hanging
anybody. The tale seems to have worried you."
Witham sat rigidly still and silent for almost a minute. Then he rose
up with a curious little shake of his shoulders.
"And farmer Witham's dead. Well he had a hard life. I knew him rather
well," he said. "Thank you for the story. On my word this is the first
time I've heard it, and now it's time I was going."
The officer laughed a little. "Sit right down again. Now, there's
something about you that makes me like you, and as I can't talk to the
boys, I'll give you the best supper we can raise in the whole forsaken
country, and you can camp here until to-morrow. It's an arrangement
that will meet the views of everybody, because I'll know whether the
Canadians want you or not in the morning."
Witham did not know what prompted him to agree, but it all seemed part
of a purpose that impelled him against his reasoning will, and he sat
still beside the stove while his host went out to give orders
respecting supper and the return of the sleigh. He was also glad to be
alone for a while, for now and then a fit of anger shook him as he saw
how he had been duped by Courthorne. He had heard Shannon's story,
and, remembering it, could fancy that Courthorne had planned the
trooper's destruction with a devilish cunning that recognized by what
means the blame could be laid upon a guiltless man. Witham's face
became mottled with grey again as he realized that if he revealed his
identity he had nothing but his word to offer in proof of his
innocence.
Still, it was anger and not fear that stirred him, for nobody could
arrest a man who was dead, and there was no reason that would render
it undesirable for him to remain so. His farm would, when sold,
realize the money borrowed upon it, and the holder of the mortgage had
received a profitable interest already. Had the unforeseen not
happened, Witham would have held out to the end of the struggle, but
now he had no regret that this was out of the question. Fate had been
too strong for him as farmer Witham, but it might deal more kindly
with him as the outlaw Courthorne. He could also make a quick
decision, and when the officer returned to say that supper was ready,
he rose with a smile.
They sat down to a meal that was barbaric in its simplicity and
abundance, for men live and eat in Homeric fashion in the North-West,
while when the green tea was finished and the officer pushed the
whisky across, his guest laughed as he filled his glass.
"Here's better fortune to farmer Witham!" he said.
The officer stared at him. "No, sir," he said "If the old folks taught
me aright, Witham's in----"
A curious smile flickered in the farmer's eyes. "No," he said slowly.
"He was tolerably near it once or twice when he was alive, and,
because of what he went through then, there may be something better in
store for him."
His companion appeared astonished, but said nothing further until he
brought out the cards. They played for an hour beside the snapping
stove, and then, when Witham flung a trump away, the officer groaned.
"I guess," he said disgustedly, "you're not well to-night, or
something is worrying you."
Witham looked up with a little twinkle in his eyes. "I don't know that
there's very much wrong with me."
"Then," said the officer decisively, "if the boys down at Regent know
enough to remember what trumps are, you're not Lance Courthorne. Now
after what I'd heard of you, I'd have put up fifty dollars for the
pleasure of watching your game--and it's not worth ten cents when I've
seen it."
Witham laughed. "Sit down and talk," he said. "One isn't always in his
usual form, and there are folks who get famous too easily."
They talked until nearly midnight, sitting close to the stove, while a
doleful wind that moaned without drove the dust of snow pattering
against the windows, and the shadows grew darker in the corners of the
great log-walled room each time the icy draughts set the lamp
flickering. Then the officer, rising, expressed the feelings of his
guest as he said, "It's a forsaken country, and I'm thankful one can
sleep and forget it."
He had, however, an honourable calling, and a welcome from friend and
kinsman awaiting him when he went East again, to revel in the life of
the cities, but the man who followed him silently to the sleeping-room
had nothing but a half-instinctive assurance that the future could not
well be harder or more lonely than the past had been. Still, farmer
Witham was a man of courage with a quiet belief in himself, and in ten
minutes he was fast asleep.
When he came down to breakfast his host was already seated with a
bundle of letters before him, and one addressed to Courthorne lay
unopened by Witham's plate. The officer nodded when he saw him.
"The trooper has come in with the mail, and your friends in Canada are
not going to worry you," he said. "Now, if you feel like staying here
a few days, it would be a favour to me."
Witham had in the meanwhile opened the envelope. He knew that when
once the decision was made there could only be peril in half-measures,
and his eyes grew thoughtful as he read. The letter had been written
by a Winnipeg lawyer from a little town not very far away, and
requested Courthorne to meet and confer with him respecting certain
suggestions made by a Colonel Barrington. Witham decided to take the
risk.
"I'm sorry, but I have got to go into Annerly at once," he said.
"Then," said the officer, "I'll drive you. I've some stores to get
down there."
They started after breakfast, but it was dusk next day when they
reached the little town, and Witham walked quietly into a private room
of the wooden hotel, where a middle-aged man with a shrewd face sat
waiting him. The big nickelled lamp flickered in the draughts that
found their way in, and Witham was glad of it, though he was outwardly
very collected. The stubborn patience and self-control with which he
had faced the loss of his wheat crops and frozen stock stood him in
good stead now. He fancied the lawyer seemed a trifle astonished at
his appearance, and sat down wondering whether he had previously
spoken to Courthorne, until the question was answered for him.
"Although I have never had the pleasure of meeting you before, I have
acted as Colonel Barrington's legal adviser ever since he settled at
Silverdale, and am, therefore, well posted as to his affairs, which
are, of course, connected with those of your own family," said the
lawyer. "We can accordingly talk with greater freedom, and I hope
without the acerbity which in your recent communications somewhat
annoyed the Colonel!"
"Well," said Courthorne, who had never heard of Colonel Barrington, "I
am ready to listen."
The lawyer drummed on the table. "It might be best to come to the
point at once," he said. "Colonel Barrington does not deem it
convenient that you should settle at Silverdale, and would be prepared
to offer you a reasonable sum to relinquish your claim."
"My claim?" said Witham, who remembered having heard of the Silverdale
Colony, which lay several hundred miles away.
"Of course," said the lawyer. "The legacy lately left you by Roger
Courthorne. I have brought you a schedule of the wheat in store, and
amounts due to you on various sales made. You will also find the
acreage, stock, and implements detailed at a well-known appraiser's
valuation, which you could, of course, confirm, and Colonel Barrington
would hand you a cheque for half the total now. He however, asks four
years to pay the balance, which would carry bank interest in the
meanwhile, in."
Witham, who was glad of the excuse, spent at least ten minutes
studying the paper, and realized that it referred to a large and
well-appointed farm, though it occurred to him that the crop was a
good deal smaller than it should have been. He noticed this, as it
were, instinctively, for his brain was otherwise very busy.
"Colonel Barrington seems somewhat anxious to get rid of me," he said.
"You see, this land is mine by right."
"Yes," said the lawyer. "Colonel Barrington does not dispute it,
though I am of opinion that he might have done so under one clause of
the will. I do not think we need discuss his motives."
Witham moistened his lips with his tongue, and his lips quivered a
little. He had hitherto been an honest man, and now it was impossible
for him to take the money. It, however, appeared equally impossible to
reveal his identity and escape the halter, and he felt that the dead
man had wronged him horribly. He was entitled at least to safety by
way of compensation, for by passing as Courthorne he would avoid
recognition as Witham.
"Still, I do not know how I have offended Colonel Barrington," he
said.
"I would sooner," said the lawyer, "not go into that. It is, I fancy,
fifteen years since Colonel Barrington saw you, but he desired me to
find means of tracing your Canadian record, and did not seem pleased
with it. Nor, at the risk of offending you, could I deem him unduly
prejudiced."
"In fact," said Witham dryly, "this man who has not seen me for
fifteen years is desirous of withholding what is mine from me at
almost any cost."
The lawyer nodded. "There is nothing to be gained by endeavouring to
controvert it. Colonel Barrington is also, as you know, a somewhat
determined gentleman."
Witham laughed, for he was essentially a stubborn man, and felt little
kindliness towards any one connected with Courthorne, as the Colonel
evidently was.
"I fancy I am not entirely unlike him in that respect," he said. "What
you have told me makes me the more determined to follow my own
inclinations. Is there any one else at Silverdale prejudiced against
me?"
The lawyer fell into the trap. "Miss Barrington, of course, takes her
brother's view, and her niece would scarcely go counter to them. She
must have been a very young girl when she last saw you, but from what
I know of her character I should expect her to support the Colonel."
"Well," said Witham. "I want to think over the thing. We will talk
again to-morrow. You would require me to establish my identity,
anyway?"
"The fact that a famous inquiry agent has traced your movements down
to a week or two ago, and told me where to find you, will render that
simple," said the lawyer dryly.
Witham sat up late that night turning over the papers the lawyer left
him, and thinking hard. It was evident that in the meanwhile he must
pass as Courthorne, but as the thought of taking the money revolted
him, the next step led to the occupation of the dead man's property.
The assumption of it would apparently do nobody a wrong, while he felt
that Courthorne had taken so much from him that the farm at Silverdale
would be a very small reparation. It was not, he saw, a great
inheritance, but one that in the right hands could be made profitable,
and Witham, who had fought a plucky fight with obsolete and worthless
implements and indifferent teams, felt that he could do a great deal
with what was, as it were, thrust upon him at Silverdale. It was not
avarice that tempted him, though he knew he was tempted now, but a
longing to find a fair outlet for his energies, and show what, once
given the chance that most men had, he could do. He had stinted
himself and toiled almost as a beast of burden, but now he could use
his brains in place of wringing the last effort out of overtaxed
muscle. He had also during the long struggle lost, to some extent, his
clearness of vision, and only saw himself as a lonely man fighting for
his own hand with fate against him. Now, when prosperity was offered
him, it seemed but folly to stand aside when he could stretch out a
strong hand and take it.
During the last hour he sat almost motionless, the issue hung in the
balance, and he laid himself down still undecided. Still, he had lived
long in primitive fashion in close touch with the soil, and sank, as
most men would have done, into restful sleep. The sun hung red above
the rim of the prairie when he awakened, and going down to breakfast
found the lawyer waiting for him.
"You can tell Colonel Barrington I'm coming to Silverdale," he said.
The lawyer looked at him curiously. "Would there be any use in asking
you to consider?"
Witham laughed. "No," he said. "Now, I rather like the way you talked
to me, and if it wouldn't be disloyalty to the Colonel, I should be
pleased if you would undertake to put me in due possession of my
property."
He said nothing further, and the lawyer sat down to write Colonel
Barrington.
"Mr. Courthorne proves obdurate," he said. "He is, however, by no
means the type of man I expected to find, and I venture to surmise
that you will eventually discover him to be a less undesirable
addition to Silverdale than you are at present inclined to fancy."