THE DAY AFTER
Morning broke over a disturbed and restless community at Foss River. The
chief residents who were not immediately concerned in the arrest of
Retief--only deeply interested, and therefore skeptical--had gone to bed
over-night eager for the morning light to bring them news. Their broken
slumbers ceased as daylight broadened into sunrise, and, without waiting
for their morning coffee, the majority set out to gather the earliest
crumbs of news obtainable. There were others, of course, who were not in
the know, or, at least, had only heard vague rumors. These were less
interested, and therefore failed to rise so early.
Amongst the earliest abroad was Doctor Abbot. Aunt Margaret's interest
was not sufficient to drag her from her downy couch thus early, but,
with truly womanly logic, she saw no reason why the doctor should not
glean for her the information she required. Therefore the doctor rose
and shivered under the lightness of his summer apparel in the brisk
morning air.
The market-place, upon which the doctor's house looked, was almost
deserted when he passed out of his door. He glanced quickly around for
some one whom he might recognize. He saw that the door of "Lord" Bill's
shack was open, but it was too far off for him to see whether that lazy
individual was yet up. A neche was leisurely cleaning up round
Lablache's store, whilst the local butcher was already busy swabbing out
the little shed which did duty for his shop. As yet there was no other
sign of life abroad, and Doctor Abbot prepared to walk across to the
butcher for a gossip, and thus wait for some one else to come along.
He stepped briskly from his house, for he was "schrammed" with cold in
his white drill clothing. As he approached the energetic butcher, he saw
a man entering the market-place from the southern extremity of the
settlement. He paused to look closely at the new-comer. In a moment he
recognized Thompson, one of the clerks from Lablache's store. He
conjectured at once that this man might be able to supply him with the
information he desired, and so changed his direction and went across to
meet him.
"Mornin', Thompson," he said, peering keenly into the pale, haggard face
of the money-lender's employee. "What's up with you? You look positively
ill. Have you heard how the arrest went off last night?"
There was a blunt directness about the doctor which generally drove
straight to the point. The clerk wearily passed his hand across his
forehead. He seemed half asleep, and, as the doctor had asserted,
thoroughly ill.
"Arrest, doctor? Precious little arrest there's been. I've been out on
the prairie all night. What, haven't you heard about the governor? Good
lor'! I don't know what's going to happen to us all. Do you think we're
safe here?"
"Safe here? What do you mean, man?" the doctor answered, noting the
other's fearful glances round. "Why, what ails you? What about
Lablache?"
Others had now appeared upon the market-place and Doctor Abbot saw
"Lord" Bill, dressed in a gray tweed suit, and looking as fresh as if he
had just emerged from the proverbial bandbox, coming leisurely towards
him.
"What about Lablache, eh?" replied Thompson, echoing the doctor's
question ruefully. "A pretty nice thing Horrocks and his fellows have
let themselves, and us, in for."
Bill had come up now and several others had joined the group. They stood
by and listened while the clerk told his story. And what a story it was
too. It was vividly sanguinary, and enough to strike terror into the
hearts of his audience.
He told with great gusto of how Lablache had been abducted. How the
police horses and the money-lender's had been stolen from the stables at
the store. He dwelt on the frightful horrors committed up at the Breed
camp. How he had seen the police shot down before his very eyes, and he
became expansive on the fact that, with his own hands, Retief had
carried off Horrocks, and how he had heard the raider declare his
intention of hanging him. It was a terrible tale of woe, and his
audience was thrilled and horrified. "Lord" Bill alone appeared unmoved.
A close observer even might have noticed the faintest suspicion of a
smile at the corners of his mouth. The smile broadened as the sharp
doctor launched a question at the narrator of terrible facts.
"How came you to see all this, and escape?"
Thompson was at no loss. He told how he had been sent up by "Poker" John
to find Horrocks and tell him about Lablache. How he arrived in time to
see the horrors perpetrated, and how he only managed to escape with his
own life by flight, under cover of the darkness, and how, pursued by the
bloodthirsty Breeds, he had managed to hide on the prairie, where he
remained until daylight, and then by a circuitous route got back to the
settlement.
"I tell you what it is, doctor," he finished up consequentially, "the
Breeds are in open rebellion, and, headed by that devil, Retief, intend
to clear us whites out of the country. It's the starting of another Riel
rebellion, and if we don't get help from the Government quickly, it's
all up with us. That's my opinion," and he gazed patronizingly upon the
crowd, which by this time had assembled.
"Nonsense, man," said the doctor sharply. "Your opinion's warped.
Besides, you're in a blue funk. Come on over to 'old man' Smith's and
have a 'freshener.' You want bucking-up. Coming, Bill?" he went on,
turning to Bunning-Ford. "I want an 'eye-opener' myself. What say to a
'Collins'?"
The three moved away from the crowd, which they left horrified at what
it had heard, and eagerly discussing and enlarging upon the sanguinary
stories of Thompson.
"Poker" John was already at the saloon when the three reached the door
of "old man" Smith's reeking den. The proprietor was sweeping the bar,
in a vain effort to clear the atmosphere of the nauseating stench of
stale tobacco and drink. John was propped against the bar mopping up his
fourth "Collins." He usually had a thirst that took considerable
quenching in the mornings now. His over-night potations were deep and
strong. Morning "nibbling" had consequently become a disease with him.
"Old man" Smith, with a keen eye to business, systematically mixed the
rancher's morning drinks good and strong.
Bill and the doctor were not slow to detect the condition of their old
friend, and each felt deeply on the subject. Their cheery greetings,
however, were none the less hearty. Smith desisted in his dusty
occupation and proceeded to serve his customers.
"We're having lively times, John," said the doctor, after emptying his
"long sleever." "Guess Retief's making things 'hum' in Foss River."
"Hum? Shout is more like it," drawled Bill. "You've heard all the news,
John?"
"I've enough news of my own," growled the rancher.
"Been up all night. I see you've got Thompson with you. What did
Horrocks do after you told him about Lablache?" he went on, turning to
the clerk.
Bill and the doctor exchanged meaning glances. The clerk having found a
fresh audience again repeated his story. "Poker" John listened
carefully. At the close of the narrative he snorted disdainfully and
looked from the clerk to his two friends. Then he laughed loudly. The
clerk became angry.
"Excuse me, Mr. Allandale, but if you doubt my word--"
"Doubt your word, boy?" he said, when his mirth had subsided. "I don't
doubt your word. Only I've spent most of the night up at the Breed camp
myself."
"And were you there, sir, when Horrocks was captured?"
"No, I was not. After you came to my place and went on to the camp, I
was very uneasy. So, after a bit, I got my 'hands' together and prepared
to follow you up there. Just as I was about to set out," he went on,
turning to the doctor and Bill, "I met Jacky coming in. Bless you if she
hadn't been to see the pusky herself. You know," with a slight frown,
"that child is much too fond of those skulking Breeds. Well, anyway, she
said everything was quiet enough while she was there and," turning again
to Thompson, "she had seen nothing of Retief or Horrocks or any of the
latter's men. We just put our heads together, and she convinced me that
I was right, after what had occurred at the store, and had better go up.
So up I went. We searched the whole camp. I guess we were there for nigh
on three hours. The place was quiet enough. They were still dancing and
drinking, but not a blessed sign of Horrocks could we find."
"I expect he'd gone before you got there, sir," put in Thompson.
"Did you find the bodies of the murdered police?" asked the doctor
innocently.
"Not a sign of 'em," laughed John. "There were no dead policemen, and,
what's more, there was no trace of any shooting."
The three men turned on the clerk, who felt that he must justify
himself.
"There was shooting enough, sir; you mark my words. You'll hear of it
to-day, sure."
"Lord" Bill walked away towards the window in disgust. The clerk annoyed
him.
"No, boy, no. I'm thinking you are mistaken. I should have discovered
some trace had there been any shooting. I don't deny that your story's
true, but in the excitement of the moment I guess you got rattled--and
saw things."
Old John laughed and turned away. At that instant Bill called them all
over to the window. The bar window overlooked the market-place, and the
front of Lablache's store was almost opposite to it.
Bill pointed towards the store as the three men gathered round. "Old
man" Smith also ranged himself with the others.
"Look!" Bill smiled grimly.
A buckboard had just drawn up outside Lablache's emporium and two people
were alighting. A crowd had gathered round the arrivals. There was no
mistaking one of the figures. The doctor was the first to give
expression to the thought that was in the mind of each of the interested
spectators.
"Lablache!" he exclaimed in astonishment
"And Horrocks," added "Lord" Bill quietly.
"Guess he wasn't hung then after all," said "Poker" John, turning as he
spoke. But Thompson had taken his departure. This last blow was too
much. And he felt that it was an advantageous moment in which to retire
to his employer's store, and hide his diminished head amongst the bales
of dry goods and the monumental ledgers to be found there.
"That youth has a considerable imagination." The Hon. Bunning-Ford
turned from the window and strolled leisurely towards the door.
"Where are you going?" exclaimed "Poker" John.
"To cook some breakfast."
"No, no, you must come up to the ranch with me. Let's go right over to
the store first, and hear what Lablache has to say. Then we'll go and
feed."
Bill shrugged. Then,--
"Lablache and I are not on the best of terms," he said doubtfully. He
wished to go notwithstanding his demur. Besides he was anxious to go on
to the ranch to see Jacky. The doubt in his tone gave John his cue, and
the old man refused to be denied.
"Come along," he said, and linking his arm within the other's, he led
the way over to the store; the doctor, equally eager, bringing up the
rear.
Bill suffered himself to be thus led. He knew that in such company
Lablache could not very well refuse him admission to his office. He had
a decided wish to be present when the money-lender told his tale.
However, in this he was doomed to disappointment. Lablache had already
decided upon a plan of action.
At the store the three friends made their way through the crowd of
curious people who had gathered on the unexpected return of the chief
actors in last night's drama; they made their way quickly round to the
back where the private door was.
Lablache was within, and with him Horrocks. The heavy voice of the
money-lender answered "Poker" John's summons.
"Come in."
He was surprised when the door opened, and he saw who his visitors were.
John and the doctor he was prepared for, but "Lord" Bill's coming was a
different matter. For an instant he seriously meditated an angry
objection. Then he altered his mind, a thing which was rare with him.
After all the man's presence could do no harm, and he felt that to
object to him, would be to quarrel with the rancher. On second thoughts
he would tolerate what he considered the intrusion.
Lablache was ensconced in his basket chair, and Horrocks was at the
great man's desk. Neither moved as their visitors entered. The troubles
of the previous night were plainly written on both men's faces. There
was a haggard look in their eyes, and a generally dishevelled appearance
about their dress. Lablache in particular looked unwashed and untidy.
Horrocks looked less troubled, and there was a strong air of
determination about his face.
"Poker" John showed no niceness in broaching the subject of his visit.
His libations had roused him to the proper pitch for plain speaking.
"Well, what happened to you last night, Lablache? I guess you're looking
about as blue as they make 'em. Say, I thought sure Retief was going to
do for you when I heard about it."
"Ah. Who told you about--about me?"
"Your clerk."
"Rodgers?"
"No, Thompson."
"Ah! Have you seen Rodgers at all?"
"No." John turned to the other two. "Have you?"
Neither of the men had seen the clerk, and old John turned again to
Lablache.
"Why, what's happened to Rodgers?"
"Oh, nothing. I haven't seen him since I have been back--that's all."
"Well, now tell us all about last night," went on the rancher. "This
matter is going to be cleared up. I have been thinking of a vigilance
committee. We can't do better."
Lablache shook his great head. To the doctor and "Lord" Bill there
seemed to be an utter hopelessness conveyed in the motion.
"I have nothing to tell. Neither has Horrocks. What happened last night
concerns ourselves alone. You may possibly hear more later on, but the
telling by us now will do no good, and probably a lot of harm. As for
your vigilance committee, form it if you like, but I doubt that you will
do any good with it."
This refusal riled the old rancher. He was just in that condition when
it would take little to make him quarrel. He was about to rap out an
angry retort when a knock came at the partition door. It was Thompson.
He had come to say that the troopers had returned, and wanted to see the
sergeant. Also to say that Rodgers was with them. Horrocks immediately
went out to see them, and, before John could say a word, Lablache turned
on him.
"Look here, John, for the present my lips are sealed. It is Horrocks's
wish. He has a plan which he wishes to carry out quietly. The result of
his plan largely depends upon silence. Retief seems to have sources of
information everywhere. Walls have ears, man. Now, I shall be glad if
you will leave me. I--I must get cleaned up."
John's anger died within him. He saw that Lablache was upset. He looked
absolutely ill. The old man's good nature would not allow him to press
this companion of his ranching life further. There was nothing left for
him to do but leave.
As he rose to go, the money-lender unbent still further.
"I'll see you later, John, I may then be able to tell you more. Perhaps
it may interest you to know that Horrocks has discovered the path across
the keg, and--he's going to cross it. Good-by. So long, Doc."
"Very well, I shall be up at the ranch. Come along, Bill. Jacky, I
expect, is waiting breakfast for us."
Lablache heard the old man's remark as the latter passed out, and a
bitter feeling of resentment rose within him. He felt that everything
was against him. His evil nature, however, would not let him remain long
desponding. He ground his teeth and cursed bitterly. It had only wanted
a fillip such as this to rouse him from the curious lethargic
hopelessness into which the terrible night's doings had cast him.
The moment the three men got away from the store, Doctor Abbot drew
attention to the money-lender's words.
"Going to cross the keg, eh? Well, if he's really discovered the path
it's certainly the best thing to do. He's a sharp man is Horrocks."
"He's a fool!"
Bill's words were so emphatic that both men stared at him. If they were
startled at his words, they were still more startled at the set
expression of his face. Doctor Abbot thought he had never seen the
_insouciant_ Bill so roused out of himself.
"Why--how?"
"How? I tell you, man, that no one knows that path
except--except--Retief, and, supposing Horrocks has discovered it, if he
attempts to cross, there can only be one result to his mad folly. I tell
you what it is, the man should be stopped. It's absolute
suicide--nothing more nor less."
Something in the emphasis of "Lord" Bill's words kept the others silent
until the doctor left them at his home. Then as the two men hurried out
across the prairie towards the ranch, the conversation turned back to
the events of the previous evening.
At the ranch they found Jacky awaiting the old man's return, on the
veranda. She was surprised when she saw who was with him. Her surprise
was a pleasant one, however, and she extended her hand in cordial
welcome.
"Come right in, Bill. Gee, but you look fit--and slick."
The two young people smiled into each other's faces, and no onlooker,
not even the observant Aunt Margaret, could have detected the
understanding which passed in that look. Jacky was radiant. Her sweet,
dark face was slightly flushed. There were no tell-tale rings about her
dark eyes. For all sign she gave to the contrary she might have enjoyed
the full measure of a night's rest. Her visit to the Breed camp, or, for
that matter, any other adventures which had befallen her during the
night, had left no trace on her beautiful face.
"I've brought the boy up to feed," said old John. "I guess we'll get
right to it. I've got a 'twist' on me that'll take considerable to
satisfy."
The meal passed pleasantly enough. The conversation naturally was
chiefly confined to the events of the night. But somehow the others did
not respond very eagerly to the old rancher's evident interest and
concern. Most of the talking--most of the theorizing--most of the
suggestions for the stamping out of the scourge, Retief, came from him,
the others merely contenting themselves with agreeing to his suggestions
with a lack of interest which, had the old man been perfectly sober, he
could not have failed to observe. However, he was especially obtuse this
morning, and was too absorbed in his own impracticable theories and
suggestions to notice the others' lack of interest.
At the conclusion of the meal the rancher took himself off down to the
settlement again. He must endeavor to draw Lablache, he said. He would
not wait for him to come to the ranch.
Jacky and Bill went out on to the veranda, and watched the old man as he
set out with unsteady gait for the settlement.
"Bill," said the girl, as soon as her uncle was out of earshot, "what
news?"
"Two items of interest One, the very best, and the other--the very
worst."
"Which means?"
"No one has the least suspicion of us; and Horrocks, the madman, intends
to attempt the passage of the keg."
"Lord" Bill jaws shut with a snap as he ceased speaking. The look which
accompanied his last announcement was one of utter dejection. Jacky did
not reply for an instant, her great eyes had taken on a look of deep
anxiety as she gazed towards the muskeg.
"Bill, can nothing be done to stop him?" She gazed appealingly up into
the face of the tall figure beside her. "He is a brave man, if foolish."
"That's just it, dear. He's headstrong and means to see this thing
through. Had I thought that he would ever dream of contemplating such a
suicidal feat as attempting that path, I'd never have let him see the
cattle cross last night. My God! it turns me sick to think of it."
"Hush, Bill, don't talk so loud. Do you think any one could dissuade
him? Lablache, or--or uncle, for instance."
Bunning-Ford shook his head. His look was troubled.
"Horrocks is not the man to be turned from his purpose," he replied.
"And besides, Lablache would not attempt such a thing. He is too keen to
capture--Relief," with a bitter laugh. "A life more or less would not
upset that scoundrel's resolve. As for your uncle," with a shrug, "I
don't think he's the man for the task. No, Jacky," he went on, with a
sigh, "we must let things take their course now. We have embarked on
this business. We mustn't weaken. His blood be upon his own head."
They relapsed into silence for some moments. "Lord" Bill lit a
cigarette, and leant himself against one of the veranda posts. He was
worried at the turn events had taken. He had no grudge against Horrocks;
the man was but doing his duty. But his meditated attempt he considered
to be an exaggerated sense of that duty. Presently he spoke again.
"Jacky--do you know, I feel that somehow the end of this business is
approaching. What the end is to be I cannot foretell. One thing,
however, is clear. Sooner or later we must run foul of people, and when
that occurs--well," throwing his cigarette from him viciously, "it
simply means shooting. And--"
"Yes, Bill, I know what you would say. Shooting means killing, killing
means murder, and murder means swinging. You're right, but," and the
girl's eyes began to blaze, "before that, Lablache must go under.
Whatever happens, Bill, before we decorate any tree with our bodies, if
our object is not already obtained, I'll shoot him with my own pistol. I
guess we're embarked on a game that we're going to see through."
"That's so. We'll see it through. Do you know what stock we've taken,
all told? Close on twenty thousand head, and--all Lablache's. They're
snug over at 'Bad Man's' Hollow, and a tidy fine bunch they are. The
division with the boys is a twentieth each, and the balance is ours. Our
share is ten thousand." He ceased speaking. Then presently he went on,
harking back to the subject of Horrocks. "I wish that man could be
stayed. His failure must precipitate matters. Should he drown, as he
surely will, the whole countryside will join in the hue and cry. It is
only his presence here that keeps the settlers in check. Well, so be it.
It's a pity. But I'm not going to swing. They'll never take me alive."
"If it comes to that, Bill, you'll not be alone, I guess. You can gamble
your soul, when it comes to open warfare I'm with you, an' I guess I can
shoot straight."
Bill looked at the girl in astonishment. He noted the keen deep eyes,
the set little mouth. The fearless expression on her beautiful face. Her
words had fairly taken his breath away, but he saw that she had meant
what she said.
"No, no, girlie. No one will suspect you. Besides, this is my affair.
You have your uncle."
"Say, boy, I love my uncle--I love him real well. I'm working for him,
we both are--and we'll work for him to the last. But our work together
has taught me something, Bill, and when I cotton to teaching there's
nothing that can knock what I learn out of my head. I've just learned to
love you, Bill. And, as the Bible says, old Uncle John's got to take
second place. That's all. If you go under--well, I guess I'll go under
too."
Jacky gave her lover no chance to reply. As he opened his lips to
expostulate and took a step towards her she darted away, and disappeared
into the sitting-room. He followed her in, but the room was empty.
He paused. Then a smile spread over his face.
"I don't fancy we shall go under, little woman," he muttered, "at least,
not if I can help it."
He turned back to the veranda and strolled away towards the settlement.