"What do you mean by that?"
"Well," said the miner, "I've heard Esmond has been worrying the boys
lately. They don't seem quite fond of him, anyway. It kind of seemed to
me Probyn might have lit out without you."
Now it is not often that a trooper takes the risk of discharging
himself from the ranks of the Northwest Police, but the thing has been
done. It was, however, unfortunate that Tomlinson made the suggestion.
The corporal's face grew a trifle grim as he looked at him.
"I've no use for that kind of talk," he said. "There's not a man up here
I'm not 'most as sure of as I am of myself."
"Then he's probably up there with the Indian," said Ingleby. "It would
be a little risky leading a horse down the big gully in the dark."
Another hour passed, and as there was still no appearance of Trooper
Probyn, the corporal decided that Ingleby was right, and, rolling
themselves in their blankets, they lay down inside the tent. They were
fast asleep when a beat of hoofs came out of the silence of the night as
a jaded horse floundered along the hillside, and the corporal wakened
only when there was a trampling of undergrowth outside the tent. He
shook the blankets from him and stood up.
"Is that you, Probyn? Tether the beast and come in," he said.
There was no answer, and the corporal, stooping suddenly, touched
Tomlinson's shoulder.
"I guess you had better get up. You're awake, Ingleby?" he asked.
Ingleby, who had been roused by the sound, noticed that he had not asked
Tomlinson this; but they were both on their feet in another moment and
went out of the tent. The fire had almost burned out, but a few red
brands still gave a faint light, and the spires of the pines seemed a
little blacker and sharper than they had been when the men went to
sleep. It was very cold, for dawn was coming, and they shivered a little
as they looked about them. There was nothing to excite apprehension,
only a jaded horse that stood just within the uncertain light with loose
bridle and lowered head, but Ingleby felt a curious uneasiness come
upon him. The sight was unpleasantly suggestive.
"Probyn!" the corporal called again.
There was no answer, and, though he scarcely knew why, Ingleby felt that
he did not expect one. Then the horse, moving very lamely, walked up to
the corporal, whom it apparently recognized, and he laid a hand upon the
bridle.
"Throw on a piece or two of wood and stir the fire," he said.
Ingleby did it, and nothing more was said until a blaze sprang up. Then
the corporal ran his hand along the horse's coat. There was a smear of
blood on it when he glanced at it.
"Been travelling quite fast before he dried," he said. "Through some
thick bush, too; here's a scar where a branch ripped the hide. Looks to
me as though he'd been scared and bolted, though I don't quite see what
has lamed him."
The rest watched him with a curious intentness while he lifted one of
the beast's hoofs. It was plain to all of them that there was something
wrong, but nobody cared to give his misgivings vent. Then as the
firelight blazed up a little more Ingleby touched the corporal.
"You are looking in the wrong place," he said.
The corporal raised his head, and saw a deep, red scar. Stooping, he
drew a brand from the fire, and the men looked at one another uneasily
when he held it up.
"Yes," he said grimly. "That was made by a bullet. I figure the beast
was going away from the man who fired it."
Again there was silence for almost a minute. The pines were growing a
trifle blacker and clearer in outline, and it was very cold. Ingleby
shivered again, for a curious creepy feeling troubled him. The corporal
stood very still, a tense black figure, apparently gazing fixedly at
Tomlinson. It was the latter who spoke first.
"I fired once--at the deer," he said.
"Well," said the corporal, with a curious certainty that jarred on
Ingleby's nerves, "Probyn's back yonder, and it will be daylight in an
hour. We'd better look for him."
Then he turned towards the jaded horse. "It's kind of unfortunate that
beasts can't talk."
Nobody said anything further, and they plodded silently into the gloom
that still shrouded all the hillside. It was dusk when they came back
again, but they had found no sign of Trooper Probyn, or anything that
might account for his disappearance, except an empty 44-cartridge lying
not far from his trail.