GRIP OF THE LAW.
Ten o'clock was the hour set down in the articles of agreement for
the running of the challenge race, and Major MacDonald himself had
arranged for the use of the Strathconna track at that time. The
exposition authorities were glad to grant the favor to one who had
supported that institution so generously in its early days, when such
assistance was badly needed. Two of the judges and the regular
starter had consented to serve, eager to take part in anything in
which the pioneer, who had done so much for the province, was
interested.
With none of these arrangements had MacDonald interfered since his
return with Mrs. Andress and Fitzrapp from the Rafter A with the
knowledge that Canada had been stolen. It was his idea that they
should appear at the track just as though nothing had happened and
take no steps that might alarm Childress, in case he was foolhardy
enough to attempt to save his thousand and claim Fitzrapp's forfeit.
Accordingly, at half-past nine on the appointed morning, a touring
car drew up at the gates, carrying the pioneer, the widow and
Fitzrapp in the tonneau, and a stranger in a brown suit and gray
derby on the seat beside the chauffeur. The little party went
directly to the green before the grandstand, where they were joined
shortly by the officials whose services had been requested.
Although the great open-faced stand was practically deserted, there
was plenty of life and movement in its immediate vicinity. Next
morning the fair would be thrown open to the public, so that the last
hour preparations were being rushed. Refreshment tents and canvas
catchpenny booths were in process of erection or receiving their
finishing touches. Tardy exhibits were being brought to their proper
buildings, and an unending stream of blooded cattle and thoroughbred
horses passed on toward the stables. On the broad track itself a
force of ground keepers were at work, although the great circle
already seemed to have attained the proverbial smoothness of a
ballroom floor.
"I've an idea that we brought you gentlemen out this morning under
false pretenses," MacDonald was saying to the officials. "I'm afraid
that one of the horses will not appear and that the challenge will
have to go unsettled."
"Always sorry to miss a close match race, Major," returned the
starter; "but don't let that worry----" He broke off abruptly and
stared toward the paddock gate. "Good heavens! Will you look at
that magnificent horse!"
The others turned to see Jack Childress approaching. Behind him
strode the silver stallion, and still farther in the rear trailed
Mahaffy, burdened with a cow saddle.
Admiring exclamations sprang from several lips, Mrs. Andress' and the
major's among them, for although they were acquainted with the fine
points of Silver, they never had seen him so finely groomed.
Fitzrapp's glance of recognition had brought a start of surprise, for
he had confidently expected that Childress would fail to accept this
last daring chance. Evidently the man's boldness knew no limits.
As he drew near the owner of the one-section ranch waved a greeting
to the men and took off his hat to the widow, who was the only woman
in the immediate party. Mrs. Andress had been asked by her uncle not
to precipitate matters by showing a changed manner toward the suspect
in case he did appear. She forced a smile to accompany her bow; then
quickly looked away.
"Well, Fitzrapp, I'm on deck, you see," said Childress, addressing
his rival. "Not so good getting back from Montana, but I'm here,
and, thanks to Mahaffy's care, Silver is ready to give your beast the
run of his life. Suppose you call up your horse, and we'll get ready
for the starter's gun."
"You know very well that you----"
The outburst from Fitzrapp was interrupted when the heavy hand of the
major fell upon his shoulder.
"Through circumstances beyond his control," the pioneer interposed,
"Mr. Fitzrapp's horse, Canada, is not available for racing to-day.
As stakeholder, I'm ready to hear your desire regarding the purse to
which you both contributed."
The look on Childress' face was so akin to genuine surprise that
Ethel Andress had difficulty in disbelieving it, although she knew it
could not be real. "He adds fine acting to his many other
accomplishments," she reflected bitterly. "What a pity he couldn't
have been a real man."
"Circumstances beyond his control, eh?" repeated Childress. "Well,
now, that's sure too bad. Silver and I don't want any runaway money,
do we, boy?" He stroked the stallion's satiny neck meditatively.
"Tell you what I'll do; I've got another horse down in the paddock
that looks as if he'd be a fit match for the silver one here. I'll
lend him to Fitzrapp, and we'll have a race anyway, so long as we're
all here."
"Rediculous!" cried the Rafter A manager. "Race against a man with
his own horse! Who ever heard of such a thing?"
The other horsemen smiled at the odd proposal.
"Wait until you've seen the horse before you decide," urged
Childress. "He sure looks like a winner, and I feel this morning as
if nothing but a horse race would satisfy my appetite. Running
Silver against time isn't ever going to do it."
He turned to the little Irishman. "Mahaffy, suppose you go back to
the stable and bring up my new horse."
While they waited, he entered unconcernedly into the conversation,
which was centered upon the fine points of the silver beast. Looking
at him and listening to him, the widow could not comprehend how he
managed to maintain such poise, considering the strain under which he
must be laboring. Nor could she see by what possible expedient he
hoped to carry off his effrontery.
Standing a little to one side of the group about the stallion, she
was the first to sight the horse which Mahaffy was leading from the
paddock. For a moment she stared in silence; then an amazed cry
sprang from her lips.
"Look, Tom! Look! There's Canada. The man's bringing on your
stolen horse!"
They all turned and saw that the wrangler was advancing with a horse
they knew--Canada, the prize-winning black stallion that Thomas
Fitzrapp had exhibited so often.
An imprecation burst from Fitzrapp's lips. Then he sprang toward the
horse. The black recognized him with a delighted whinny, and nosed
him when he came within reach. There was no doubt that an affection
existed between man and beast. Tears gushed into Fitzrapp's eyes,
and as for Canada, had there been any question of original ownership,
his behavior would have settled it in the manager's favor in the
decision of any unbiased jury.
"Told you to wait until you'd seen the horse," said Childress with a
chuckle. "This was my little surprise party. Now we can have an
honest-to-goodness race according to agreement."
"How comes it that you bring up Mr. Fitzrapp's mount?" asked the most
imposing of the race judges, giving Childress a look of open
suspicion.
"Because circumstances beyond his control prevented him from bringing
up the beast himself," returned the imperturbable owner of the Open A.
The thought that Childress must have lost his mind rushed into
Ethel's brain, and she pitied him. There seemed no other reasonable
explanation for this piling of folly upon folly.
A look from the major moved Fitzrapp to speech. "Gentlemen, this
horse was stolen from me, and from the first I suspected that
Childress was concerned in the theft. Why he brought the animal here
is unexplainable, but does not concern us. Officer, you had better
take him in charge."
The big man in the gray derby stepped forward importantly and laid a
hand on Childress' shoulder. The latter made no effort to throw off
the clutch, nor did he protest when the official ran his hands over
his body in search of weapons.
"What's all this about?" he inquired, a puzzled expression on his
face.
"You're under arrest; that's what it is about," said the policeman.
"Here's the warrant if you want to read it."
Childress took the paper, and scanned it rapidly.
"Looks regular enough," he remarked, slipping the warrant into his
coat pocket. "So we aren't going to have a race--after all the
trouble I've been put to?"
"Not to-day," returned the officer with a grin. "Not so's you'd
notice the dust."
There seemed to awaken in Childress a sudden realization of his
position. He jerked out the warrant and read it more carefully.
"Is this jolly little document based upon anything more stable than
the information and belief of Mr. Thomas Fitzrapp, of Strathconna,
the Rafter A Ranch and _elsewhere_?" he asked.
A thread of defiance in his tone caused Ethel Andress again to look
at him searchingly. It seemed impossible that he could be what
circumstances proved him to be.
"The warrant has substantial basis," said Maj. MacDonald. "Here for
instance is a memorandum book, purporting to be the property of one
Jack Childress. It is filled with rustling data and was picked up in
the track of the last raid upon our stock."
Childress bowed recognition of the book. "I'll be glad to get you
back, old stand-by, when the court is through with you. I dropped
you that day I rode to the Rafter A to sign the terms of today's
race. Fitzrapp must have picked you up and neglected to return you."
He turned to the local officer. "Will you be kind enough to come
over to the stables until we put up the horses and I get out of these
riding clothes."
"I'll put an officer on guard of the horses," said the policeman as
they walked off toward the stables.
None paid any attention to a gestured signal which Childress threw
toward the grandstand. There it was picked up and understood by a
slender little woman in a blue twill dress and dark mushroom hat.
She left the seat which she had occupied alone and approached the
group that waited beneath the starter's stand.
Ten minutes passed when came the return from the stables, a return
that added to the day's total of surprises. The two who accompanied
the local officer wore the brilliant parade uniforms of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police--Childress with the trappings of a
staff-sergeant, Mahaffy in the plainer suit of a trooper. Heavy
revolvers bristled in ominous black from the hip holsters of each.
They strode with the swank of long service, and the local policeman
seemed entirely satisfied to toddle along in the rear.
The eyes of all the waiting group were opened wide with surprise, all
eyes except the blue ones of Bernice Gallegher, otherwise Flame of
Fire Weed.
"No need of further delay," said Sergt. Childress with authority.
"Do your duty, Constable Mahaffy."
The veteran constable was so glad to be back in uniform after long
service in ranch-hand disguise that he threw unusual feeling into the
form of arrest and warning of Thomas Fitzrapp on the charge of horse
stealing from the Rafter A and other ranches.
Ethel Andress and her uncle, after a moment of startled silence,
turned accusing gaze on their trusted employee. For the moment
Fitzrapp seemed stunned by the sudden turn which the case had taken.
"Come, Fitzrapp," said the sergeant in a tone that was persuasive,
even though it did not lack in firmness, "you've run your course, and
you might as well give up. You sold Canada to Dick Allen in
Missoula, and it's one of the few honest sales you ever made. I
bought him from Allen and have his bill-of-sale. I have proof that
you are the head of the rustling band which has been ravishing the
Fire Weed country. Indeed, except for a few miserable tools, you are
the whole band. I suppose you thought you needed the dirty money to
make good on your suit for the hand of your employer."
Mrs. Andress was turning away when first she noticed the presence of
the Gallegher girl. Flame, in full womanly sympathy, sprang to her
side to offer comfort.
"Just think what he's saved me from," murmured the widow.
"Yes, and isn't he just--just wonderful!" enthused Sam Gallegher's
"firecracker."
"Come across clean, Fitzrapp," Childress was urging. "It will be the
better for you. From the moment I had Canada brought out on the
track this morning, you must have known that I was sure of my ground."
With a stubborn spirit that had always stood out in his character,
Fitzrapp kept his lips closed and his eyes on the ground.
"It looks as though I'd have to send for an interesting witness I've
held in reserve down at the hotel," Childress resumed. "I have in
mind one Duncan O'Hara, formerly head buster on the Rafter A, the man
who brought me word of Canada's new owner. If it had not been for
him we might still be beating about the range seeking definite proof
of Fitzrapp's duplicity. As it is, we've filled a royal flush."
At last the range manager broke under the weight of evidence. "You
won't need O'Hara," he said slowly, a bitter note, which he was
unable to banish, creeping into his tone. "If he's double-crossed
me, there's no use trying to fight. My hand is all played out."
"Take him to the city prison, Mahaffy," ordered Childress. "I've got
to go down to the court house and clear this warrant off the boards."
When the constable and his prisoner had entered a taxi and driven out
of the exposition grounds, the sergeant turned to the widow.
"Although you two women never have met, you seem to have found some
bond in common," he said with a whimsical grin. "Permit me to
present Mrs. John Childress, so new to the part that she'd probably
stumble if you'd asked her to name her real name."
"Ah, my hearty congratulations to you both," said the gallant old
major effusively.
"A romance of the Fire Weed," murmured Ethel Andress, and embraced
the fair neighbor. "When did it happen, my dear?"
"If by it you mean when we were married--that was yesterday afternoon
when we rode in from the ranch," said Flame, flaunting furious
blushes. "But it wasn't exactly a romance of our Fire Weed range.
Seems to me it was all settled one stormy afternoon in Crow's Nest of
all places. At least we were certain when we succeeded in riding out
through a hail of outlaw lead."
"It's fine to have married into the Royal," said the widow, any past
interest she may have had in the enigma of the Open A forgot.
"Jack never told me that he was a Mountie," said the colorful bride,
her freckled eyes more alive than usual. "Thanks to a moonlight
meeting on a night that was touch-and-go with tragedy, I knew from
the first. As long as he was in mufti I pretended blind ignorance.
But just because he didn't confide in me, I think I'll marry him out
of the Service. We need him down on the range."
"That will be a loss to the service," began the major, "but--"
"But we're trained to obey our superior officers," Childress cut in.
"As soon as this case is cleaned, I reckon Ottawa will have a chance
to weep over my resignation. I've an idea that I'll complete that
cabin, begun as a subterfuge, and even build a dog-house for Poison.
Just perhaps I'll come to enjoy ranching in Fire Weed with the Flame
thereof."
"You better had--enjoy it!"
Mrs. John Childress blazed the last word.
THE END.