A DEAL IN LAND
On the morning after the corporal's discovery, Gustave Wandle was leading
his team to a drinking pool on the creek that crossed his farm. He was a
big, reserved, fair-haired man, with a fleshy face that was redeemed from
heaviness by his eyes, which were restless and keen. Though supposed to
be an Austrian, little was known about him or his antecedents except that
he owned the next half-section of land to Jernyngham's and farmed it
successfully. It was, however, believed that he was of an unusually
grasping nature, and his neighbors took precautions when they made a deal
with him. He had reached the shadow of a poplar bluff when he heard
hurried footsteps and a man with a hot face came into sight.
"I'm going across your place to save time; I want my horse," he explained
hastily. "Curtis, the policeman, has ridden in to the settlement and told
me to go up and search a muskeg near the north trail with Stanton.
Somebody's killed Jernyngham and hidden him there."
"So!" exclaimed Wandle. "Jernyngham murdered! You tell me that?"
"Sure thing!" the other replied. "The police have figured out how it all
happened and I'm going to look for the body while Curtis reports to his
bosses. A blamed pity! I liked Jernyngham. Well, I must get to the muskeg
soon as I can!"
He ran on, and Wandle led his horses to the pool and stood thinking hard
while they drank. He was well versed in Jernyngham's affairs and knew
that he had once bought a cheap quarter-section of land in an arid belt
some distance off. A railroad had since entered the district, irrigation
work had been begun, and the holding must have risen in value. Now, it
seemed, Jernyngham was dead, which was unfortunate, because Wandle had
found their joint operations profitable, and it was very probable that
Ellice and himself were the only persons who knew about the land. Wandle
mounted one of the horses and set out for Jernyngham's homestead at its
fastest pace.
On reaching it, he soon found an iron cash-box in a cupboard and succeeded
in forcing it with a screw-driver. It contained a few papers, among which
were one or two relating to the purchase of the quarter-section, and
Wandle put these in his pocket. The others he threw into the
cupboard--Jernyngham's carelessness was well known--and then hastily
studied a railroad time-table. By starting promptly, he could catch a
train at the station next after Sebastian, which he thought would be
wiser, and reach a new wooden town of some importance in the evening.
Having ascertained this, he hurried out and rode home, taking the cash-box
with him. On arriving, he smashed it flat with an ax and flung it into his
stove in which a fire was burning; then he made a hasty meal, changed his
clothes, and saddling a horse, rode hard across the prairie. There was, he
realized, some risk in what he meant to do, but it was not a very serious
one, and he was thankful that the sale of land is attended by few
formalities in western Canada.
When he reached his destination, business premises were closed for the
night, but after making inquiries he found a land agent who was
recommended as respectable and trustworthy at a smart hotel. Wandle led
him to the far end of the lobby, where they would not be disturbed, and
sitting down at a table took out the papers.
"What's that quarter-section worth?" he asked.
The agent told him and Wandle lighted his pipe and affected to consider.
He thought Jernyngham had not suspected its value.
"Don't you think you could get another three dollars an acre?" he
suggested.
"It's possible, if you will leave the sale in my hands; but I may have to
wait for a suitable opportunity. There's a good demand for land in the
district now that they're getting on with the irrigation scheme, but to
insist on the top price will mean delay."
"Could you sell it for me promptly at the figure you mentioned?"
"Why, yes," said the agent. "I've a number of inquiries for farming land
on my books. I shouldn't wonder if I fixed the thing up in a week."
"I can't wait a week. There's a pretty good haulage contract I could get,
but it will take some financing, which is what brought me along; because
I ought to see about it in the next few days. Now I'll tell you what I'll
do--I'll sell you that land to-night at the lower figure."
The agent pondered.
"No, sir," he said, irresolutely. "I'd only make a few dollars an acre on
the deal, and I can get ten per cent. on my money right in this hotel."
"You'd have to wait a year for it, wouldn't you? What price will give you
ten per cent. profit on this quarter-section? You want to remember that
you may get it in a few weeks, and you'd have first-class security."
After making a rough calculation in his notebook, the agent looked up.
"As a rule, I prefer to buy for other people, but I can't go back on what
I said about land being in strong demand, and I'll make you a bid. This
is the most I can do."
Wandle, after trying to raise the price, made a sign of acquiescence.
"We'll let it go at that. I'll get things fixed up as soon as the
land-office is open in the morning."
He left the hotel, satisfied on the whole, though he had sacrificed a
dollar or two an acre and there was an element of danger in what he had
done. The sale of the land must be registered, and the date would be two
or three days after the one on which Jernyngham was killed. The latter's
homestead was, however, a long distance off, there was only one small
weekly newspaper published in the district, and it was very probable that
the agent would not hear of the affair until some time had elapsed, and
then might not attach any importance to the fact that the victim's name
was that of his customer. Even if he did so, the small discrepancy in the
dates would, no doubt, escape his attention. Wandle did not think he had
much cause for uneasiness.
Reaching home the next day, he raked out his stove and found the
cash-box. It had not fallen to pieces as he had expected, and he doubled
it up again with the ax before he flung it into the ash pail. Then he
lighted the stove and set about getting supper, for it was late in the
evening. After finishing the meal, he threw some fragments of potatoes
and a rind of pork into the pail and took it up to carry it to the refuse
heap, but stopped with a start when he left the house. It was getting
dark, but two shadowy figures were riding up the trail and by the way
they sat their horses he recognized them as police troopers. Putting down
the pail, he waited until they dismounted near-by.
"You're too late for supper, Curtis," he said coolly. "I've just cleaned
it up."
The corporal glanced at the pail and in the dim light noticed only the
domestic refuse.
"I've had some," he answered. "I want a few minutes' talk." Then he
motioned to his companion. "Hitch the horses, Stanton, and come in when
you're ready."
They entered the house, followed presently by the trooper, and Wandle
lighted his pipe. He felt more at ease with it in his hand and he
suspected that he would need all his collectedness.
"Well," he said, "what's the trouble?"
"I suppose you know that Jernyngham's missing?"
"I heard that he was killed."
"Looks like it," said Curtis. "You know the muskeg where the creek
spreads out, about fourteen miles north?"
"I don't; never been up so far."
Curtis noticed the prompt disclaimer.
"Anyway, Jernyngham rode there and was knocked out with something heavy
that must have left him stunned, if it didn't make an end of him. He
didn't ride away after it, though his horse went on. The point is that it
was led."
"How do you know that?" Wandle asked.
"It's my business to know these things. Think we can't tell the
difference between the tracks of a led horse and a ridden one? The only
times two horses trot close together at an even distance is when one's
rider has both bridles, or when they're yoked to a wagon pole. However,
I've come to ask if you can throw any light on the matter? You and
Jernyngham were partners, in a way, weren't you?"
"That's so. Now and then we bought implements and horses, or hired a
tractor plow, between us. As a matter of fact, Jernyngham owed me about
five hundred dollars. Anyhow, I'm as puzzled about the thing as you must
be."
"Then you think we're puzzled?" Curtis said in a significant tone.
Wandle laughed.
"It struck me as likely. You know there's not a rancher in the district
who would hurt the man. He was easy to get on with."
"Did you know that he borrowed money on his holding and took it with him
the night he disappeared?"
"I didn't," said Wandle, starting. "I'm not pleased to hear it now. I've
a claim on the place and there are some pretty big storekeepers' bills to
come in."
Curtis asked a few more questions before he took his leave. He passed
near the ash pail as he went out and Stanton touched it with his foot,
but they had mounted and reached the trail before either of them spoke.
"Well?" said Curtis.
Stanton smiled.
"Nothing much to be learned from him; the fellow's about as sly and hard
to get at as a coyote."
"A sure thing," Curtis agreed. "We'll keep an eye on him; I've a
suspicion he knows something."
Then they trotted away in the moonlight, for it was a long ride to their
camp beside the muskeg, which with the assistance of several men they
were engaged in searching.
On the next afternoon, Prescott was at work in the summer fallow, sitting
in the iron saddle of a gangplow, which four powerful horses hauled
through the crackling stubble. It was fiercely hot and he was lightly
clad in thin yellow shirt and overalls. A cloud of dust rose about him
from the parched soil, and the broad expanse of wheat which the fallow
divided glowed with varied colors as it rippled before the rush of
breeze, the strong greens changing to a silvery luster as the lush blades
bent and caught the light. Farther on, there were faint streaks of yellow
among the oats; the great stretch of grass was white and delicate gray,
the rows of clods behind the plow rich chocolate-brown.
Prescott, however, paid little attention to his surroundings. He was
perhaps the only man in the district who had known Jernyngham intimately;
he felt troubled about his disappearance, and he had had a disturbing
interview with Wandle during the morning. The Austrian had contested his
right to manage the farm, declaring that Jernyngham owed him money and
had made certain plans for the joint working of their land which must be
carried out. This did not so much matter, in a sense, if one could take
Jernyngham's death for granted; but Prescott could not do so and had,
moreover, no intention of letting his property fall into the hands of a
cunning, grasping fellow, who, he was fully persuaded, had no real right
to it. If Jernyngham did not turn up, Prescott meant to discharge all his
debts after harvest and, as the crop promised well, to send the balance
to England as a proof that his friend had not been a failure in Canada.
This might be some comfort to Jernyngham's people.
He was considering the matter when he heard the stubble crackle behind
him and, looking around, saw Curtis riding up. Stopping his team, he
waited until the corporal drew bridle.
"Have you found him yet?" he asked.
"We have not," said Curtis. "It's a big muskeg and quite deep. You know
the place?"
"Oh, yes, I know it pretty well."
Curtis looked at him sharply, but Prescott seemed to be musing.
"It's a sad thing when you think of it," he said after a few moments.
"From the little he told me, the man had hard luck all through; and that
Mrs. Jernyngham should leave him just after he'd sacrificed his future
for her must have been a knock-out blow. Yet I've an idea that instead of
crushing it braced him. It pulled him up; he showed signs of turning into
a different man."
"You knew him better than I did," Curtis replied. "I heard at the hotel
he'd asked you to look after his place, given you a share in the crop."
"He did. I'd some words with Wandle about the matter this morning;
Jernyngham warned me he might pretend he had a claim. However, that's not
to the purpose; somehow I feel convinced he'll turn up again. What motive
could any one have for killing him? The only man we might have
suspected--the fellow who went off with Ellice--must have been on the
train bound for St. Paul."
"He was; we wired the conductor. But the thing's quite simple--the motive
was robbery. You remember that wad of bills?" The corporal paused before
he added: "Where did you last see Jernyngham?"
"At the trail-forks near my place. He rode right on; I took the turning."
"Did you see your man, Svendsen, or his wife when you got home?"
"I didn't; they live at the back of the house. I put up the horses,
slipped in quietly, and went to bed."
"Then you can't fix the time you got back?"
Prescott moved sharply, lifting his head, while an angry color suffused
his face.
"Curtis, you can't think--Jernyngham was my best friend!" Then he laughed
indignantly. "You always struck me as a sensible man."
The corporal regarded him with scrutinizing eyes, his manner stamped with
official austerity.
"I'm forming no opinions--yet. It's my duty to find out all I can about
the matter and report. If there's anything you're open to tell me, I'll
make a note of it."
Prescott's face grew stern and his glance very steady.
"I can add nothing to what I've said, and I'm busy."
Curtis rode away, but when he was out of the rancher's sight he broke
into a dry smile. He was an astute young man and knew his business, which
was merely to investigate and follow the instruction of his chiefs at
Regina. Unembroidered facts were what they required in the first
instance, but later he might be permitted to theorize.
When the corporal had gone, Prescott went on with his plowing, but the
crackle of the stubble and the thud of the heavy Clydesdales' hoofs fell
unheeded on his ears, and it was half-consciously that he turned his team
at the head-land. He had a good deal to think about and his thoughts were
far from pleasant. To begin with, the memory of Muriel Hurst had haunted
him since she left; he recalled her with a regretful longing that seemed
to grow steadily stronger instead of diminishing. He thought she had left
an indelible mark on his life. Then there was his impersonation of
Jernyngham, which he had rashly agreed to, but did not now regret. If
Colston had met Cyril on the night of the riot and had gone to his untidy
dwelling, he would have been forced to send home an adverse report.
Prescott was glad to think he had saved his friend from a farther fall in
his English relatives' esteem, though, knowing a little of the man's
story, he held them largely responsible for his reckless career. Their
censoriousness and suspicion had, no doubt, driven him into wilder
rashness.
Besides all this, the corporal's manner rankled in his mind. He knew
Curtis well and had a good opinion of his ability. It seemed preposterous
that such a man could imagine that he had had any hand in Jernyngham's
death. Yet the corporal's tone had been significant and the facts had an
ugly look. He had seen Jernyngham secrete his money and had afterward
ridden on with him, unaccompanied by anybody else. He could not prove
when he returned to his farm, and it might be said that he stood to
benefit by securing the management of Jernyngham's property.
When he reached the end of the furrows his face was grim, but he steadily
continued his plowing.