A NIGHT RIDE
It was six o'clock in the evening. Curtis had just finished his supper
and sat drowsily content in his quarters at the police post after being
out in the frost all day. The temperature had steadily fallen since
morning and the cold was now intensified by a breeze that drove scattered
clouds across the moon and flung fine snow against the board walls, but
the stove, which glowed a dull red, kept the room comfortable. A nickeled
lamp shed down a cheerful light, and the tired corporal looked forward to
a long night's rest. Private Stanton sat near him, cleaning a carbine.
"It's curious you have heard nothing from Regina since you sent up those
clothes," he remarked. "It looked pretty bad for Prescott."
"I don't know," said Curtis. "Have you ever seen him with that suit on?"
"No."
"Nor has anybody else, so far as I can learn. There's another point--the
land agent talked of a tall, stoutish man. You wouldn't call Prescott
that."
"Those clothes were 'most as good as new; he might have only had them on
the once," Stanton persisted.
"That's what struck me; I don't know how they looked so good, if they'd
been lying where Jernyngham found them, since last summer."
"It's a thing I might have thought of."
"You have a good deal to learn yet." Curtis smiled tolerantly.
"Anyhow, I found you a photograph of Prescott, and you were glad to send
it along to Regina. What do you think our bosses are doing about it?"
"Lying low, like sensible men; the more we find out about this case, the
more puzzling it gets. You think you have pretty good eyes, don't you?"
"They're as good as anybody's I've come across yet."
"Well, you searched the bluff several times in daylight and didn't see
those clothes. Jernyngham comes along when it is getting dark and finds
them. How do you account for that?"
"I've quit guessing; I'll leave the thing to you. Anyhow, I've had about
enough of Jernyngham; talked to me like a sergeant instructor last time I
met him, and you'd have felt proud if you'd seen the way he smiled when I
told him he had better go to you."
"We'll leave it at that," said Curtis. "The man's making me tired, and
he's worse than he was a month ago. Where's that Brandon paper?"
While Stanton looked for it there was a sound of wheels and a hail
outside, and a stinging draught swept in when the trooper opened the
door. A fur-wrapped man sat in a wagon holding up an envelope.
"For Curtis; come for it," he said. "Operator asked me to bring it along.
I'm 'most too cold to get down and I can't let the team stand."
The envelope slipped from his numbed fingers as Stanton tried to take it.
"Dropped near the wheel. My hand's 'most frozen, though I've good thick
mittens on. It's about the coldest night I've been out in."
He drove on, and Stanton hurried in and flung the door to before he
handed the telegram to Curtis.
When the corporal opened it his face grew intent.
"It's from Sergeant Crane," he said. "Glover was seen this morning near
Norton, heading east on the Sand Belt trail."
Stanton's face fell. He had been in the saddle the greater part of the
day, and the prospect of spending the night in pursuit of Glover did not
appeal to him, though he knew it could not be avoided. The man was a
notorious thief, whose last exploit had shown some ingenuity. Appearing
at the house of a prosperous farmer, he had shown him a letter from a
railroad contractor asking for the use of his best Clydesdale team on
tempting terms. The farmer let the horses go and saw no more of them,
while the contractor repudiated the letter. Glover was also supposed to
have had a hand in one or two more serious affairs.
"I guess we'll have to get after him," said the trooper. "Where'll he
make for?"
"Jepson's, sure. I don't know another house near the Sand Belt he could
reach to-night, and Jepson's most as slippery a tough as Glover is."
"It's a mighty long ride," said Stanton, "My ranger will stand for it; I
don't know about your gray."
"He'll have to make it," Curtis answered shortly. "Get your saddle on."
When Stanton went out Curtis stood up regretfully, for he was aching from
a long journey in the stinging cold and the room looked very comfortable.
An effort was required to leave it, and he had not much expectation of
making a capture that would stand to his credit. Jepson and his brother
were cunning rogues; Glover had escaped once or twice already, and Curtis
realized that the chances were in favor of his returning after a
fruitless ride. Nevertheless, his duty was plain; he had been trained to
disregard fatigue and most physical weaknesses, and he went out
resignedly into the arctic frost.
They set off a few minutes later, and Curtis had the depressing feeling
that he was riding a worn-out mount, though there was some consolation in
the thought that the range of the service carbine might, in case of
necessity, make up for his lack of speed. When he met the biting north
wind that swept the plain the warmth seemed to leave his body; his
mittened hands stiffened on the bridle, and it was only resolution that
kept him in the saddle. He would run less risk of frost-bite if he
walked, but time would not permit this and the claims of the service are
more important than the loss of a trooper's feet or hands. If he were
crippled and incapacitated, there was a small pension; it was his
business to face the risks of the weather.
They rode on with lowered heads, fine snow stinging their faces now and
then, and though its touch was inexpressibly painful they were glad they
retained the power of feeling. When that went, more serious trouble would
begin. For a while a half moon shone down, and their black shadows sped
on before them across the glittering plain, but by and by clouds drove up
and the prairie grew dim. It changed to a stretch of soft grayish-blue,
with the trail they followed running across it a narrow stretch of darker
color. The light, however, was not wholly obscured; they could see a
bluff stand out, a bank of shadow, a mile away. Once they saw the
cheerful lights of a farm in the distance and a longing for warmth and
the company of their fellow-creatures seized them, but this was a desire
that must be subdued, and, leaving the beaten trail they pressed on into
the waste. Save for the faint, doleful sound the wind made it was
dauntingly silent and desolate. There was not a bush to break its gray
surface, and the frost was intense. They bore it uncomplainingly for an
hour or two, and then Stanton broke out:
"I'll have to get down or I'll lose my foot! I'll run a while beside my
horse and then catch you up."
Curtis nodded and trotted on, breasting the wind which, so far as he
could judge from his sensations, was turning him into ice. He could hear
Stanton behind him, but that was the only sound of life in the vast
desolation. After a while the trooper came up at a gallop, and Curtis
called to him sharply:
"Any better?"
"No feeling in my foot yet," said Stanton. "I'm anxious about it, but I
couldn't drop too far behind you. We have no time to lose."
"That's so," Curtis answered. "Glover will pull out from Jepson's long
before morning. He won't rest much until he's a day's ride from the
nearest post."
They went on, and some time later the moon shone through again, flooding
the plain with light. It was welcome because they were now entering the
Sand Belt where scrub trees were scattered among little hills. Pushing
through it, they came to a taller ridge late at night, and Curtis drew
bridle on its summit. A faint, warm gleam appeared on the snow about a
mile away.
"Jepson's," said Curtis. "Looks as if he had some reason for sitting up
quite a while after he ought to be in bed."
Stanton glanced thoughtfully down the slope in front. It was smooth and
unbroken, a long, gradual descent, and he knew the farm stood on the flat
at its foot. A straggling poplar bluff grew close up to the back of the
buildings, but there was nothing that would cover the approach of the
police, and he had no doubt that a watch was being kept.
"It's a pity the moon's so bright," he remarked. "There's a cloud or two
driving up, but I don't know that they'll cover it."
"We can't wait. This is my notion--you'll turn back a piece and work down
to the ravine that runs east behind the homestead. Stop when you can find
cover and watch out well. I'll have to ride straight in."
"You want to be careful. There'll be three of them in the place, counting
Glover, and they're a tough crowd."
Curtis smiled.
"Jepson has a pretty long head. He'll bluff, if he can, but he won't get
himself into trouble for his partner. The thing's not serious enough for
that."
"Anyway, you want to keep your eye on them," Stanton persisted.
"Glover'll sure make for the ravine if he breaks out."
Turning his horse, he disappeared behind the ridge, while Curtis rode on
toward the farm. Glancing up at the moon, he saw that the clouds were
nearer it, though he could not be certain that they would obscure the
light. This was unfortunate, because he knew that he and his horse would
stand out sharply against the smooth expanse of snow. The light ahead
grew brighter as he trotted on, urging his jaded mount in order to give
the inmates of the homestead as short a warning as possible. Suddenly
another patch of brightness appeared. It was a narrow streak at first,
but it widened into an oblong and then went out. Somebody had opened the
door of the homestead, and the next moment the first gleam faded and all
was dark. Curtis was inclined to think this a mistake on Jepson's part,
but he kept a very keen watch as the buildings grew into plainer shape
against the shadowy bluff. He knew he must have been visible some minutes
earlier.
At length he rode up to the little square house, which rose abruptly from
the plain without fence or yard. It was dark and silent, and he was glad
to remember that it had only one door, though there were one or two
buildings close behind it. He was so numbed that it was difficult to
dismount, but he got down clumsily and beat on the door for several
minutes without getting an answer. This confirmed his suspicions, for he
was convinced that Jepson had heard his vigorous knocking. Then the
moonlight, which might have been useful now, died away, and the plain
faded into obscurity. Curtis was making another attack on the door when a
window above was flung up and a man leaned out, holding what looked
suggestively like a rifle.
"Stand back from that door!" he cried. "What in thunder do you want?"
"Drop your gun!" said Curtis. "Come down right now and let me in!"
"I guess not! If you don't light out of this mighty quick, you'll get
hurt!"
"Quit fooling, Jepson! You know who I am!"
"Seem to know your voice now," said the other, leaning farther out. "Why,
it's Curtis!" He laid down the rifle and laughed. "You were near getting
plugged. Figured you were one of those blamed rustlers--the country's
full of them--Barton back at the muskeg lost a steer last week. What I
want to know is--why the police don't get after them? Guess it would be
considerably more useful than walking round the stations with a quirt
under your arm."
The man was not talkative as a rule, and Curtis surmised that he wished
to delay him.
"Come down!" he said sternly.
"I'll be along quick as I can," the other answered, and shut the window.
While he waited, Curtis listened with strained attention. He was inclined
to think that Glover had already left the house, which must nevertheless
be searched, but he could hear nothing except the dreary wail of wind in
the neighboring bluff. His fingers were so numbed that he could scarcely
hold his carbine, his horse stood wearily with drooping head, and when a
minute or two had passed Curtis struck the door violently. It opened, and
Jepson stood in the entrance, holding a lamp.
"All alone?" he remarked good-humoredly. "Where's your partner? But come
in; it's fierce to-night."
"Then stand out of my way. I've come for Glover."
Jepson laughed.
"Looked as if you were after somebody. He isn't here, but you had better
see for yourself. Walk right in; you're welcome to find him."
The house contained four small rooms, which had nothing in them that
would hide a man, and in a minute or two Curtis sprang out of the door
and scrambled to his saddle. He did not think Glover would seek refuge in
any of the outbuildings, and he rode toward the thin bluff that hid the
ravine. The man might have reached the trees, unseen, by keeping the
house between himself and the slope down which Curtis had come. He had
not left the house long before he heard the sharp drumming of a gallop,
and drove his horse at the belt of timber. All had turned out as he had
expected. Stanton had headed off Glover as he slipped away down the
ravine, and the outlaw had broken out to the north, making for a tract of
lonely, bluff-strewn country. He was now between the corporal and the
trooper, and his capture might be looked for, provided that Curtis's
mount could bear a sharp gallop, which was doubtful.
The sides of the ravine were steep and clothed with brush, there were
fallen logs in the fringing bluff, but Curtis urged his jaded horse
mercilessly toward the timber, and went through it with rotten branches
smashing under him. Once or twice the beast stumbled, but it kept its
feet, and in a few more moments they reeled down the declivity. A fall
might result in the rider's getting a broken leg and afterward freezing
to death, but Curtis took risks of this nature lightly, and, reaching the
bottom safely, somewhat to his surprise, he struggled up the opposite
ascent.
From the summit he saw two dark, mounted figures pressing across the open
plain some distance apart. By riding straight out from the ravine he
thought that he could cut off the leader. His weariness had fallen from
him, the mad drumming of hoofs fired his blood, and as he burst out of
the timber at a gallop the moon came through. The fugitive seemed to hear
him, for he altered his course a little--he could not swerve much without
approaching Stanton--and for a few minutes Curtis shortened the distance
between them. Then his horse began to flag; it looked as if Glover might
escape, after all, though he must still draw nearer to the trooper before
he got away.
Curtis, roughly calculating speed and distance, pulled up his horse.
Springing from the saddle, he flung himself down in the snow, and for a
few seconds gripped his carbine tight. Then there was a flash and little
spirts of snow leaped up one after another ahead of the outlaw. Curtis
pressed down the rear sight and fired again; but Glover was still riding
hard, with Stanton dropping behind him. At the third shot Glover's horse
went down in a struggling heap, hiding its rider. A few moments later the
man reappeared, and began to run, but he stopped as Stanton came down on
him at a gallop, and Curtis got up hastily. Glover made a sign of
submission, and the next minute Stanton sprang to the ground beside him.
"Hold up your hands!" he ordered sharply, and there was a clink as the
irons snapped to.
After that the trooper turned to Curtis, who was hurrying toward them.
"Lend me your carbine; mine's clean."
He walked to the fallen horse, which was struggling feebly, and, stooping
down he examined it. Then there was a crash and a puff of smoke, and he
rejoined the corporal.
"Nothing else that could be done," he explained.
Curtis spoke to the prisoner.
"Come along. You had better not try to break away."
They went back to the homestead where they found Jepson waiting for them.
He looked disturbed.
"I told you he wasn't here," he said. "How was I to know he was hiding in
the ravine?"
Curtis gave him a searching glance.
"We'll consider that later. I want your team and wagon, some blankets,
and driving-robes."
"Am I bound to outfit the police?"
"I guess you had better. Your record's none too good."
He led his prisoner into the kitchen, where the stove was burning, and,
laying his carbine on the table, he loosed the handcuffs and bade the man
take off his long coat.
"Go through his pockets, Stanton," he said.
The trooper did as he was told, but nothing of any importance was
produced. The man was not armed, and there were only a few silver coins
and bills for small amounts in his possession. Curtis stood wearily,
regarding him with a thoughtful smile.
"Where did you get that jacket, Glover?" he asked.
"Where do you generally get such things? At the store."
"Just so," said Curtis. "I can't see why you didn't buy one that fitted
you." He turned suddenly to Jepson. "Bring me his jacket."
The farmer made an abrupt movement, and then seemed to pull himself up,
and stood still.
"I've no use for that kind of fooling; he has it on!"
"I don't think so," said Curtis meaningly. "Give Stanton a light and
he'll look for it."
The trooper came back in a few minutes with a garment which he had found
under a bed, and Curtis bade him put it on the prisoner.
"Right size, same stuff as the trousers, and worn about as much," he
remarked. "Now you can take it off and search it."
There was nothing in the pockets, but after a careful examination Stanton
felt a lump inside the lining. He ripped that, and took out a wad of
carefully folded bills. On opening them, he found that they were for
twenty dollars each, and clean. The corporal's face grew suddenly intent.
"Where did you get them?" he asked.
"You can find out!" muttered Glover, who had shown signs of dismay.
Curtis turned to Jepson.
"It looks as if he trusted you farther than I would; but harness your
team quick, and if your brother's hanging round outside, tell him that
he'll run up against trouble if he interferes."
They sat down and waited until the farmer brought a wagon to the door,
and then they drove away through the stinging cold with their prisoner.