PRESCOTT'S FLIGHT
Two days after the arrival of the Colstons, Gertrude Jernyngham walked
down the trail from the Leslie homestead in a very bitter mood. During
the last few weeks her cold nature had kindled into sudden warmth; love
had most unexpectedly crept into her heart. At first she had struggled
against and been ashamed of it, for its object was a man beneath her in
rank and of widely different mode of thought; but by degrees the judgment
she had hitherto exercised had given place to passion. After the narrow,
conventional life she had led, there was a strange exhilaration and
excitement in yielding to her impulses; the virility of Prescott's
character and his physical perfection stirred her. She desired him and
had boldly used such charms as she possessed in his subjugation. Misled
by his gentleness, she imagined him responsive, and then Muriel had
appeared on the scene and the truth was plain to her when she saw his
face light up at sight of the girl. She had read warm love in his eager
glance.
Now Gertrude was crushed and humbled. She had cheapened herself, as she
thought of it, to this rancher, only to find that he preferred another.
Her punishment was severe, but she felt that it was deserved, and her
ripening passion had turned to something very much like hate. Whether he
had really had any hand in her brother's death was a point she would not
calmly reason out, though she had a half-conscious feeling that he could
not be charged with this. She wanted to think him base: to believe in his
guilt would be an excuse for making him suffer.
While she walked, she cast quick glances across the waste of grass,
looking for a mounted figure that did not appear, until at last she
turned with a start at the sound of footsteps as Muriel came up.
"I saw you alone and thought I would join you," Muriel said.
"It's a relief to be by oneself now and then," Gertrude answered with
curt ungraciousness.
"One can understand that. I tried to give Harry a hint that our visit
might be an intrusion, when he talked of joining your father; but he
thought it would be some comfort for you to have your friends about you."
"He was some time in putting his idea into practise."
"We started as soon as we heard of your trouble," said Muriel. "We were
in Mexico then, and as we had moved about a good deal there was some
delay in our letters. Has your father decided to stay with the Leslies?"
"Yes, for a while. It was, of course, impossible for us to remain with
Mr. Prescott."
"Why could you not?" Muriel asked with sparkling eyes.
"Isn't it obvious, after what you heard the man admit?"
Muriel stopped, the color creeping into her face, which was filled with
anger.
"It's impossible that Mr. Prescott could have had any connection with
Cyril's disappearance. It's wicked and cruel to suspect him!"
"You seem strangely convinced of his innocence," Gertrude retorted with a
somber glance at her. "We shall see by and by whether you or my father is
right."
They walked on slowly, and shortly afterward two mounted figures appeared
on the plain. Gertrude watched them draw near, and then turned to her
companion.
"The police; we have been expecting them," she said. "My father sent a
message to the corporal after Prescott had gone."
"Then he will be deeply ashamed of his harshness before long," Muriel
declared as she abruptly moved away.
Gertrude let her go with a cruel smile. She thought she knew how matters
stood, and if the girl were suffering, she had no pity for her. Then she
waited until the police trotted by, and afterward walked slowly toward
the house. On reaching it, she met Curtis coming out and he asked for a
word with her.
"I understand you were the last person to see Prescott when he left this
place the other night," he said.
Gertrude admitted it, watching the man. He looked disturbed, as if he did
not know what to think. Private Stanton was sitting in his saddle with an
expressionless face a few yards away, but she imagined it was intended
that he should hear her answers.
"Well," Curtis resumed, "I have to ask what he said to you; anyway, so
far as it bears on the business we have in hand. You know why I was sent
for?"
Gertrude hesitated. She was very angry with Prescott, and there was a
statement he had made which would prove damaging to him if she repeated
part of it without the rest. She shrank from this course, but her rancor
against the man suddenly grew too strong for her.
"I suppose I must answer that?"
"It's your duty."
"Then," she said in a strained voice, "Mr. Prescott told me he was going
away."
"Going away!" Curtis looked astonished. "I guess you realize that this is
a serious matter. Did he mention when?"
"I understood it would be very soon." Gertrude looked at the man
haughtily. "That is all I have to tell."
She went into the house, feeling that she had said enough, and Curtis
motioned to his companion and rode away. They had gone some distance when
Stanton turned to his superior.
"Pretty significant. What are you going to do about it?" he asked.
"I'll have to apply for a warrant."
"You certainly will."
"Well," Curtis went on, "this thing isn't quite so simple as it seems. To
begin with, it's my idea that Miss Jernyngham hasn't told us all she
knows; you want to remember that Prescott's a good-looking fellow with a
taking manner. I can see complications, though I can't get the right
drift of them."
"Guess the matter will be worse mussed up if Prescott lights out. Now
that Bardsley's gone down the line, you can't get your warrant for a day
or two."
"That's so," Curtis agreed. "I'll make for the settlement and wire
Bardsley and our bosses at Regina; you'll ride on and keep Prescott in
sight--though it would be better if you didn't let him know you were
watching him. When he clears, take the trail behind him and send back
word to Sebastian. Soon as I get the warrant or instructions, I'll come
after you."
They separated and some time later Stanton took up his station in a bluff
which commanded a view of the Prescott homestead. Lying hidden with his
horse, he saw the rancher drive up and disappear within the house.
Prescott had been very busy during the past two days and had found
strenuous application something of a relief. He recognized that suspicion
was centering on him and that he might expect a visit from the police,
but the only way of proving his innocence that he could see was to
produce his supposed victim. He foresaw that it might take a long while
to find the man, and he must make preparations for a lengthy absence. The
risk he ran in remaining until he had completed them was grave, but there
was a vein of dogged persistency in him and he would not go before he was
ready.
He had, however, other matters to think of. Miss Jernyngham had turned
against him; after the confidence she had expressed, he could not
understand why she had done so. Muriel Hurst, however, still believed in
him, which was a comforting thought, though he would not permit himself
to dwell on it. He loved the girl, but it seemed impossible that she
should marry him. There was so much against this: the mode of life to
which she had been accustomed, his obscure position, the prejudices of
her relations. He blamed himself for not struggling more determinedly
against the charm she had exerted on him; but it was too late to regret
this now. He must bear his trouble and try to think of her as seldom as
possible, which would be the easier, inasmuch as the work that waited him
would demand his close attention. As soon as it grew dark that evening,
he must set off on his search for Cyril Jernyngham.
Dusk was falling when he rode away from the homestead with a couple of
blankets and provisions for a few days strapped to his saddle. Though he
could trust Svendsen to look after things in his absence, he was anxious
and dejected, and it was with keen regret that he cast a last glance
across the sweep of shadowy stubble toward the lighted windows of the
house. All he saw belonged to him; he had by patient labor in frost and
scorching sun built up the farm, and he was conscious of a strong love
for it. It was hard to go away, an outcast, branded with black suspicion,
leaving the place in another's charge; but there was no remedy.
The sky was faintly clouded, the moon, which was near its setting,
obscured; the prairie ran back, dim and blurred; the air was keen and
still. Prescott thought he heard a soft beat of hoofs behind him. He
could, however, see nobody, and he rode on faster, heading for the house
of a neighbor with whom he had some business, near the trail to the
settlement. After a while he pulled up, and listening carefully heard the
sound again. It looked as if he were being followed and he thought that
if the police were on his trail, they would expect him to make for the
American frontier, and to do that he must pass through or near Sebastian.
If they believed this was his object, it might save him trouble, for he
meant to ride north in search of Jernyngham after calling at the farm.
Checking his horse, he rode on without haste until it became obvious that
the man behind was drawing up, then he set off at a gallop. Behind the
farm he meant to visit lay a belt of broken ground, marked by scrub and
scattered bluffs, where it should not be difficult to evade his pursuer.
The staccato thud of the gallop would ring far through the still, night
air, but this was of no consequence; he was some distance ahead and his
horse was fresh and powerful. In a few minutes he believed that he was
gaining and when he rode into sight of the little wooden house, which
showed up black against the sky with one dim light in it, he was seized
by a new idea. A horse stood outside the door, and he supposed the
rancher had just returned. The man was a friend of Prescott's and
believed in his innocence.
"Larry," he cried as he rode up, and added when a shadowy figure came
out: "You can send along your teams and do that breaking we were speaking
of. Svendsen will pay you when you're through with it. I'm off to the
north."
"Ah!" exclaimed the other sharply. "I guess I know what you're after. It
strikes me you should have gone before."
He paused with a lifted hand as he heard the drumming of hoofs, and
Prescott laughed.
"That's so. I believe you'll have a police trooper here in the next few
minutes. Your horse is still saddled?"
"Yes; I've just come back from Gillom's."
"Then get up and ride for the settlement. Mail an order for some harness
or anything useful to Regina by the night train, when you get there; you
can let Svendsen have the bill. You had better go pretty fast and keep
ahead of the trooper as long as you can. I guess you understand."
"Sure," grinned the other, and getting into the saddle, rode away at a
smart trot, while Prescott dismounted and led his horse quietly toward
the nearest bluff.
On reaching it he stopped and, listening carefully, heard the rancher
riding down the trail to Sebastian, and another beat of hoofs that grew
rapidly louder. By and by he made out a dim mounted figure that pressed
on fast across the shadowy waste, and for a few anxious moments wondered
whether the policeman would call at the house and discover its owner's
absence. He passed on, however, and was presently lost in the darkness.
When the drumming of his horse's hoofs gradually died away, Prescott
mounted and rode hard toward the north. It would, he thought, be an hour
or two before the trooper found out his mistake; the rancher would not
betray him, and there was a prospect of his getting clear away.