"Yes," said Ingleby. "I think so. I don't seem to remember anything
else. Anyway, it was sufficient."
He made a little forceful gesture which suggested even more plainly than
what he said that the thought of leaving Hetty exposed to any peril was
intolerable.
"And you inconsequently decided to put up a bluff of this kind on the
British nation because Esmond might involve in difficulties a girl with
whom you are not in love. I'm presuming you are not in love with her?"
Ingleby seemed a trifle disconcerted. "No," he said sharply. "Of course
I'm not. What made you suggest it?"
Sewell laughed. "Well," he said, "for one thing, if you had been in love
with her, you could scarcely have done anything that would have made the
fact clearer."
There was silence for a minute or two, and Ingleby leaned upon the tree
with his thoughts in confusion. He was not in love with Hetty Leger, but
it was certainly a fact that her arrest had filled him with an almost
unaccountable consternation. He also remembered the curious little laugh
with which she had clung to him, and that it had stirred him as no
trifling favour Grace Coulthurst had ever shown him had done. The
commissioner's daughter had, however, certainly never leaned upon his
shoulder with her arms about him, though he had on one occasion, when
she was half-frozen, practically carried her into her father's dwelling.
The thought of it was, in a curious fashion, almost distasteful, as well
as preposterous. His regard for her was largely that of a devotee, an
aesthetic respect which would have made any display of purely human
proclivities on the part of the goddess a trifle disconcerting.
There are men like Ingleby whose life is, partly from inclination and
partly from force of circumstances, in some respects one of puritanical
simplicity, especially in the back blocks of England's colonies; and,
startled by Sewell's suggestion, he tried to reason with himself as he
leaned against the tree. He remembered now how he had thrilled to the
girl's touch as, half-crying and half-laughing, she had rested in his
arms a few hours ago, and he could not admit the almost unpleasant
explanation that this was because they were man and woman. Still, he had
felt her heart beating upon his breast, and something in his nature had,
it seemed to him, awakened and throbbed in response to it. It was, he
felt, not sensual passion; it was not love, since it was Grace
Coulthurst he loved; and his confusion grew more confounded as he vainly
strove to classify it. Ingleby, as one who did the obvious thing, and
was usually doing something unless he was asleep, had seldom been led
into any attempt to unravel the complexities of human thought and
emotion. Men of his temperament are as a rule too busy for anything of
the kind. It is material facts that interest them, and their
achievements are usually apparent and substantial, written in that
country on hard rock and forest or on the orchards and wheatfields that
smile where the wilderness has been.
"Well?" said Sewell at length.
Ingleby made a little gesture. "The thing is done. Why I did it doesn't,
after all, greatly matter. We have the results of it to face just now."
"Precisely! That's why I'm pleased you chose a very convenient spot to
chop the tree in. There's one of them becoming apparent already."
He pointed across the fallen log, and the man who stood upon it made a
little sign. The tree was in the shadow, but beyond it lay a narrow
strip of moonlit snow, upon which the dusky pines closed in again. A man
moved out into the strip, walking cautiously, and carrying a carbine. He
stopped abruptly, dropping the butt of it with a little thud, and,
turning his head, he apparently glanced at somebody behind him.
"They've chopped a big tree right across the trail," he said.
His voice rang clearly through the nipping air, and Ingleby almost
envied him as he stood unconcernedly still, a dusky, motionless object,
with a blacker shadow projected in front of him on the gleaming snow.
He, at least, had no responsibility, and was there to do what he was
bidden, while the law would hold him guiltless. The brief and decisive
attempt on the outpost had scarcely given Ingleby cause for thought, but
it was different now. There was nothing exhilarating in standing still
and wondering what course the police would take, while other men have
felt misgivings when brought face to face with constituted authority
with arms in its hand.
Sewell in the meanwhile moved quietly towards the fire.
"You will leave this thing to me, boys," he said. "Above all, keep your
hands off those rifles. It's a bluff we're putting up."
By this time several other men had moved out upon the strip of snow, and
one who came up from behind walked past them and stopped not far from
the tree. Ingleby could see his face in the moonlight, and recognized
him as Esmond. He looked up at the man who, though he had handed his
rifle to a comrade, still stood upon the log regarding him quietly.
"Well," he said, "what are you doing there?"
"Seeing that nobody gets over," was the uncompromising answer.
Esmond laughed, as though he had partly expected this. "There are no
doubt more of you behind there. If you have one, I would prefer to talk
to your recognized leader."
Sewell sprang up upon the tree. "I think I can venture to claim my
comrades' confidence," he said. "In any case, I am quite willing to
accept the responsibility for anything that has been done."
"You may be asked to remember that," said Esmond drily. "Do you mind
explaining why you felled this tree?"
"I think the man who answered you already made that clear. To prevent
anybody's getting over. Once you recognize that it would be difficult to
do it without our permission, we'll go a little further."
"Then you are deliberately placing obstacles in the way of the police
carrying out their duty? I warn you that it may turn out a serious
matter."
Sewell laughed. "I'm not sure the question is a very happy one. It is
rather too suggestive of Monday morning in England. Still, I suppose
what we mean to do amounts to that, although we will have pleasure in
permitting you to enter the valley when you wish, on one or two
perfectly reasonable conditions."
"It remains to be seen whether you can keep us out." Esmond raised his
voice a trifle. "Climb up on that log, Trooper Grieve, and let me know
who Prospector Sewell has with him," he said. "You have authority to
fire on anybody who tries to prevent you."
It seemed to Ingleby that Esmond had displayed a good deal of tact. He
was aware that in an affair of the kind the right start counts for a
good deal, and that if the miners permitted the trooper to survey their
position it might lead to an unwished-for change in their attitude. If
they did not, it would make them the aggressors, and there was the
further difficulty that they would probably shrink from offering
violence to a single man.
"The trooper must not be hurt, boys, but he must not get up on the log,"
he said, and turned to Sewell with a little gesture of deprecation.
Sewell nodded. "You're right--if we can manage it," he said.
In the meanwhile the young trooper was walking towards the barrier.
Ingleby surmised that he had no great liking for his task, but beyond
the fact that he was holding himself unusually straight, and looking
steadfastly in front of him, he showed no sign of it. The moonlight was
on his face, and it was almost expressionless.
"Stop right where you are," said one of the miners sharply. "I guess
you'd better!"
The trooper did not stop, nor did he answer. If he had his misgivings as
a human being, he was also a part of the great system by which his
nation's work is done and its prestige maintained; and he went on with
stiff, measured strides which suggested the movements of an automaton. A
handful of men behind the log, and another handful standing in the
moonlight on the gleaming snow, stood silently watching him, and most of
them felt an almost unpleasant sense of tension.
Then he came to the branches, and stopped a moment, as though uncertain
what to do. His carbine presented the difficulty, since to scramble over
that tangle of branches and twigs both hands would be necessary. Then he
slung it behind him, and every one could hear the sharp snap of the
clip-hook through the bitter air. After that there was a crash as he
plunged into a maze of dusky needles, and he was gasping when he emerged
again. He was, however, still coming on, crawling over branches,
swinging himself under some of them, while two miners waited for him,
intent and strung up, behind the log. When he reached it the top of the
bark was almost level with his head, and, throwing an arm upon it, he
essayed to draw himself up. At the same moment two pairs of sinewy hands
seized his shoulders, and lifted him from his feet. Then there was a
shout and a swing, and he was hurled backwards like a stone. He broke
through the shadowy needles amidst a crash of snapped-off twigs, and
there was a confused floundering in the darkness below. Then a head rose
out of it, and the trooper stood straight in the moonlight upon the fork
of a great limb, looking back towards his officer now.
"Am I to try again, sir?" he asked.
There was a burst of approving laughter from the miners, and the trooper
sprang down from the branch and moved towards his comrades when Esmond
made a sign, while a man who had been speaking apart with the latter
suddenly stepped forward.
"It's the major," said one of the miners. "Give him a show. Come right
along, sir. Nobody going to hurt you!"
Coulthurst made a little gesture with a lifted hand, and his remarks
were brief.
"You'll gain nothing by making fools of yourselves, my men," he said.
"The law is a good deal too strong for you. Now, try to tell me sensibly
what is worrying you, and if it comes within my business I'll see what I
can do."
Sewell stood up upon the log, and took off his big, shapeless hat.
There was silence for a moment while the major looked at him.
"Mr. Sewell," he said gravely, "I'm sorry to see you here."
"I'm a little sorry myself, sir," said Sewell. "Still, that's not quite
the point, and if you will listen for a minute or two I will try to make
our views clear. They are really not unreasonable. In the first place we
want Tomlinson tried here by his peers, which, although a little
unusual, could, I think, be done. If Captain Esmond can prove him
guilty, we will give him up, and he can get a regular court to confirm
the verdict. Then we ask immunity for the men who held up the outpost,
and one or two trifling modifications of the mining regulations which
are probably within the discretion afforded you by your commission."
"It seems to me," said Coulthurst drily, "that you are asking a good
deal. More, in fact, than you are likely to get. You insist on all
that?"
"We feel compelled to do so, sir."
Coulthurst made a little sign and moved back to where Esmond stood. They
conferred together, and the major spoke again.
"Captain Esmond is willing to promise that if you go home straightway no
proceedings will be taken against any man for his share in this night's
work. He will promise you nothing further, and I may say that in this I
quite concur with him. I must warn you that what you are doing is a very
serious thing."
"Then," said Sewell quietly, "there is nothing more to be said. We have
strength enough effectively to prevent Captain Esmond from going any
further up the valley. It would be better for everybody if he did not
compel us to make use of it."
Esmond, who had been unusually patient hitherto, apparently lost his
self-command.
"We will endeavour to whip the insolence out of you," he said. "By the
time the thing is settled your leaders will be exceptionally sorry for
themselves."
He drew back a little with the major, and they appeared to be talking
earnestly for a space. It seemed to Ingleby that Esmond wished to chance
an attack; but perhaps the troopers were worn-out, or the major
recognized the strength of the miners' position, for at last he made a
little sign, and the men moved back silently into the shadow of the
pines. Then the tension slackened, and Ingleby shivered a little as he
strode towards the fire.
"It's horribly cold, though I never felt it until a minute or two ago,"
he said. "Well, I suppose we are in for it now!"
Sewell laughed in a curious fashion. "I almost think so. Captain Esmond
is not a very imposing personage in himself, but he stands for a good
deal, you see. Still, it's tolerably evident that he will not trouble us
any more to-night."
A few minutes later another miner climbed up on the log, and the rest
lay down, rolled in their blankets, about the crackling fire.