ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS.
The police advanced to within twenty-five yards and, drawing closer
together, halted.
"Watusk, come out of that!" barked the inspector in his parade ground
voice.
Ambrose had his first look at him. He was a little man, trigly built,
with a bullet head under a closely cropped thatch of white. A heavy
white mustache bisected his florid face.
No one could have mistaken him in any dress, for aught but a soldier.
He did not look as if patience and fair-mindedness were included among
his virtues, which was unfortunate for Ambrose as the event proved.
As Watusk gave no sign of stirring, he was seized by many hands and
boosted over the edge of the pit. He rolled over, knocking down some
of the bushes and finally rose to his feet, standing with wretched,
hang-dog mien.
His appearance, with the frock coat all rubbed with earth and the
military gear hanging askew, caused the troopers to shout with
laughter. Here was a change from the fire-eater of half an hour before.
"Ho!" cried Inspector Egerton. "The conqueror of the English!"
Watusk drew closer and began to whine insinuatingly. "I sorry I mak'
that talk, me. I can' help it at all. Ambrose Doane tell me that. He
put his medicine on me. I sick."
Ambrose attempted to cry out in his angry astonishment, but only a
muffled groan issued through the handkerchief. He was not visible to
the troopers where he stood in the corner, and he could not move.
"Is Ambrose Doane there?" demanded the officer.
Watusk quickly turned and spoke a sentence in Kakisa. Ambrose saw the
look of craft in his yellow face. One of the men who guarded Ambrose
drew his knife and cut his bonds and untied the handkerchief.
Ambrose's heart beat high. It never occurred to him that they could
believe the wretched liar! He drew himself over the edge of the pit,
helped by those behind.
"Hello!" he cried.
There was no answering greeting. The faces before him were as grim as
stone. For Watusk they had a kind of good-humored contempt--for him a
cold and deadly scorn.
Evidently their minds were made up in advance. The inspector twirled
his mustache and regarded him with a hard, speculative eye.
Ambrose's heart failed him terribly. These were men that he admired.
"What's the matter?" he cried. "Do you believe this liar? I have been
a prisoner up to this moment--bound hand and foot and gagged. The
marks are still on my wrists!"
Inspector Egerton did not look at his wrists. "H-m! Not bad!" he said
grimly. "You're a cool hand, my man!"
The blood rushed to Ambrose's face. "For God's sake, will you tell me
what I could hope to gain by stirring up the Indians?" he demanded.
"Don't ask me," said the inspector. "You were ready to grasp at any
straw, I expect."
In the face of injustice so determined, it was only humiliating for
Ambrose to attempt to defend himself. His face hardened. He set his
jaw and shrugged callously.
"You're under arrest," said the inspector.
"On what charge?" Ambrose sullenly demanded.
"A mere trifle," said the inspector ironically. "Unlawful entry,
conspiracy, burglary, and assault with intent to kill. To which we
shall probably add treason."
Ambrose made no answer. In his heart he had hoped that the empty
charges at Fort Enterprise had fallen of their own weight before this.
The inspector turned his attention back to Watusk. "Deliver over your
arsenal!" he said.
Watusk meekly unfastened his various belts and handed them to a
trooper. Having observed Ambrose's rebuff, his face had become smooth
and inscrutable again.
By this time the Indians had issued out of the pit by the rear and were
standing in an uncertain group a little way off.
"Order them to pile their weapons on the ground," commanded the
inspector. "Let each man make a mark upon the stock of his rifle so
that he can identify it when it is returned. Send messengers to the
other pits with orders for all the men to bring their guns here."
Watusk was eager to obey him.
"Where is your camp?" the inspector asked him.
Watusk pointed. "One mile," he said.
"After we get the guns you shall go there with me and we will examine
the people."
Ambrose, hearing this, turned to the trooper who was nearest. "If you
go to the camp get me my dog, will you?" he asked sullenly.
"What's that?" demanded the inspector.
Ambrose explained where his dog was to be found. They looked at him
curiously as if surprised that such a desperate criminal should be
solicitous about a dog. The trooper promised to bring him.
Inspector Egerton continued to issue his orders. "Bafford, ride back
and bring up the baggage. Have my tent pitched in the middle of the
valley below. Emslie"--this was the yellow-haired youth--"I shall hold
you responsible for the white prisoner. You needn't handcuff him. He
couldn't escape if he wished to."
Ambrose had to undergo the humiliation of walking down hill at the
stirrup of the young trooper's horse. Emslie showed a less hard face
than some of the others.
Ambrose sought to establish relations with him by asking for tobacco.
He was hungry for speech with his own kind. But the look of cold
contempt with which his request was granted precluded any further
advances.
Upon Inspector Egerton's return from the Kakisa village a meal was
served. Afterward the inspector sat at his folding-table inside his
tent and held his investigations.
There was a deal of business to be transacted. In due course Ambrose
was brought before him. Watusk, whose services were in continual
demand as interpreter, was present, and several troopers.
"It is customary to ask a prisoner upon arrest if he has anything to
say for himself," said the inspector. "I must warn you that anything
you say may be used against you."
Ambrose felt their animosity like a wall around him. "What's the use?"
he said sullenly. "You've already convicted me in your own mind."
"What I think of your case has nothing to do with it," said the
inspector coldly. "You will be brought before competent judges."
"There is something I want to say," said Ambrose, looking at Watusk.
"But not before that mongrel."
The inspector spoke to a trooper, and Watusk was led outside. "Now,
then!" he said to Ambrose.
"Watusk means to turn king's evidence," said Ambrose. "He will make up
what story he pleases, thinking that none of the Kakisas can testify
except through him--or through Gordon Strange, who is his friend."
"Are you accusing Strange now?" interrupted the inspector. "Let me
tell you: Strange is pretty highly thought of back at the fort."
"No doubt!" said Ambrose with a shrug. "There is one member of the
tribe beside Watusk who can speak English," he went on. "In the
interest of justice I ask you to find her."
"Who is it?"
"Her name is Nesis. She is the youngest of the four wives of Watusk."
Ambrose told her story briefly and baldly.
"So!" said the inspector with a peculiar smile. "According to your own
story you eloped with Watusk's wife. Upon my word! Do you expect a
jury to attach any weight to her evidence?"
"I take my chance of that," said Ambrose. "If you want to get at the
truth you must find her."
"I'll have a search made at once."
"Watch Watusk," warned Ambrose. "He'll stop at nothing to keep her
evidence out of court--not even murder."
The inspector smiled in an annoyed way. Ambrose's attitude did not
agree with his preconceptions.
However, he immediately rode back to the Kakisa village with three
troopers. In an hour he sent one of the men back for Watusk. In two
hours they all returned--without Nesis.
Ambrose's heart sank like a stone. By instinct he strove to conceal
his discouragement from his enemies under a nonchalant air.
The inspector, feeling that some explanation was due to Ambrose, had
him brought to his tent again.
"I have searched," he said. "I can find no trace of any such person as
you describe."
"Naturally, not with Watusk's help," said Ambrose bitterly.
The inspector bit his lip. According to his lights he was honestly
trying to be fair to the prisoner.
"First I searched the teepees myself," he condescended to explain. "It
appears there are several girls by that name. When I called on Watusk
I had him watched and checked."
"The Indians were primed in advance," said Ambrose. "Watusk can pull
wool over your eyes."
"Silence!" cried the exasperated inspector. "Your story is
preposterous anyway. Pure romance. Nevertheless I have instructed
Sergeant Plaskett to continue the search. If any such girl should be
found, which would surprise me, she will be sent out. You can go."
Inspector Egerton with half his force started back for the Kakisa River
_en route_ to Fort Enterprise that same afternoon. They convoyed seven
prisoners, and five additional members of the Kakisa tribe, whom Watusk
had indicated would be material witnesses.
Ambrose watched Watusk ingratiating himself with bitterness at his
heart. The Indian ex-leader's air of penitent eagerness to atone for
past misdeeds was admirable.
They rode hard, and crossed the river before making their first camp.
The next day they covered sixty miles, reaching a station established
by Inspector Egerton on the way over, where they found fresh horses.
At the end of the third day they camped within thirty miles of Fort
Enterprise.
Ambrose could never afterward think of these days without an inward
shudder. Pain angered him. Outwardly he looked the hard and reckless
character they thought him, because his sensibilities were raw and
quivering.
The dog knew. He was free to move about; he was well-fed and freshly
clothed, and the policemen acted toward him with a disinterestedness so
scrupulous it was almost like kindness.
Nevertheless Ambrose felt their belief in his guilt like a hunchback
feels the difference in the world's glance. In his moments of blackest
discouragement the suggestion flitted oddly through his brain that
maybe he was guilty of all these preposterous crimes.
If this was not enough, once he heard them discussing his case. He was
lying in a tent, and there was a little group of troopers at the door,
smoking. They thought he was asleep.
He heard Emslie say: "Doane looks like a decent-enough head, doesn't
he? Shows you never can tell."
"The worst criminals are always a decent-looking sort," said another.
"That's why they're dangerous."
"By gad!" said a third, "when you think of all he's responsible for,
even if he didn't do it with his own hands--arson, robbery,
murder--think what that girl at Enterprise has been through! By gad!
hanging's too good for him!"
"Any man that would lower himself to rouse the passions of the Indians
against his own kind--he isn't worth the name of white man!"
"The worst of it is nothing you can do to Doane will repair the damage.
He's put back the white man's work in this country twenty years!"
Ambrose rolled over and covered his head with his arms. These were
honest men who spoke, men he would have chosen for friends.
Nest morning he showed no sign, except perhaps an added sullenness.
Nevertheless he had received a hurt that would never altogether heal
while he lived.
No matter how swift rehabilitation might follow, after an experience
like this a man could never have the same frank confidence in the power
of truth.
It was a point of pride with him to be a model prisoner. He gave as
little trouble as possible, and during the whole journey made but one
request.
That was at the last spell before reaching the fort. He asked for a
razor. Colina might scorn him like the others, but she should not see
him looking like a tramp.
Immediately upon their arrival at Fort Enterprise, John Gaviller in his
capacity as Justice of the Peace held a hearing in the police room in
the quarters.
Gaviller's health was largely restored, but the old assurance was
lacking, perhaps he would never be quite the same man again. He was
prompted by Gordon Strange. Colina was not present. Ambrose had not
seen her upon landing.
The hearing was merely a perfunctory affair. All the prisoners were
remanded to Prince George for trial.
Ambrose gathered from the talk that reached his ears that it was
intended to send everybody, prisoners, and witnesses, including Gordon
Strange, Gaviller and Colina up the river next day in the launch and a
scow.
To travel seven days in her sight, a prisoner--he wondered if there
were any dregs of bitterness remaining in the cup after this!
They gave Ambrose the jail to himself. This was a little log-shack
behind the quarters with iron-bound door and barred window.
To him in the course of the afternoon came Inspector Egerton moved by
his sense of duty. He officially informed Ambrose that he was to be
taken up the river next morning.
"Is there anything you want?" he asked stiffly.
"I left a friend here," Ambrose said with a bitter smile. "I'd like to
see him if he's willing to come."
"Whom do you mean?"
"Simon Grampierre."
The inspector looked grave. "He's under arrest," he said. "I can't
let you communicate."
"Can I see his son then, Germain Grampierre?"
"Sorry. He's on parole."
Ambrose had been counting on this more than he knew, to talk with some
man, even a breed, who believed in him. It is a necessity of our
natures under trial. To deny it was like robbing him of his last hope.
Some power of endurance suddenly snapped within him.
"What do you come here for?" he cried in a breaking voice. "To torture
me? Must I be surrounded day and night only by those who think me a
murderer! For God's sake get the thing over with! Take me to town and
hang me if that's what you want! A month of this and I'd be a
gibbering idiot anyway!"
The ring of honest pain in this aroused dim compunctions in the
admirable little colonel. He twisted his big mustache uncomfortably.
"I'm sure I've done what I could for you," he said.
"Everything except let me alone," cried Ambrose. "For God's sake go
away and let me be!" He flung himself face downward on his cot.
Inspector Egerton withdrew stiffly.
Ambrose lay with his head in his arms, and let his shaking nerves quiet
down. A fit of the blackest despair succeeded. To his other troubles
he now added hot shame--that he had broken down before his enemy.
It seemed to him in the retrospect that he had raved like a guilty man.
He foresaw weeks and weeks of this yet to come with fresh humiliations
daily and added pain; if he gave way already what would become of him
in the end? How could he hope to keep his manhood? A blank terror
faced him.
The sound of the key in the lock brought him springing to his feet.
None of them should see him weaken again! With trembling hands he put
his pipe in his mouth, and lighted it nonchalantly.
It was Emslie with his supper.
"Playing waiter, eh?" drawled Ambrose. "You fellows have to be
everything from grooms to chambermaids, don't you?"
Young Emslie stared, and grew red. "What's the matter with you?" he
demanded.
"A man must have a little entertainment," said Ambrose. "I'm forced to
get it out of you. You don't know how funny you are, Emslie."
"You'd best be civil!" growled the policeman.
"Why?" drawled out Ambrose. "You've got to keep a hold on yourself
whatever I say to you. It's regulations. Man to man I could lick you
with ease!"
"By gad!" began Emslie. Very red in the face, he turned on his heel,
and went out slamming the door.
Ambrose laughed, and felt a little better. Only by allowing his bitter
pain some such outlet was he able to endure it.
Disregarding the supper, he strode up and down his prison, planning in
his despair how he would harden himself to steel. No longer would he
suffer in silence. To the last hour he'd swagger and jeer.
These red-coats were stiff-necked and dull-witted; he could have rare
fun with them.
He saw himself in the court-room keeping the crowd in a roar with his
outrageous gibes. And if at the last he swung--he'd step off with a
jest that would live in history!
The key turned in the lock again. He swung around ready with an insult
for his jailer.
Colina stood in the doorway.