GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION
"Sit down and let me hear the--worst."
Lablache's voice rasped harshly as he delivered his mandate. Horrocks
had just arrived at the money-lender's store after his visit to the
half-breed camp. The police-officer looked weary. And the dejected
expression on his face had drawn from his companion the hesitating
superlative.
"Have you got anything to eat?" Horrocks retorted quickly, ignoring the
other's commands. "I am famished. Had nothing since I set out from
Stormy Cloud. I can't talk on an empty stomach."
Lablache struck a table bell sharply, and one of his clerks, all of whom
were still working in the store, entered. The money-lender's clerks
always worked early and late. It was part of the great man's creed to
sweat his _employees_.
"Just go over to the saloon, Markham, and tell them to send supper for
one--something substantial," he called out after the man, who hastened
to obey with the customary precipitance of all who served the flinty
financier.
The man disappeared in a twinkling and Lablache turned to his visitor
again.
"They'll send it over at once. There's some whisky in that bottle,"
pointing to a small cabinet, through the glass door of which gleamed the
white label of "special Glenlivet." "Help yourself. It'll buck you up."
Horrocks obeyed with alacrity, and the genial spirit considerably
refreshed him. He then reseated himself opposite to his host, who had
faced round from his desk.
"My news is not the--worst, as you seem to anticipate; although,
perhaps, it might have been better," the officer began. "In fact, I am
fairly well pleased with the result of my day's work."
"Which means, I take it, that you have discovered a clew."
Lablache's heavy eyes gleamed.
"Rather more than a clew," Horrocks went on reflectively. "My
information relates more to the man than to the beasts. We shall, I
think, lay our hands on this--Retief."
"Good--good," murmured the money-lender, inclining his heavy jowled
head. "Find the man and we shall recover the cattle."
"I am not so sure of that," put in the other. "However, we shall see."
Lablache looked slightly disappointed. The capture of Retief seemed to
him synonymous with the recovery of his stock. However, he waited for
his visitor to proceed. The money-lender was essentially a man to draw
his own conclusions after hearing the facts, and no opinion of another
was likely to influence him when once those conclusions were arrived at.
Lablache was a strong man mentally and physically. And few cared to
combat his decisions or opinions.
For a moment further talk was interrupted by the entry of a man with
Horrocks's supper. When the fellow had withdrawn the police-officer
began his repast and the narration of his story at the same time.
Lablache watched and listened with an undisturbed concentration. He lost
no point, however small, in the facts as stated by the officer. He
refrained from interruption, excepting where the significance of certain
points in the story escaped him, and, at the conclusion, he was as
conversant with the situation as though he had been present at the
investigation. The great man was profoundly impressed with what he
heard. Not so much with the shrewdness of the officer as with the simple
significance of the loss of further trace of the cattle at the edge of
the muskeg. Up to this point of the story he felt assured that Horrocks
was to be perfectly relied upon, but, for the rest, he was not so sure.
He felt that though this man was the finest tracker in the country the
delicate science of deduction was not necessarily an accompaniment to
his prairie abilities. Therefore, for the moment, he concentrated his
thoughts upon the features surrounding the great keg.
"It is a curious thing," he said retrospectively, as the policeman
ceased speaking, "that in all previous raids of this Retief we have
invariably tracked the lost stock down to this point. Of course, as you
say, there is not the slightest doubt that the beasts have been herded
over the keg. Everything seems to me to hinge on the discovery of that
path. That is the problem which confronts us chiefly. How are we to find
the secret of the crossing?"
"It cannot be done," said Horrocks, simply but with decision.
"Nonsense," exclaimed the other, with a heavy gasp of breath. "Retief
knows it, and the others with him. Those cattle could not have been
herded over single-handed. Now to me it seems plain that the crossing is
a very open secret amongst the Breeds."
"And I presume you consider that we should work chiefly on that
hypothesis?"
"Exactly."
"And you do not consider the possible capture of Retief as being the
most important feature of the case?"
"Important--certainly. But, for the moment, of minor consideration. Once
we discover the means by which he secretes his stock--and the
hiding-place--we can stop his depredations and turn all our energies to
his capture. You follow me? At first I was inclined to think with you
that the capture of the man would be the best thing. But now it seems to
me that the easiest method of procedure will be the discovery of that
path."
The rasping tone in which Lablache spoke conveyed to the other his
unalterable conviction. The prairie man, however, remained unconvinced.
"Well," he replied, after a moment's deliberation, "I cannot say I agree
with you. Open secret or not, I've a notion that we'd stand a better
chance of discovering the profoundest of state secrets than elicit
information, even supposing them to possess it, of this description from
the Breeds. I expect Gautier here in a few minutes; we shall hear what
he has to say."
"I trust he _may_ have something to say."
Lablache snapped his reply out in that peculiar tone of his which spoke
volumes. It never failed to anger him to have his opinions gainsaid.
Then his manner changed slightly, and his mood seemed to become
contemplative. Horrocks observed the change and wondered what was
coming. The money-lender cleared his throat and spat into the stove.
Then he spoke with that slow deliberation which was his when thinking
deeply.
"Two years ago, when Retief did what he liked in this part of the
country, there were many stories going about as to his relationship with
a certain lady in this settlement."
"Miss Allandale--yes, I have heard."
"Just so; some said that she--er--was very partial to him. Some, that
they were distantly connected. All were of opinion that she knew a great
deal of the man if she only chose to tell. These stories were
gossip--merely. These small places are given to gossip. But I must
confess to a belief that gossip is often--always, in fact--founded on a
certain amount of fact."
There was no niceness of feeling about this mountain of obesity in
matters of business. He spoke as callously of the girl, for whom he
entertained his unholy passion, as he would speak of a stranger. He
experienced no compunction in linking her name with that of an outlaw.
His gross nature was of too low an order to hold anything sacred where
his money-bags were affected.
"Perhaps you--er--do not know," he pursued, carefully lighting his pipe
and pressing the charred tobacco down with the tip of his little finger,
"that this girl is the daughter of a Breed mother?"
"Guess I hadn't a notion."
Horrocks's keen eyes flashed with interest. He too lit his pipe as he
lounged back in his chair.
"She is a quarter-breed, and, moreover, the esteem in which she is held
by the skulking inhabitants of the camp inclines me to the belief
that--er--judicious--er--handling--"
"You mean that through her we might obtain the information we require?"
Horrocks punctuated the other's deliberate utterances with hasty
eagerness. Lablache permitted a vague smile about the corners of his
mouth, his eyes remained gleaming coldly.
"You anticipate me. The matter would need delicate handling. What Miss
Allandale has done in the past will not be easy to find out. Granting,
of course, that gossip has not wronged her," he went on doubtfully. "On
second thoughts, perhaps you had better leave that source of information
to me."
He relapsed apparently into deep thought. His pensive deliberation was
full of guile. He had a purpose to achieve which necessitated the
suggestion which he had made to this representative of the law. He
wished to impress upon his companion a certain connivance on the part
of, at least, one member of the house of Allandale with the doings of
the raider. He merely wished to establish a suspicion in the mind of the
officer. Time and necessity might develop it, if it suited Lablache's
schemes that such should occur. In the meantime he knew he could direct
this man's actions as he chose.
The calm superiority of the money-lender was not lost upon his
companion. Horrocks was nettled, and showed it.
"But you'll pardon me, Mr. Lablache. You have offered me a source of
information which, as a police-officer, it is my duty to sound. As you
yourself admit, the old stories of a secret love affair may have some
foundation in fact. Accept that and what possibilities are not opened
up? Had I been employed on the affairs of Retief, during his previous
raids, I should certainly have worked upon so important a clew."
"Tut, tut, man," retorted the other, sharply. "I understood you to be a
keen man at your business. A single ill-timed move in the direction we
are discussing and the fat will be in the fire. The girl is as smart as
paint; at the first inkling of your purpose she'll curl up--shut up like
a rat trap. The Breeds will be warned and we shall be further off
success than ever. No, no, when it comes to handling Jacky Allandale you
leave it to me--Ah!"
Lablache's ejaculation was the result of the sudden apparition of a dark
face peering in at his window. He swung round with lightning rapidity,
and before Horrocks could realize what he was doing his fat hand was
grasping the butt of a revolver. Then, with a grunt of annoyance, he
turned back to his guest.
"That's your Breed, I take it. For the moment I thought it was some one
else; it's always best in these parts to shoot first and inquire
afterwards. I occasionally get some strange visitors."
The policeman laughed as he went to the door. His irritation at the
money-lender's manner was forgotten. The strangeness of the sight of
Lablache's twenty stone of flesh moving with lightning rapidity
astonished him beyond measure. Had he not seen it nothing would have
convinced him of the man's marvelous agility when roused by emergency.
It was something worth remembering.
Sure enough, the face on the other side of the window belonged to
Gautier, and, as Horrocks opened the door, the Breed pushed his way
stealthily in.
"It's all right, boss," said the man, with some show of anxiety, "I've
slipped 'em. I'm watched pretty closely, but--good evening, sir," he
went on, turning to Lablache with obsequious politeness. "This is bad
medicine--this business we're on."
Lablache cleared his throat and spat, but deigned no reply. He intended
to take no part in the ensuing conversation. He only wished to observe.
Horrocks at once became the officer to the subordinate. He turned
sharply on the Breed.
"Cut the cackle and come to business. Have you anything to tell us about
this Retief? Out with it sharp."
"That depends, boss," said the man, with a cunning smile. "As you sez.
Cut the cackle and come to business. Business means a deal, and a deal
means 'cash pappy.' Wot's the figger?"
There was no obsequious politeness about the fellow now. He was about as
bad a specimen of the Breed as could well be found. Hence his late
employment by the authorities. "The worse the Breed the better the spy,"
was the motto of those whose duty it was to investigate crime. Gautier
was an excellent spy, thoroughly unscruplous and rapacious. His
information was always a saleable commodity, and he generally found his
market a liberal one. But with business instincts worthy of Lablache
himself he was accustomed to bargain first and impart after.
"See here," retorted Horrocks, "I don't go about blind-folded. Neither
am I going to fling bills around without getting value for 'em. What's
your news? Can you lay hands on Retief, or tell us where the stock is
hidden?"
"Guess you're looking fer somethin' now," said the man, impudently. "Ef
I could supply that information right off some 'un 'ud hev to dip deep
in his pocket fur it. I ken put you on to a good even trail, an' fifty
dollars 'ud be small pay for the trouble an' the danger I'm put to. Wot
say? Fifty o' the best greenbacks?"
"Mr. Lablache can pay you if he chooses, but until I know that your
information's worth it I don't part with fifty cents. Now then, we've
had dealings before, Gautier--dealings which have not always been to
your credit. You can trust me to part liberally if you've anything
worth telling, but mind this, you don't get anything beforehand, and if
you don't tell us all you know, in you go to Calford and a diet of
skilly'll be your lot for some time to come."
The man's face lowered considerably at this. He knew Horrocks well, and
was perfectly aware that he would be as good as his word. There was
nothing to be gained by holding out. Therefore he accepted the
inevitable with as bad a grace as possible. Lablache kept silence, but
he was reading the Breed as he would a book.
"See hyar, sergeant," said Gautier, sulkily, "you're mighty hard on the
Breeds, an' you know it. It'll come back on you, sure, one o' these
days. Guess I'm going to play the game square. It ain't fur me to bluff
men o' your kidney, only I like to know that you're going to treat me
right. Well, this is what I've got to say, an' it's worth fifty as
you'll 'low."
Horrocks propped himself upon the corner of the money-lender's desk and
prepared to listen. Lablache's lashless eyes were fixed with a steady,
unblinking stare upon the half-breed's face. Not a muscle of his own
pasty, cruel face moved. Gautier was talking to, at least, one man who
was more cunning and devilish than himself.
The dusky ruffian gave a preliminary cough and then launched upon his
story with all the flowery embellishments of which his inventive fancy
was capable. What he had to tell was practically the same as Horrocks
had overheard. There were a few items of importance which came fresh to
the police-officer's ears. It stuck Lablache that the man spoke in the
manner of a lesson well learned, and, in consequence, his keen interest
soon relaxed. Horrocks, however, judged differently, and saw in the
man's story a sound corroboration of his own information. As the story
progressed his interest deepened, and at its conclusion he questioned
the half-breed closely.
"This pusky. I suppose it will be the usual drunken orgie?"
"I guess," was the laconic rejoinder.
"Any of the Breeds from the other settlements coming over?"
"Can't say, boss. Like enough, I take it."
"And what is Retief's object in defraying all expenses--in giving the
treat, when he knows that the white men are after him red-hot?"
"Mebbe it's bluff--cheek. Peter's a bold man. He snaps his fingers at
the police," replied Gautier, illustrating his words with much
appreciation. He felt he was getting a smack at the sergeant.
"Then Peter's a fool."
"Guess you're wrong thar. Peter's the slickest 'bad man' I've heerd tell
of."
"We'll see. Now what about the keg? Of course the cattle have crossed
it. A secret path?"
"Yup."
"Who knows the secret of it?"
"Peter."
"Only?"
The Breed hesitated. His furtive eyes shifted from one face to the other
of his auditors. Then encountering the fixed stare of both men he
glanced away towards the window. He seemed uncomfortable under the mute
inquiry. Then he went on doubtfully.
"I guess thar's others. It's an old secret among the Breeds. An' I've
heerd tell as some whites knows it."
A swift exchange of meaning glances passed between the two listeners.
"Who?"
"Can't say."
"Won't--you mean?"
"No, boss. Ef I knew it 'ud pay me well to tell. Guess I don't know.
I've tried to find out."
"Now look you. Retief has always been supposed to have been drowned in
the keg. Where's he been all the time?"
The half-breed grinned. Then his face became suddenly serious. He began
to think the cross-questioning was becoming too hot He decided to draw
on his imagination.
"Peter was no more drowned than I was. He tricked you--us all--into that
belief. Gee!--but he's slick. Peter went to Montana. When the States got
too sultry fur 'im he jest came right back hyar. He's been at the camp
fur two weeks an' more."
Horrocks was silent after this. Then he turned to Lablache.
"Anything you'd like to ask him?"
The money-lender shook his head and Horrocks turned back to his man.
"I guess that's all. Here's your fifty," he went on, taking a roll of
bills from his pocket and counting out the coveted greenbacks. "See and
don't get mad drunk and get to shooting. Off you go. If you learn
anything more I'm ready to pay for it."
Gautier took the bills and hastily crammed them into his pocket as if he
feared he might be called upon to return them. Then he made for the
door. He hesitated before he passed out.
"Say, sergeant, you ain't goin' fur to try an' take 'im at the pusky?"
he asked, with an appearance of anxiety.
"That's my business. Why?"
The Breed shrugged.
"Ye'll feed the coyotes, sure as--kingdom come. Say they'll jest flay
the pelt off yer."
"Git!"
The rascal "got" without further delay or evil prophecy. He knew
Horrocks.
When the door closed, and the officer had assured himself of the man's
departure, he turned to his host.
"Well?"
"Well?" retorted Lablache.
"What do you make of it?"
"An excellent waste of fifty dollars."
Lablache's face was expressive of indifference mixed with incredulity.
"He told you what you already knew," he pursued, "and drew on his
imagination for the rest. I'll swear that Retief has not been seen at
the Breed camp for the last fortnight. Moreover, that man was reciting a
carefully-thought-out tale. I fancy you have something yet to learn in
your business, Horrocks. You have not the gift of reading men."
The police-officer's face was a study. As he listened to the masterful
tone of his companion his color came and went. His dark skin flushed and
then rapidly paled. A blaze of anger leapt into his keen, flashing eyes.
Lablache had flicked him sorely. He struggled to keep cool.
"Unfortunately my position will not allow me to fall out with you," he
said, with scarcely-suppressed heat, "otherwise I should call you
sharply to account for your insulting remarks. For the moment we will
pass them over. In the meantime, Mr. Lablache, let me tell you, my
experience leads me to trust largely to the story of that man. Gautier
has sold me a good deal of excellent information in the past, and I am
convinced that what I have now heard is not the least of his efforts in
the law's behalf. Rascal--scoundrel--as he is, he would not dare to set
me on a false scent--"
"Not if backed by a man like Retief--and all the half-breed camp? You
surprise me."
Horrocks gritted his teeth but spoke sharply. Lablache's supercilious
tone of mockery drove him to the verge of madness.
"Not even under these circumstances. I shall attend that pusky and
effect the arrest. I understand these people better than you give me
credit for. I presume your discretion will not permit you to be present
at the capture?"
It was Horrocks's turn to sneer now. Lablache remained unmoved. He
merely permitted the ghost of a smile.
"My discretion will not permit me to be present at the pusky. There will
be no capture, I fear."
"Then I'll bid you good-night. There is no need to further intrude upon
your time."
"None whatever."
The money-lender did not attempt to show the policeman any
consideration. He had decided that Horrocks was a fool, and when
Lablache formed such an opinion of a man he rarely attempted to conceal
it, especially when the man stood in a subordinate position.
After seeing the officer off the premises, Lablache moved heavily back
to his desk. The alarm clock indicated ten minutes to nine. He stood for
some moments gazing with introspective eyes at the timepiece. He was
thinking hard. He was convinced that what he had just heard was a mere
fabrication, invented to cover some ulterior motive. That motive puzzled
him. He had no fear for Horrocks's life. Horrocks wore the uniform of
the Government. Lawless and all as the Breeds were, he knew they would
not resist the police--unless, of course, Retief were there. Having
decided in his mind that Retief would not be there he had no misgivings.
He failed to fathom the trend of affairs at all. In spite of his outward
calm he felt uneasy, and he started as though he had been shot when he
heard a loud knocking at his private door.
The money-lender's hand dropped on to the revolver lying upon the desk,
and he carried the weapon with him when he went to answer the summons.
His alarm was needless. His late visitor was "Poker" John.
The old rancher came in sheepishly enough. There was no mistaking the
meaning of his peculiar crouching gait, the leering upward glance of his
bloodshot eyes. To any one who did not know him, his appearance might
have been that of a drink-soaked tramp, so dishevelled and bleared he
looked. Lablache took in the old man's condition in one swift glance
from his pouched and fishy eyes. His greeting was cordial--too cordial.
Any other but the good-hearted, simple old man would have been
suspicious of it. Cordiality was not Lablache's nature.
"Ah, John, better late than never," he exclaimed gutturally. "Come in
and have a smoke."
"Yes, I thought I'd just come right down and--see if you'd got any
news."
"None--none, old friend. Nothing at all. Horrocks is a fool, I'm
thinking. Take that chair," pointing to the basket chair. "You're not
looking up to the mark. Have a nip of Glenlivet."
He passed the white-labeled bottle over to his companion, and watched
the rancher curiously as he shakily helped himself to a liberal "four
fingers." "Poker" John was rapidly breaking up. Lablache fully realized
this.
"No news--no news," murmured John, as he smacked his lips over his "tot"
of whisky. "It's bad, man, very bad. We're not safe in this place whilst
that man's about. Dear, dear, dear."
The senility of the rancher was painfully apparent. Doubtless it was the
result of his recent libations and excesses. The money-lender was quite
aware that John had not come to him to discuss the "hustler." He had
come to suggest a game of cards, but for reasons of his own the former
wished to postpone the request. He had not expected that "Poker" John
would have come this evening; therefore, certain plans of his were not
to have been put into execution until the following day. Now, however,
it was different. John's coming, and his condition, offered him a chance
which was too good to be missed, and Lablache was never a man to miss
opportunities.