Leger turned and pointed to a shadowy figure that materialized out of
the gloom among the trees below. There were others behind it, and the
two stood still watching them as they came quickly up the trail. Then
they stopped at a sharp word, and a man in a big fur-coat stepped
forward. Hetty had no difficulty in recognizing him as Esmond.
"Are you willing to tell me where Prospector Tomlinson is? It would be
the wisest thing," he said.
"I don't think that is quite the point," answered Leger quietly. "You
see, I don't know."
"Then I'll ask you where he went when he left here last night?"
"You fancy he was here?"
Esmond made a little sign of impatience. "I should like to warn you that
a good deal depends upon the way you answer me. You probably know that
the person who hides a murderer or connives at his escape is liable to
be tried as an accessory."
Leger stood silent a moment or two. It seemed rather more than probable
that Esmond had only supposed it likely that Tomlinson had visited the
bakery; but that did not greatly matter after all. His course was clear,
and that was to allow the officer to believe as long as possible that
Tomlinson was in the vicinity. Every minute gained would be worth a good
deal to the fugitive.
"I scarcely think I need worry myself about that," he said. "You see,
before you could charge me as an accessory you would have to prove that
Tomlinson really killed Probyn. It's tolerably clear that you can't have
a trial without a prisoner, and I don't mind admitting that Tomlinson
isn't here."
Esmond smiled unpleasantly, and signed to one of the troopers, who went
into the shanty. "He certainly isn't very far away. I have no doubt you
could tell me where he would make for; but you do not seem to know that
he was shot, and, we have reason to believe, badly wounded within a
league of your house last night."
It was growing light now, and he saw the sudden horror in Hetty's eyes.
"If you have any control over your brother, Miss Leger, I think it would
be wise for you to use it," he said. "You would not like him to get
himself into trouble?"
Hetty straightened herself a little. "If he knew where Tomlinson was and
told you, I'd be ashamed of him forever--but he doesn't," she said.
Esmond glanced at her sharply. She stood very straight, regarding him
with a set, white face, and it was evident that she was resolute. Then
he turned to Leger.
"Are you willing to expose your sister to a very serious charge?" he
asked.
Again Leger stood silent, but when he glanced at her a little flash
showed in Hetty's eyes.
"You daren't disgrace us both. Remember, it was all my fault," she said.
Then Leger turned to the officer. "I do not know where Tomlinson is.
That is all I have to tell you."
Esmond raised his hand. "Then I arrest you both for concealing
Prospector Tomlinson and contriving his escape. You will hand them over
to Robertson at the outpost, Trooper Grieve, and then come on after us
as fast as you can. I don't wish to submit either of you to any
indignity, Leger, unless you are likely to make it necessary."
Leger's face turned crimson, but he made a little sign of comprehension.
"We will make no attempt to get away."
Esmond signed to the trooper, who pointed somewhat shamefacedly to the
shadowy path among the pines as he swung his carbine to the trail. Then
Hetty and Leger moved on in front of him, while Esmond and the others
vanished into the bush. It was almost daylight now, and the troopers
spent some time tracing Tomlinson's footsteps between the trunks. They
also found the thicket where he had flung himself down, but that, after
all, told them very little, and both the bye-trail and the larger one
were tramped too hard for his worn-out boots to leave any recognizable
impression.
It was, however, evident that Tomlinson could have adopted only one of
two courses. If he had escaped uninjured he would certainly head for
the settlements along the beaten trail, down which a trooper had been
sent already; but no wounded man could face that arduous journey, and
assuming that the corporal's shot had taken effect, he would, as a
matter of course, be lurking somewhere in the valley. In that case the
trailing of him could only be a question of a day or two, for even if he
could face the bitter frost in the open he must have food, and there
would be no difficulty in tracing the footsteps of any one who brought
it to him. The one question was whether Tomlinson was badly hurt, and as
the corporal, who fancied so, could not be quite sure, Esmond pushed on
southwards along the trail. If Tomlinson had not headed in that
direction he was in the valley, and, if so, he certainly could not get
away.
As a matter of fact, he was just then lying weak from loss of blood in a
little, decrepit shanty on an abandoned claim. He had contrived to reach
one of the miners' dwellings late the previous night, though he was
never quite sure how he accomplished it, and fell in across the
threshold when its astonished owner opened the door. The man, however,
kept his head, and within an hour Tomlinson was carried to the claim in
one of the more distant gorges, where it appeared a little less likely
that Esmond would lay hands on him. Now he was huddled half-sensible, in
his blanket upon a pile of cedar twigs, with Ingleby and a young
American, who had just dug out a carbine-bullet which had badly smashed
his shoulder-blade, sitting by his side. Ingleby did not know whether
his companion was a qualified surgeon; but he had, at least, contrived
to cut out the bullet and stanch the wound. He appeared a trifle anxious
about his patient.
"The shock would have dropped a man raised in the cities right off, but
I think we'll pull him round," he said. "Still, it's not going to be
done in a day or two."
The fact was very evident, and Ingleby nodded. "How long do you think
it will be before he can walk again?" he said.
"A month, anyway, and quite likely six weeks; that is, before you could
let him start out on the trail. I don't quite know what we're going to
do with him in the meanwhile."
Tomlinson, who appeared to understand him, looked up with his face awry.
"You're not going to do anything," he said half-coherently. "I'll give
myself up. I can't stay here and make trouble for the boys."
"You go to sleep!" said the other man severely, and made a little sign
to Ingleby, who sat silent for a minute or two after Tomlinson sank back
again on the twigs.
"That's just the point," he said. "The boys don't mean to let the police
have him?"
"No," and Ingleby's manner suggested that the subject was not worth
discussion. "They wouldn't think of it for a minute. I'd have nothing
more to do with them if they did."
The American nodded. "Well," he said, "I can pull the man round, but I'm
not going to answer for what will happen if the troopers get hold of
him. He's tough, but he wants looking after, and there's no one at the
outpost knows more than enough to pull a stone out of a cayuse's hoof."
"You can take out a bullet, anyway," said Ingleby suggestively.
"Oh yes. I'd have had quite a nice practice by this time if it had been
convenient for me to stay in Connecticut. As it happened, it wasn't."
Ingleby looked at him steadily. "Tomlinson," he said, "is a friend of
mine, and that, of course, implies an obligation. You, so far as I know,
have had very little to do with him, and it seems only reasonable to
warn you that you may get yourself into serious trouble by looking
after him. The law is generally carried out in our country."
The American laughed. "I can take my chances. I'm not going back on a
sick man, anyway."
They said nothing more for awhile until a man who had apparently been
running came in.
"Where's Sewell?" he gasped.
"I don't know," said Ingleby. "He wasn't at home this morning. Most
likely he's looking for a deer."
"Then I guess you'll have to do. Esmond has trailed Tomlinson to the
bakery. He has got Hetty and Tom Leger at the outpost now."