"Well," said the other, "I guess I ought to be. I met them. Trooper
Grieve didn't stop their talking, and they told me. Esmond tried to
bluff where Tomlinson was out of them, and they're to stand in with him
as accessories."
It was evident to Ingleby that since Sewell was away a heavy
responsibility devolved upon him as a friend of Tomlinson and Leger. He
was expected to do something, and, as usual, he did the obvious thing
without counting what it would cost him.
"Where is Esmond?" he asked.
"Hitting the trail to the settlements all he's worth," said the other
man.
"Then go round and let the boys know what you have told me. They can
meet outside Ransome's shanty. The dinner-hour will do. I'll be there to
meet them."
The man went out, and at the time appointed Ingleby stood outside a
little hut of bark and logs with a crowd of bronze-faced men about him.
They were somewhat silent, but their manner was quietly resolute. It
suggested that their minds were made up and that they were only waiting
for a leader in whom they had confidence. Ingleby had gained their
liking, but he was young, and they were not quite sure whether he would
be the man or whether they must choose another. In the meanwhile they
were willing to give him a hearing. It was evident that he was equal to
the occasion when he stepped forward and looked at them with steady
eyes.
"Boys," he said, "do any of you believe Tomlinson killed Trooper
Probyn?"
There was a general murmur of dissent, and Ingleby made a little sign of
concurrence. "Are you willing to let the troopers have him? You must
remember that the thing looks bad against him, and he will not be tried
by you."
The murmurs were articulate now, and it was very clear that not a man
there had the least intention of giving up Tomlinson.
"Then it should be quite plain that you will have to keep the troopers
from him. It is only a question of a day or two at the longest before
they trail him. They may do it to-night. Esmond will very soon find out
that he isn't pushing on in front of him for the settlements."
A big man stood forward, and glanced at the rest. "There's not a trooper
in this valley going to lay hands on Tomlinson."
Again the murmurs rose portentously, and Ingleby smiled.
"Well," he said, "since the trouble can't be shuffled off, we may as
well face it now. We have got to make a stand and maintain it until
Esmond finds he has to humour us. He has Leger and his sister in the
outpost. Do you know any reason why we shouldn't take them out?"
"I guess not," said the man who had spoken already. "Still, if there's
any shooting, two or three of us are going to smell trouble as well as
Tomlinson."
"There will not be any," said Ingleby. "Esmond has only two men at the
outpost. Nobody wants to hurt them. The thing can be done without it. In
fact, that's essential. I want three or four determined men."
They were forthcoming, but one of the rest asked a question.
"Have you figured what's going to happen when Esmond comes back?" he
said.
"I have," said Ingleby. "He will have a handful of tolerably active men
under his orders then, but only a handful, after all. Now, the outpost's
outside the canyon, and there's a spot where a log barricade would
effectively block the trail. The troopers will have to be kept outside
it until we can arrive at a compromise. Esmond will probably make it. It
would be two months, anyway, before he could get more troopers in, and
if there's another heavy snowfall it mightn't be done till spring."
None of those who listened could find fault with the scheme. It was
evidently workable, and they had already decided that Tomlinson was not
to be given up at any cost. That, as Ingleby had pointed out, would
necessarily involve them in difficulties with the police. There was thus
very little further discussion, and the men went back, a trifle
thoughtfully, to their work until the evening.
It seemed to most of them a long while coming, and to none of them
slower than it did to Hetty Leger, who sat with her brother in a very
little, log-walled room at the outpost as dusk was closing down. Tom
Leger, glancing at her as she sat huddled in a chair by the window,
fancied that she was crying.
"Why did we come here, Tom?" she said. "Everything has gone wrong since
we left Vancouver."
"The outlook certainly isn't very cheerful just now," said Leger, with a
rueful smile. "Still, after all, you made a good many dollars at the
bakery, and my claim is doing well. Ingleby will see that while I'm kept
here the work is carried on. One can put up with a good deal of
inconvenience when he's washing out gold-dust."
"Dollars!" said Hetty. "And gold-dust! Is there nothing else worth
having?"
"Well," said Leger drily, "when you have no prospect of getting it, it's
as well to content oneself with dollars. If I remember rightly you used
to think a good deal of a shilling in England."
Hetty glanced at him sharply with hazy eyes. "What do you mean by--no
prospect of getting it?"
"I don't quite know. You suggested the notion. Anyway, I scarcely think
Esmond can make out very much of a case against us. He doesn't really
know that Tomlinson was at the bakery."
"It isn't that that's worrying me. It's--everything," said Hetty.
"I don't think you need cry over Tomlinson. The boys will take care of
him."
"I wasn't crying about Tomlinson. In fact, I'm not sure I was crying at
all. Still, you see, it was all my fault."
Leger smiled whimsically. "Well," he said, "I scarcely think that should
afford you any great satisfaction, though it almost seems to do so. No
doubt it's part of a girl's nature to make trouble of the kind."
Hetty closed one hand. "I'm going to be angry in a minute. That's not
the way to talk to any one who's feeling--what I am just now."
Leger rose and patted her shoulder. "I'd sooner see you raging than
looking as you do. Shake the mood off, Hetty. It isn't in the least like
you."
Hetty said nothing but turned from him and looked out of the little
window. A young trooper was leaning over the rude balustrade of the
veranda, and beyond him the sombre pines rolled down the darkening
valley. Night had not quite fallen yet, though a half-moon that showed
red and frosty was growing brighter above the white shoulder of a hill.
Another trooper was apparently busy in the adjoining room, for they
could hear his footsteps as he moved, but that was the only sound. Then
a face rose suddenly into sight above the floor of the veranda where
the trooper could not see it. It was a horrible, grey face, and Hetty
shrank back, while her chair grated harshly on the floor. In another
moment Tom Leger's hand closed tightly on her arm.
"Keep still!" he said. "It's a masked man. I fancy the boys have come
for us."
Hetty looked again, and saw that a strip of deer-hide with holes cut in
it was tied across the face. Then she became sensible that there was
something suggestively familiar in the attitude of the man who, moving
noiselessly, raised himself erect and stood watching the trooper, whose
back was towards him.
"Oh," she gasped, "it's Walter!"
"Be quiet!" said Leger, and the grasp upon her arm grew tighter.
Another face appeared between the rails, but the first man had already
swung one leg over them, and in another moment he sprang forward along
the veranda. The trooper heard him and swung round, but even as he did
so the newcomer flung his arms about him and they reeled together down
the little stairway. Then the second trooper flung open the door, but as
he ran out of it two or three men who had apparently crept into the
veranda grappled with him, and Hetty could hear them tumbling up and
down the adjoining room. Then there was a brief silence until somebody
burst open the door of the room in which she was shut. A masked man who
strode in grasped her shoulder, and she struggled vainly as he drew her
towards the door.
"I won't go. It will only get you into worse trouble," she said.
The man laughed. "If I had to face it all my life, do you think I would
leave you here?"
Hetty recognized the tension in his voice, and something that seemed to
answer it thrilled in her; but she still protested, and the man, who
flung an arm about her waist, swung her off her feet. He did not let
her go until he set her down, flushed and gasping, among the pines
outside.
Then she laughed. "I'm not sure you could have done that in England,
Walter."
"No," said Ingleby. "Anyway, you wouldn't have let me, but we can't stop
to talk now. Esmond may come back at any time, and there is a good deal
to do." He turned from her suddenly. "You have got those fellows'
carbines?"
"Oh yes," said another man. "We'd better bring along their cartridges
and heave them in the river too. We haven't hurt either of them much,
considering."
Ingleby signed to the rest, though he still held Hetty's arm. "Now," he
said, "the sooner we light out of this the better it will be for
everybody."