A NEW CLUE
It was a clear, cool morning and Prescott was busily engaged throwing
sheaves into his wagon. He had finished his harvest and, in accordance
with western custom, had immediately begun the thrashing. Part of the
great field was already stripped to a belt of tall stubble, though long
ranks of stooks still stretched across the rest, and dusty men were hard
at work among them. Wagons rolled through the crackling straw--going
slowly, piled high with rustling loads; returning light, jolting wildly,
as fast as the teams could trot, for the thrashers were paid by the
bushel and would brook no delay. In the background stood their big
machine, pouring out a cloud of smoke that stretched in a gray trail
across the prairie, and filling the air with its harsh clatter.
It was a scene of strenuous activity, filled with hurriedly moving
figures, but its coloring had lost something of its former vividness. The
blue of the sky was softer, the light less strong; the varying hues of
lemon and copper and ocher had become subdued; the shadows were no longer
darkly blue but a cool restful gray. The rushing winds that had swept the
wide plain all summer had come to rest; the air was sharp and still.
The last week or two, however, had brought no change to the inmates of
the homestead. Jernyngham still brooded over his loss and worried the
police, his daughter looked to her host for comfort, and Prescott did
what he could to cheer her. Gertrude, indeed, was sensible of a rapidly
growing confidence in him and of the abandonment of many long-held ideas.
The man was not of her station: he was a working farmer, his views at
first had jarred on her; and yet the attraction he had for her was
steadily increasing. She made a feeble fight against it. In England she
had stood on safe ground, hedged in by conventions, ruled by the opinions
of a narrow circle of friends. Now all was different; she had lost these
supports and restraints and she was helpless without them. Passion was
beginning to touch her and she mistook the rancher's gentleness and
sympathy.
When Prescott had loaded his wagon she joined him as he led his team
between the ranks of stooks, but while she walked by his side he thought
of another Englishwoman whom he had once brought home with the prairie
hay. He remembered how Muriel Hurst had nestled among the yielding grass,
with something delightful in every line of her figure. He recalled her
bright good-humor, the music of her laugh, the soft tones of her voice,
the hint of courage he had seen in her eyes; and there was pain in the
recollection. Gertrude Jernyngham was powerless to move him as Muriel had
done, but he was sorry for Cyril's sister and very considerate of her.
"We'll have the crop off the ground before long," he said. "Then I'll
start for Alberta, as I promised."
"You will be away some time?"
"I'm afraid so. It's a big province, though there are not a great many
settlements in it yet; and I may have to cross over into British
Columbia."
Gertrude looked down.
"It is very generous of you to go, but I shall miss you. I shall feel as
if I had lost my chief support."
"So far, I've done nothing but talk; and talk is cheap," he laughed.
"You have given me courage," she said with shy hesitation. "And sympathy
is worth a good deal."
He did not respond as she thought he might have done, and she continued:
"If my father had been less obstinate, you need not have gone; he could
have hired a professional inquiry agent. But you had better not say
anything about your object to him--it must be a secret between us."
"Yes," assented Prescott thoughtfully, "I guess that would be wiser. You
want to keep his mind at rest as far as you can. Of course, there's a big
chance that I may fail."
Gertrude turned to him with a smile.
"Oh, no! You are not one to fail!"
Prescott was slightly embarrassed. He had a feeling that he was being
gently led on toward a closer acquaintance with his companion. She was
dropping the reserve she had at first displayed and seemed to invite him
tacitly into her confidence. He admitted that this idea might be
incorrect, but it had troubled him once or twice before.
"I expect you'll be comfortable enough while I'm away," he said. "Mrs.
Svendsen's trustworthy, and everything will be quiet after the harvesters
have gone."
Gertrude did not answer, and they went on in silence to the noisy
separator. Perspiring men, stripped of their heavier garments, were
tossing the sheaves amid a cloud of dust; cleaned grain poured out into
open bags, and as each was filled two panting toilers flung it into a
wagon. Near-by stood a great and growing pile of bags, over which the
short straw would be spread a number of feet thick, to form a granary.
Gertrude joined her father, who was standing near the machine, moodily
looking on, and before Prescott had unloaded his wagon Curtis rode up
with Private Stanton.
"Nothing new at the muskeg, sir," he reported to Jernyngham rather
curtly, and walked his horse toward Prescott.
"We were passing," he told him, and indicated the pile of grain. "You're
not selling right away?"
"No; I'm not ready to haul the crop in to the elevators yet. I've one or
two more pressing things to do."
"Mayn't you miss a chance? Prices are pretty good."
Prescott was on his guard; he felt that Curtis suspected him.
"I don't know," he answered. "I guess they won't fall much."
"Your neighbors mean to sell, though it's quite likely that's to meet
their bills, and you always tried to get in on the first of the market
until this year. It must have cost you a pile to put in that big crop."
"It did."
"Then how have you got so prosperous since last fall?"
It was a pointed question, because everybody in the district knew that
Prescott had sold only a few head of cattle and a horse or two, while he
would shortly have his accounts to meet.
"It's a matter of management," he replied. "I've been working on a
different system this spring, and I find it pays." Then he looked
steadily at the corporal, "Besides, running Jernyngham's place along with
mine made it easier to cut expenses."
"It's a great crop. But we must be getting on."
He rode off and when they had left the stubble, Private Stanton looked at
him.
"His being able to hold his wheat; which he couldn't do last year, is a
pretty strong count against the man. You gave him his chance for
explaining and he made a mighty bad show. Looks as if he'd got some money
he couldn't account for since last fall."
"Not proved," returned Curtis. "There's something in what he said.
Anyway, he isn't afraid of us, since he's putting up his grain."
"I don't quite catch on."
Curtis smiled.
"You're young. A guilty man would have rushed his crop into the elevators
and had his money ready to light out with. If Prescott pulls out
suddenly, he'll have to leave his property behind."
"The thing's between him and Wandle," Stanton persisted.
"Looks like that. Anyway, as the Austrian's at the settlement, we'll have
a good look round his homestead. It's possible that we'll find
something."
"What made you think of searching the place again? Anything in the last
instructions you got from Regina? You didn't show them to me."
"That's so. It isn't a part of my duty to consult you, and you're a bit
of a hustler. However, this is what I heard--a land agent in Navarino
sent for the district sergeant; told him he'd run across a man from
Sebastian at the hotel and the fellow got talking about Jernyngham. It
was the first the land agent had heard of the matter; but he was struck
by the date on which Jernyngham disappeared, because he'd had a deal with
him three days later."
"That's mighty strange. If he's right, Jernyngham couldn't have been
killed."
"Don't hustle!" said Curtis. "The fellow showed the sergeant the sale
record, but he described Jernyngham as a big, rather stout man with light
hair."
"Wandle!" exclaimed Stanton. "Are you going to arrest him?"
"Not yet. We might get him sent up for fraud and forgery, but if he had
anything to do with knocking Jernyngham out, he'll be more likely to give
us a clue of some kind while he's at large."
They rode on and reaching Wandle's farm searched the house carefully,
replacing everything exactly as they found it. They discovered nothing of
importance, but as they went out Curtis glanced at the ash and refuse
heap.
"We might have thought of that earlier," he said. "I've heard of people
trying to burn up things it might be dangerous to leave about."
Setting to work with a fork and shovel, they presently unearthed a rusty
iron object which Stanton picked up.
"Looks like a big meat can," he remarked. "Kind of curious that Wandle
should double it over this way and flatten it down."
Curtis took it from him and examined it carefully.
"It isn't a meat can; top edges are turned over a wire--here's a bit
sticking out--and it's had a handle. There's a hinge in another place.
The thing has been a box--a cash-box, I guess--one of the rubbishy kind
they sell for about a dollar."
"But what would make a man smash up his cash-box?"
"I don't know; guess it doesn't apply. I could understand his wanting to
get rid of one that belonged to somebody else, after he'd cleaned it out.
Aren't you beginning to understand?"
"Sure," said Stanton eagerly. "The box was Jernyngham's--we'll find out
when he bought it at the hardware store. Then we'll get after Wandle."
"You hustle too much!" Curtis rebuked him, and then sat down with knitted
brows. "Now see here--in a general way, it's convictions we're out for;
you want to count on your verdict before you arrest a man. It comes to
this: he's tried first by us, and if he's to be let off, it saves trouble
if we decide the thing, instead of leaving it to the jury. They won't
tell you that at Regina, but, in practise, you'll find that a police
trooper is expected to use some judgment. Still, there are exceptions to
what I've said about holding back. In the interests of justice, one might
have to corral an innocent man."
"How's that going to serve the interests of justice?"
The corporal's eyes twinkled with dry amusement.
"For one thing, it might lead the fellow we were really after to think we
hadn't struck his trail. But that's not the point. How much ash would you
figure Wandle takes out of his stove each time he lights it?"
"About a bucketful, burning wood."
"Not quite, but there's a bucket yonder. See how many times you can fill
it with the stuff we shoveled off, while I take a smoke. Build up the
pile to look as if we hadn't disturbed it."
Stanton did as he was bidden, counting each bucketful he replaced, and
then Curtis sent him to clean out the stove and estimate the quantity of
ash before he put it back. Then he made a calculation.
"Allowing for some of the ash slipping down the pile and for our having
moved a little that was there before Wandle threw the cash-box in, it
fixes the time he did so pretty close to Jernyngham's disappearance," he
remarked. "Looks bad against the Austrian, doesn't it?"
"You have quite as much against Prescott."
"Yes," Curtis admitted regretfully; "that's the trouble. It isn't quite
so easy being a policeman as folks seem to think. Now we'll ride along
and call on the hardware man."
They mounted and soon afterward saw a buggy emerge from the short pines
on the crest of a distant rise, whereupon Curtis rode hard for a poplar
bluff, which he kept between himself and the vehicle.
"Looks like Wandle coming back," he said to Stanton, who had followed
him. "I can't see any reason he should know we've been prospecting round
his place."
Reaching the settlement they visited the hardware dealer, who remembered
having sold Jernyngham a small cheap cash-box about twelve months
earlier. On being shown the bent-up iron, he expressed his belief that it
was the article in question.
A day or two after the corporal's discovery, the mail-carrier left some
letters at the Prescott homestead, and when it was getting dusk Gertrude
strolled out on the prairie, thinking of one she had received. After a
while Prescott joined her and she greeted him with a smile.
"My team was looking a bit played out and the boys will be able to keep
the separator gang going as long as they can see," he said.
"Do you feel that you have to make excuses for stopping work, after
twelve hours of it?" Gertrude asked.
"Yes," he laughed; "I do feel something of the kind. There's so much to
do and the days are getting shorter fast."
He glanced at her with appreciation. She wore a thin, black dress made
after the latest London mode, which showed to advantage the graceful
lines of her tall figure; the Jernynghams, who seldom departed from an
established custom, changed their attire every evening. Gertrude had on
no hat, and the fading light shone into her face. It was finely cut but
cold, the features unusually good. She was a handsome woman, but she
lacked warmth and softness.
"I'm in a difficulty," she told him. "Perhaps you can help--you're a man
of many resources."
"I'll be glad to do what I can."
"We are expecting a visit from three old friends of ours who heard in
America of the trouble we are in and want to see us. What can we do with
them?"
"I haven't room," Prescott answered. "But let me think--Leslie has quite
a big house, and it's only three miles from here. Now that he will have
got rid of the harvesters, he might be willing to take your friends in.
He and his wife are pleasant people; but I think you met her."
"Yes. I knew you wouldn't fail us," Gertrude said gratefully. "But, after
all, I feel inclined to wish they were not coming."
There was an elusive something in her tone which did not escape
Prescott's notice.
"Why do you wish that?" he asked.
"Oh," she said, "it's difficult to explain, but we have got used to the
mode of life here: the few people we meet seem to understand our
feelings, and we have learned to trust them. Strangers would rather spoil
it all; in a sense, their visit would be an intrusion."
Prescott realized that this was complimentary to him. She had made it
clear that he was not a stranger, but one of the people she trusted. The
effect was to render him somewhat embarrassed, but Gertrude resumed:
"I think we owe you a good deal. I don't know what we should have done
had we fallen into less considerate hands."
"I'm yours to command," he replied; and they walked on in silence for a
while, Gertrude glancing at him unobtrusively now and then.
She did not believe her brother dead--Prescott had reassured her; and now
she felt strongly attracted by the rancher. She had thrown off the
restraints in which she had long acquiesced; she was driven by a passion
which was rapidly overpowering her.
"You don't suggest that the Leslies should take us all," she said.
"No," Prescott answered gravely; "I'd rather keep you and your father
here."
"Then you're no longer anxious to get rid of us?"
He colored.
"That's true. I begin to feel I'm one of the party. Then, you see,
Leslie's pretty talkative and agrees with Curtis. He might have a bad
effect on your father; he might even shake your confidence."
"Oh," she begged, "don't labor the explanation. You are one of the party
and our friend."
Prescott bowed.
"I'll try to make that good. I'm going off to look for your brother in a
few more days, but it will cost me something to leave the homestead now."
He had spoken the truth. Until lately the man had been bereft of all the
amenities of life, but he had now grown to appreciate the society of
cultured people; the task of cheering and encouraging his guests had
become familiar; he might even have been drawn to the beautiful woman he
had comforted had not his heart been filled with the image of Muriel.
"But after the summer's hard monotonous work, a change must be nice," she
suggested.
"Yes; in a way. The trouble is that I must leave my guests."
Gertrude's eyes grew soft as they rested on him.
"We shall miss you," she murmured. "But you must go and find out all you
can; I'm afraid the mystery and suspense are breaking my father down."
They walked on in silence for a while, and then Svendsen appeared near
the homestead, waving his arm.
"Looks as if I were wanted," Prescott remarked; "I believe there's a
wagon to be fixed. Will you excuse me? I'll ride over and have a talk
with Leslie in the morning."