AN INQUEST--AND SOME EXPLANATIONS
The inquest party consisted of the coroner, who was the doctor that
had already attended Allan; Sergeant Grey; six jurors, selected from
the townspeople; the manager of the bank, whose suspicions had first
been communicated to Grey; Travers; and Gardiner. In the early
morning the policeman had ridden out to the ranch for Gardiner, but
had met him on his way to town. News of the tragedy had reached him,
he said, and he was hurrying in to see if he could be of some
assistance to Travers, in arranging for a lawyer, or in any way that
might be practicable. Grey told him that as yet no formal charge had
been laid against Travers; that he was merely being held pending the
finding of the coroner's jury, and suggested that if Gardiner would
accompany him to the inquest he might be able, not only to throw some
light on Travers' character, but also on his whereabouts on the night
of the tragedy. To this Gardiner readily agreed.
It was noon when the party reached the Arthurses' ranch. Beulah
counted them out with a field-glass while they were still miles down
the valley, and a big table was set in the bunk-house where the
cowboys were accommodated during the branding season. It was a matter
of course that the men should be fed when they reached Arthurs'. At
intervals in the setting of the table the girl returned to her
field-glass, until she was quite sure of the straight figure riding
beside the mounted policeman.
They swung into the yard amid a cloud of dust, the jingle of
trappings, and the hearty exchange of greetings between Arthurs and
his acquaintances from town. Gardiner was introduced to Arthurs, and
shook hands without removing his gauntlets. He had learned that the
party were to have dinner here, and he excused himself, saying that
the long ride in the heat had upset him somewhat, and he thought he
would be wiser to be in the shade for an hour or two before eating.
Arthurs pressed his hospitality upon him, but as Gardiner seemed
fixed in his purpose he did not insist. Then the rancher walked over
and shook hands with Travers. There were no signs of handcuffs now,
and an outsider would not have known that the young man's position
differed from that of the others present.
After the meal Gardiner joined them again, and the party, which now
included Arthurs and Harris, proceeded up the valley to the scene of
the tragedy. It was a great shock to Harris to find that the victim
of Allan's gun was his old neighbour, Riles. He stood for a long time
as one dazed by the discovery, but gradually out of the confusion a
horrible fear took shape in his mind. Allan had shot this man, with
whom they had an appointment at this spot; had shot him down, as far
as could be shown, without excuse or provocation, before he had so
much as entered the door. The body proved to be unarmed, and from its
position had evidently fallen into the building after receiving the
fatal charge.
The old man turned dry eyes from the gruesome thing across the warm,
shimmering valleys. On the farther slopes, leagues distant through
the clear air, ripening fields of wheat lay on the hillsides like
patches of copper-plate, and farther still thin columns of smoke
marked the points where steam-ploughs were wrapping the virgin
prairie in her first black bridal of commerce. But he saw none of
these. He saw Allan, and he saw bars, and a prisoner's dock. And
there was something else that he would not see; he would close his
eyes; he would not let its horrid gaunt ligaments thrust themselves
into his vision!
After a thorough examination of the scene they laid the body in a
democrat and returned to Arthurs', where the coroner held his court
in the bunk-house.
Harris's evidence was first received. He found it difficult to give
his story connectedly, but item by item he told of his acquaintance
with Riles in the eastern province; of their decision to come west
and take up more land; of the chance by which they had fallen with
Gardiner, and the prospect he had laid before them of more profitable
returns from another form of investment; of how his hesitation had
finally been overcome by the assurance that all he need do was have
his money ready--he was to be under no obligation to go any further
in the transaction unless entirely satisfied; of the offer wired by
the New York capitalists; of the sale of his farm for a disappointing
sum, and their journey with the money to the old shanty up the
valley, where they were to be met by Riles and Gardiner, and also, as
they expected, by the owner of the mine, with whom they would open
direct negotiations, producing the money as proof of their desire and
ability to carry out their undertaking; of how they hoped the owner
would be induced to accept a deposit and accompany them back to town,
where an option would be secured from him for a period sufficient to
enable them to turn the property over to the New York investors at a
handsome profit; of how he--Harris--wearied by the long ride in the
bright, thin air, had gone to sleep confidently with Allan at his
side, and of how he had suddenly been awakened by a shot and had
heard Allan spring to his feet and rush across the floor of the old
building. Then there had been another shot--a revolver shot this
time--and everything was darkness, and he could hear only something
struggling at the door. Then he told of his own fight; of how they
had fallen and rolled about on the rotten floor, and how, in
desperation, he had not hesitated to use his teeth on the hand of his
assailant, who had finally broken away and disappeared in the
darkness. Then he told the rest of his story; of his vigil with
Allan, of the loss of the money, of the capture of Travers, and
finally of the arrival of the policeman on the scene.
"Didn't it seem to you a foolish thing to go into the hills with all
that money to meet a man you had never seen, and buy a property you
had never examined?" asked the coroner.
"It wasn't foolishness; it was stark, raving madness, as I see it
now," Harris admitted. "But I didn't see it that way then. It looked
like a lot of easy money. I didn't care what the coal mine was
like--I didn't care whether there was a coal mine at all or not, so
long as we made our turn-over to the New York people."
"But did it not occur to you that the whole thing--coal mine and mine
owner and New Yorkers and all--was simply a scheme hatched up to
induce you away into the fastnesses of the foothills with a lot of
money in your possession?"
A half-bewildered look came over Harris, as of a man gripped by a new
and paralyzing thought. But he shook his head. "No, it couldn't have
been that," he said. "You see, Riles was an old neighbour of mine,
and Mr. Gardiner, too, I knew for a good many years. It wasn't like
as if I had been dealing with strangers."
"We will go deeper into that matter after a little," said the
coroner. "It's very fortunate Mr. Gardiner is here to add what light
he can to the mystery. We will now adjourn to the room where the
younger Mr. Harris lies and hear his evidence. It would be unwise to
move him for some days yet."
They found Allan partly propped up in the white bed. His face was
pale, and his hands were astonishingly thin and white, but his mind
was clear, and he could talk without difficulty. He covered much the
same ground as his father had done, up to the point where the elder
Harris had fallen asleep in the old building.
"I can't tell you how it happened, Doctor," he said, turning his
eyes, larger now in his pale face, upon the coroner, "but I think I
got very homesick--I guess I was pretty tired, too--and I began
thinking of things that had happened long ago, back when I was a
little child, in a little sod shanty that the old shack in the valley
some way seemed to bring to mind. And then I guess I fell asleep,
too, but suddenly I sat up in a great fright. I'm not a coward," he
said, with a faint smile. "When I'm feeling myself it takes more than
a notion or a dark night to send the creeps up the back of my neck.
But I own I sat up there so frightened my teeth chattered. I had a
feeling that I was going to be attacked--I didn't know by what--maybe
by a wild beast--but something was going to rush in through that old
blanket hanging in the door and pounce on me."
The sweat was standing on Allan's face, and he sank back weakly into
the pillows. Beulah placed a glass to his lips, and the doctor told
him to take his time with his story. The jurors stood about the bed
in silence, looking from one to the other with expressions that
suggested they were almost in the presence of the supernatural. If
the black bag with the money had slowly risen out of the floor
someone would have quietly set it in a corner until Allan was ready
to continue his evidence.
"As the minutes went by," Allan continued, after an interval, "that
terrible dread grew upon me, and my sense of danger changed from fear
to certainty. Something was going to attack me through that door! I
raised my gun and took careful aim. I saw the blanket swing a little;
then I saw the fingers of a man's hand. Then I fired.
"Perhaps I am a murderer," he continued, simply, "but before God I
know no more why I fired that shot than you do."
There were deep breathing and shuffling of feet as Allan completed
this part of his statement, but only the coroner found his voice.
"Most remarkable evidence," he ejaculated. "Most extraordinary
evidence. I have never heard anything so obviously sincere and at the
same time so altogether unexplainable."
"Perhaps it's not so unexplainable," said a quiet voice; and Mary
Harris made her way through the circle of men to the side of the bed.
She sat down on the coverlet and took the boy's hand in hers. It
mattered not how many were looking on; he was her little boy again.
"_You_ will understand, Doctor, and some of you men are parents," she
began. "Allan will be twenty-five years old this coming winter. A
little less than twenty-five years ago my husband was obliged to
leave me alone for a considerable period in our little sod shanty on
the homestead where we had located down in Manitoba. There were no
near neighbours, as we count distance in well-settled districts, and
I was altogether alone, I stood it all right for the first day or
two, but my nerves were not what they should have been, and gradually
a strange, unreasoning fear came upon me. I suppose it was the
immensity of the prairies, the terrible loneliness of it all, and my
own state of health, but the dread grew from day to day and from
night to night. I tried to busy self, to keep my mind active, to
throw off the spectre that haunted me, but day and night I was
oppressed with a sense of impending danger. We had no wooden door on
the house; we hadn't money to buy the boards to make one, and all my
protection was a blanket hung in the doorway. I used to watch that
blanket at night; I would light the lantern and sit in the corner and
watch that blanket. My fear gradually pictured to itself an attack
through that doorway--I didn't know by what; by white man, or Indian,
or wild beast, or ghost, or worse, if that is possible; my mind could
not balance things; nothing seemed too unreasonable or terrible to
expect. So I took the gun, and sat in the corner, and waited.
"And then at last it came. I didn't see anything, and I didn't hear
anything, but I knew it was there. I still remember how frightened
and yet how cool I was in that last moment. I held the gun to my
shoulder and waited for _It_ to thrust itself against the blanket. In
another moment I am sure I should have fired. But before that moment
I heard my name called, and I knew my husband's voice, and I came out
of the nightmare."
She brought her eyes slowly from the face of the doctor over the
group of men assembled in the room, and then dropped them to meet
Allan's. He was breathing her name softly. "If it was a wrong thing
for Allan to shoot this man," she said, "don't blame Allan for it.
Let me pay any price that must be paid."
"Most extraordinary," the coroner repeated, after a silence. "It
seems to account for the shooting of Riles, but it leaves us as much
as ever--more than ever, I should say--in the dark concerning the
disappearance of the money, and the part which has implicated the
young man Travers in the affair."
The banker gave his evidence. It was not unusual, he said, for
considerable sums in bank-notes to be handled among speculators and
land buyers, but the amount withdrawn by Harris was so great that it
had left him somewhat ill at ease, and as Sergeant Grey had happened
his way he had mentioned the matter to him.
The policeman shed little new light on the case. He had followed the
party into the hills as best he could, taking the off chance of
something sinister afoot. He had found Harris, with his wounded son,
and a prisoner, and a man dead in the doorway. He had notified the
coroner and taken Travers in charge. Here his eyes met Beulah's. "I
don't think there is anything more to be said," he concluded.
During the hearing of the various witnesses Gardiner had attempted an
air of impersonal interest, but with no great success. His demeanour,
studied though it was, betrayed a certain anxiety and impatience. He
was dressed just as he had dismounted from his horse, having removed
only his hat. But he smiled confidently when asked for his evidence,
and told his story calmly and connectedly.
It is quite true that he was associated with Riles and Mr. Harris in
the coal-mine investment. He was acting for the owner of the
property; but had seen that a large profit was to be made from the
turn-over, and had been glad to place the opportunity in the way of
two old friends. The offer from the New York concern was entirely
bona fide; he had the telegram in his pocket at that moment,
notwithstanding the suggestion made by the coroner, which, if he
might say so, he thought was hardly warranted, and would not have
been made with a full knowledge of the circumstances. The owner of
the mine could be produced at the proper moment, if that became
necessary.
"I feel a grave responsibility in this whole matter," Gardiner
protested, with some emotion. "I feel that I am, at least indirectly,
responsible for the serious loss that has befallen Mr. Harris, and
for the injury to his son. But when you have heard the whole
circumstances you will agree that the situation was one I could not
possibly have foreseen. Let me give them to you in some detail.
"The day before yesterday, in company with Riles, I met Mr. Harris
and his son, and found that their money had arrived. The remittance
was not as large as they expected, but I believed that I could raise
some money privately, and that we would still be able to put the deal
through. I advised against losing any time, as I knew that if the
owner should meet anyone else interested in a proposition of a
similar nature we would find it much harder to make a bargain with
him. It was arranged that the two Mr. Harrises were to drive ahead,
taking the money with them, and that Riles and I would follow. We
were to overtake them at the old building where this unfortunate
tragedy occurred. As it happened, I had a sick horse at the ranch,
and, as I was delayed in getting some medicine for him, Riles
suggested that he would ride out to the ranch--that is, where I
live--and wait for me there. Up to that time I had no suspicions, and
I agreed to that.
"Well, when I reached the ranch, I could find nothing of Riles, and,
on further search, I could find nothing of Travers, who was working
for me. Their riding horses were gone, and so were their saddles and
bridles. I found that Travers had taken his revolver out of the
house. I confess my suspicions were then somewhat aroused, but I
found myself with the sick horse on my hands, and I could not very
well leave the place. Of course, I never thought of anything so bad
as has happened, or I would not have considered the horse, but I
admit I was at a loss to understand their conduct. But when I heard,
early this morning, what had happened, it was all clear to me."
During the latter part of this evidence Travers had fixed his eyes on
Gardiner, but the witness had steadily avoided him. Jim was now
convinced that he was the victim, not of a coincidence, but a plot.
Of course, he could give his evidence, which would be directly
contradictory to that of Gardiner, but he was already under
suspicion, and anything he might say would be unconsciously
discounted by the jurors. But he began calmly, a quiet smile still
playing about his thin lips and clean teeth. "I am sorry I cannot
corroborate all the last witness has said," he commenced. "I did not
leave the ranch with Riles; on the contrary, I was fishing down by
the river when I saw Riles and Gardiner ride by. Gardiner was
talking, and I heard him mention Mr. Harris's name. I worked for Mr.
Harris not long ago, but I did not know he was in this part of the
country. I heard Gardiner say--" Jim coloured a little, and stopped.
"Well, what did you hear him say?" said the coroner. "That is what we
are anxious to know."
"I heard him say something about Mr. Harris losing all his money that
night, in the old shanty up the river road. 'Strange things have
happened up there, Riles,' he said. That made me suspicious, and I
hurried back to the ranch, determined to follow them. I found that my
revolver had been taken. I armed myself as best I could, and set out.
When I came near the building which Gardiner had mentioned I
dismounted and approached it carefully. It was very dark. Suddenly I
was attacked from behind. A sack was thrown over my head, and I was
overpowered, and bound. I don't know how long I was kept in that
condition, but when at last the sack was removed I was in the
presence of Sergeant Grey."
With the progress of Travers' narrative all eyes had turned to
Gardiner, but, whatever his inward emotions, he outwardly showed no
signs of discomfiture. "This seems to be a day of strange tales," he
said to the coroner, "and the last we have heard is stranger than the
first. Of course, it is quite absurd on the face of it. The
suggestion that I would be a party to robbing Mr. Harris of twenty
thousand dollars, and so balk a transaction in which I stood to make
a profit of more than twice that amount, is too ridiculous for
discussion. I didn't say so before, because it didn't seem to bear on
the case, but I have at home a telegram which I received a few days
ago from the New York investors, offering me a personal commission of
twenty per cent, on the transaction if I was able to get this
property for them at the price they had offered. So, from a purely
selfish point of view, you see where my interests lay. But there are
other reasons for this fine tale which you have just heard. To spare
the feelings of some present, I intended to say nothing of them, but
if I must tell what I know, why, I must tell what I know. This man
Travers was a farm hand working for Harris on his farm back in
Manitoba. Harris is--or was--well-to-do, and Travers accordingly
mustered up an attachment for his daughter. This the young lady, it
seems, was foolish enough to return. They--"
"That'll do, Gardiner," interrupted Travers, in a quiet, vibrant
voice. "You are getting away from the subject."
"On the contrary, I'm getting close to the subject--a little too
close for your comfort, it seems."
"I am not investigating any family closets," said the coroner. "You
will have to show the connection between these matters and the
inquiry we are making."
"I will do that in a moment, sir," Gardiner returned. "But I cannot
show the connection until I have shown the events that are connected.
Travers had trouble with Harris and had a fight with Allan. Then he
and the young lady ran away. They have both been in this part of the
country for some time. But Travers' plan to inherit the Harris
property was upset on account of the girl quarrelling with her
parents, and his ardour seems to have cooled off noticeably. But he
was as keen for the property as ever. Riles was a weakling in the
hands of a man like Travers, and no doubt he betrayed the fact that
Harris was taking his money with him into the hills. Then the two of
them framed up the plan which has resulted in the death of one and
the arrest of the other." During these exchanges the sympathies of
the jurors seemed to veer from side to side. The theories propounded
were so contradictory that opinions wavered with each sentence of
evidence. But a new bolt was ready for the shooting.
"Mr. Coroner," said Beulah, rising and pointing at Gardiner, "will
you make that man take his gauntlets off?"
There seemed an instant recession of the blood from Gardiner's face.
But it was for the instant only. "My hat is off," he said, with a
smile. "Is not that sufficient?"
"Make him take them off!" Beulah insisted.
"There is no rule against wearing gauntlets in a coroner's court,"
said the coroner. "I do not see the point of your objection."
"Make him take them off," said Beulah.
"As the young lady insists," said the coroner, turning to Gardiner,
"I suggest that you comply with her request."
"I should be glad to," said Gardiner, "but the fact is I have a sore
hand. When I was giving the horse medicine the night Travers left me
alone the brute nipped me a little, and I have been keeping it
covered up since."
"Make him take them off," said Beulah.
"Why should you be so insistent?" said the coroner. "Surely it makes
no difference--"
"Only this difference. You have heard my father's evidence of the
fight in the old house. The man with whom he fought will have
tooth-marks in his hand. Make him take them off. Or if you
won't--look at these hands." She seized Jim's hands in hers and held
them up before the coroner and the jury. "Any tooth-marks there? Now
make this other man show his."
For a moment all eyes were on Travers' hands. In that moment Gardiner
rushed for the open window, and in another instant would have been
through it, had not the quick arm of the policeman intercepted.
"Not so fast, my man," said Grey. "Now we will see this horse-bite of
yours." Gardiner made no further resistance, and he drew the glove
from his hand. There was a fresh scar on the right thumb.
The coroner examined it carefully. When he spoke it was in the voice
of a judge delivering sentence. "That is not a horse-bite," he said.
"Those are the marks of human teeth!"
Gardiner smiled a faint smile. "Well, what are you going to do about
it?" he said.
"We are going to put you in Travers' place and tender him our
apologies," said the coroner.
"Very good," said Gardiner. "And do I marry the girl?"
"This is no time for levity," said the coroner, sternly. "You have
escaped a murder charge only by grace of this young man's excellent
constitution."
But Travers had crowded into the centre of the circle. "Gardiner," he
said, "if you weren't under arrest I'd thrash you here and now. But
you can at least do something to square yourself. Where is that
money?"
"That's right, Jim. Everyone thinks of what is nearest his heart."
"You scoundrel! You know why it is near my heart. You have robbed Mr.
Harris of all that he had spent his whole life for. You will have no
chance to use that money yourself. You are sure of your living for
the next twenty years. Why not show that you are not all bad--that
you have some human sentiments in you? It seems as little as you can
do."
"There may be something in what you say," said Gardiner. "I have a
slip of paper here with the key to the secret."
He reached with his finger and thumb in his vest pocket and drew out
a small folded paper.
This he unfolded very slowly and deliberately before the eyes of the
onlookers. It contained a small quantity of white powder. Before any
hand could reach him he had thrown his head back and swallowed it.
"Too late!" he cried, as Grey snatched the empty paper from his
fingers. "Too late! Well, I guess I beat you all out, eh? And, as I
said before, what are you going to do about it? Twenty years, eh,
Jim? You'll be scrawny and rheumatic by that time, and the beautiful
Beulah will be fat and figureless. Twenty years for you, Jim, but
twenty minutes for me--and I wouldn't trade with you, damn you! I beg
the pardon of the ladies present. One should never forget to be a
gentleman, even when--when--"
But Gardiner's breath was beginning to come fast, and he raised his
hands to his throat. A choking spell seized him, and he would have
fallen had not the policeman and the coroner held him on his feet.
"Let me lie down," he said, when he got his breath. "Let me lie down,
can't you? Have I got to die on end, like a murderer?"
They led him to the adjoining room, where he fell upon the bed. The
muscles of his great arms and neck were working in contortions, and
his tongue seemed to fill his mouth.
"Most extraordinary," said the coroner. "Strychnine, doubtless. We
can't do much for him, I'm afraid. We might try some mustard and hot
water, Mrs. Arthurs."
"Take your time, Lil," whispered Arthurs. "You may save your country
a long board bill." But Lilian Arthurs' abhorrence of Gardiner's
perfidy had been overwhelmed in a wave of sympathy for a suffering
fellow-being. She hurried to the kitchen, while the men of the party
filed down the stairs and out into the yard. John Harris was the last
to leave the house, and he walked slowly, with bare, bowed head, into
the group who were excitedly discussing the amazing turn events had
taken. He took no part in their conversation, but stood a little
apart, plunged deep in his own inward struggle.
At last he turned and called his wife in the kitchen door. "Bring
Beulah," he said.
The two women joined him. At first Harris stood with face averted,
but in a moment he spoke in a clear, quiet voice.
"I haven't played the game fair with you two," he said, "and I want
to say so now. Perhaps it would be truer to say that I played the
wrong game. Twenty-five years have proved it was the wrong game. Now,
without a penny, I can start just where I started twenty-five years
ago. The only difference is that I am an old man instead of a young
one. I'm going to take another homestead and start again, at the
right game, if Mary will start with me."
She put her hand in his, and her eyes were bright again with the fire
of youth. "You know there is only one answer, John," she whispered.
Harris called Travers over from the group of men.
"There's one thing more," he continued. "When I started I had only a
wife to keep, and I don't intend to take any bigger responsibility
now. Allan will be having a homestead of his own. Jim Travers, I am
speaking to you! I owe you an apology for some things and an
explanation for some things, but I'm going to square the debt with
the only gift I have left."
The light breeze tossed the hair of Beulah's uncovered head, and the
light of love and health glowed in her face and thrilled through the
fine symmetry of her figure.
"Take her, Jim," he said.
"She is a godly gift," said the young man reverently.
"You think so now," said her father. "You know nothing about it. In
twenty-five years you will know just how great a gift she is--or she
will not be worthy of her mother."
Harris and his wife were gazing with unseeing eyes into the mountains
when Arthurs handed them a letter. "It came in the mail which the
boys brought out this morning," he said, "and I forgot all about it
until this minute."
It was from Bradshaw. Harris opened it indifferently, but the first
few lines aroused his interest, and he read it eagerly to the end.
"My dear Harris," it ran, "on receipt of your telegram I immediately
opened negotiations through my connections looking to a sale of your
farm with its crop and equipment, complete as a going concern. I
succeeded in getting an offer of the $40,000 you set on it, and had
all the papers drawn up, when I discovered that among us we had made
a serious omission. You will remember that, a good many years ago,
when you were taking on some fresh obligations, you transferred the
homestead into your wife's name. I assured the purchaser that there
would be no difficulty about getting title from your wife, but as all
the buildings are on the homestead quarter he would agree to nothing
better than paying $20,000 for the rest of your land, leaving the
homestead quarter, with the buildings, stock, and implements, out of
the transaction. As his price seemed a fair one for the balance of
the property, and as I assumed your need of the money was urgent, I
closed a deal on that basis, cashed the agreement, and remitted the
proceeds to you at once by wire. I trust my actions in the matter
meet with your approval,
"Yours sincerely,
"GEORGE BRADSHAW."
Harris placed the letter in the hands of his wife. She tried to read
it, but a great happiness enveloped her as a flood and the
typewritten characters seemed to swim before her. "What does it mean,
John?" she asked, noting his restrained excitement. "What does it
mean?"
"It means that the homestead quarter was not sold--after all--that it
is still yours, with the buildings, and machinery, and stock, and
this year's crop just ready for cutting."
She raised her eyes to his. "Still ours, John, you mean. Still ours."
In the rapid succession of events everyone seemed to have forgotten,
or disregarded, Gardiner. But at this moment the doctor came rushing
out of the house.
"Gardiner's gone!" he exclaimed, as he came up to the men.
Some of the party removed their hats.
"Oh, not that way--not that way!" exclaimed the doctor. "I mean he's
gone--skipped--beat it, if you understand. Most extraordinary! I was
taking his pulse. It was about normal, and he seemed resting easier,
so I slipped downstairs for the antidote. When I went back--I was
only gone a moment--there wasn't sight or sound of him."
The men stared at each other for a moment; then followed the doctor
in a race for Gardiner's room. They found it as he said. There was
neither sight nor sound of Gardiner.
Sergeant Grey conducted a swift examination, not of Gardiner's room,
but of the one in which Allan was lying. He was rewarded by finding
the little slip of paper, with a few crystals of powder still
clinging to it. The coroner examined the crystals through his
magnifying-glass; then, somewhat dubiously, raised them on a
moistened finger to his tongue, and after a moment's hesitation
swallowed in an impressive, scholarly fashion.
"_Saccharum album_!" he exclaimed. "Common white sugar! Most
extraordinary!"
But Sergeant Grey was at the open window. It was only an eight-foot
drop to the soft earth, and to the policeman there was no longer any
mystery in Gardiner's disappearance. The mock suicide was a
carefully-planned ruse to be employed by Gardiner if the worst came
to the worst.
At that moment the sound of horse's hoofs was heard on the gravelly
road, and three hundred yards away Gardiner dashed through a gap in
the trees that skirted the base of the hills. He was on the
policeman's horse, and riding like wild fire.
"I want all of you men, and a horse for each," said Grey, quickly,
turning upon them like a general marshalling his officers. "There are
a dozen different trails he may fellow, and we must put a man on
each. I will give immediate pursuit, in the hope of riding him down
before he can throw us off the scent, and I will leave it to you, Mr.
Arthurs, to organize the posse and scour the whole country until he
is located."
At Grey's first words two men had rushed to the corral, and were
already saddling horses. The first and fastest was placed at the
command of the policeman, and in a minute he, too, was riding
break-neck into the hills. But the delay was enough to give Gardiner
almost a mile's lead, and the Government horse was a match for any on
the ranch.
Grey knew that the main road, if followed far enough, dwindled into a
pack trail, which in turn seemed to lose itself in the fastnesses of
the mountains, but in reality opened into a pass leading through the
range. He gave Gardiner credit for knowing as much, and concluded
that the fugitive would make a bolt straight through the mountains.
There was no time to watch for tracks; his chance to ride his man
down depended entirely upon speed. If he miscalculated, and Gardiner,
instead of making for the pass, sought refuge in the mountains, the
posse would certainly locate him or starve him into surrender. So the
officer urged his horse to the limit and galloped straight into the
mountain battlements ahead of him.
An hour's hard riding brought him into a tremendously rough country,
where the trail at times was nothing more than a narrow defile or
ledge, and sheer walls of rock rose thousands of feet above, their
giant edges cutting the blue sky like the teeth of a mighty saw. Far
below, a ribbon of green and white, the river rolled in its canyon.
Here and there a thin stream of water sprayed down the mountain side,
cutting a damp, treacherous belt across the trail. But at one such
spot Grey's heart leaped within him, for there, unmistakably clear in
the thin soil and soft rock, were the marks of a horse's shoe, not an
hour old. A few minutes later he saw Gardiner swinging round a spur
of rock half a mile further up the pass.
The policeman began to watch the moist spots for the tell-tale
hoof-prints, and invariably their evidence revealed itself. He knew
now that he had guessed Gardiner's course correctly, and it was a
matter of minutes until he should ride him down. He wondered whether
the man was armed or not; it would be an easy trick to hide behind a
rock and pick the policeman off as he rode by.
Suddenly, at a turn in the path, his eye caught a sight which made
him throw his horse back on his tracks. A sheer precipice fell away a
thousand feet below him, and beetling cliffs cut off the sky above.
Across the path trickled a little stream. And there in the stream, so
clear they could not be misread, were the marks cut by a horse's feet
sliding over the precipice.
The policeman dismounted carefully. There was scarcely room for him
to pass his horse on the narrow ledge. Where the stream had worn it
it sloped downwards at an uncomfortable angle. He knelt beside it and
traced the marks of the shoe-calks with his finger. They led over the
edge. Eighteen inches down the mountain side was a fresh scar where
steel had struck a projecting corner of rock.
A thousand feet below the green water slid and swirled in the bed of
the canyon.
THE END.