But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad,
To think that a heart in humanity clad
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end,
And depart from the light without leaving a friend.
Bear soft his bones over the stones!
Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker yet owns!
"THE PAUPER'S DRIVE."
They ate dinner more or less in silence. Slavin had relapsed into one of
his fits of morose taciturnity. At the conclusion of the meal, Yorke and
Redmond drew a bench outside, and for awhile sat in the sun, smoking.
"He's got 'Charley-on-his-back' properly to-day," remarked the
sophisticated Yorke, with a sidelong jerk of his head, "old beggar's best
left alone, begad! when he' get's those fits on him." He sniffed the
fresh air and gazed longingly out over the sunlit, peaceful landscape,
flooded with a warm, sleepy, golden haze of summer. "Lord! but it's a
peach of a day" he continued, "say, gossip mine, did you think to get
that fishing-tackle at Martin's this morning?"
George nodded affirmatively. Yorke rose and stepped indoors. "Say,
Burke," he said persuasively, "there's not much doing this
afternoon--how's chances for me and Reddy going down to the Bend for a
bit? The water looks pretty good just now. You'll want to have a lone
chin with the Doctor, anyway, no use us sticking around."
The sergeant, engrossed in a crime-report, acceded gruffly to the
request. "Run thim harses in first, tho'!" he flung after his
subordinate, "an' du not yu' men get tu far away down-shtream, in case I
might want yez."
"That's 'Jake,'" was Redmond's comment, a moment later, "no use trying
fly-fishing to-day, though, Yorkey--too bright. We'd better fish deep.
Here, you get the rods all fixed up, and catch some grasshoppers, and
I'll chase out in the pasture and run the horses in."
Some half an hour later found them trudging down the long slope below the
detachment that led to the nearest point of the Bow River. Here the
river described a sharp bend southward for some distance, ere resuming
its easterly course. Arriving thither, they fished for awhile in
blissful content; their minds for the time-being devoid of aught save the
sport of Old Izaak. Picking likely spots for deep casts, they meandered
slowly down-stream, keeping about twenty yards apart. At intervals,
their piscatorial efforts were rewarded with success. Four fine
"two-pounders" of the "Cut-Throat" species had fallen to Yorke's
rod--three to Redmond's. Then, for a time the fish ceased to bite.
"Here!" said Yorke suddenly. "I'm getting fed up with this! I can't get
a touch. There's a big hole farther down, just up above Gully's place.
Let's try it! He and I pulled some good 'uns out of there, last year."
Eventually they reached their objective. At this point the force of the
current had gradually, with the years, scooped out a large, semicircular
portion of the shelving bank. Also, a spit of gravel-bar, jutting far
out into the water, had stranded a small boom of logs and drift-wood; the
whole constituting a veritable breakwater that only a charge of dynamite
could have shifted. In the shelter of this and the hollowed-out bank, a
huge, slow eddy of water had formed, apparently of great depth.
As Yorke had advertised it--it did look like a likely kind of a hole for
big trout. "You wouldn't think it," said he now, "but there's twenty
feet of water in that pot hole." He put down his rod and slowly began to
fill his pipe. "You can have first shot at it, Red," he remarked, "I'll
be the unselfish big brother. You ought to land a good 'un out of there.
Aha! what'd I tell you?"
Redmond's gut "leader" had barely sunk below the surface when he felt the
thrilling, jarring strike of an unmistakably heavy fish. The tried,
splendid "green-heart" rod he was using described a pulsating arc under
the strain. He turned to Yorke gleefully. "By gum! old thing, I've sure
got one this time," he said, "bet you he's ten pound if he's an ounce.
Hope the line'll hold!"
Simultaneously they uttered an excited exclamation, as a huge, silvery
body darted to the surface, threshed the water for the fraction of a
second, and then dived.
"Look out!" cried Yorke. "Give him line, Red, give him line! Play him
careful now, or you'll lose him!"
The reel screeched, as Redmond let the fish run. Then--without
warning--the line slacked and the rod straightened. George, giving vent
to a dismayed oath, reeled in until the line tautened again, and the
point of the rod dipped.
"What's up?" queried Yorke, "he's still on, isn't he?"
"Yes," growled Redmond miserably, "feels as if I'm snagged though. He's
there right enough--I can feel him jumping. Damnation! That's the worst
of stringing three hooks on your leader. One of 'em's snagged on
something below, I guess. Here! hold the rod a minute, Yorkey!"
The latter complied. George unbuttoned and threw off his stable-jacket
and began taking off his boots. Yorke contemplated his comrade's actions
in speechless amazement. "Why, what the devil?--" he began--
"I'm not going to lose that fish," mumbled Redmond sulkily, as he threw
off his clothes, "I'll get him by gum! if I have to dive to the depths of
Hell."
"Say, now! don't be a fool!" cried Yorke, "that water's like ice, man!
You'll get cramped, and then the two of us'll drown. We-ll, of all the
idiots!--"
George, by this time stripped to the buff, crept gingerly to the edge of
the shelving bank. In his right hand he grasped--opened--a small
pen-knife. "Aw, quit it!" he retorted rudely, "I'll only be under a
minute--hold the line taut--straight up and down, Yorkey, so's I can see
where to dive."
He drew a deep breath, and then, with the poise of a practised swimmer,
dived--cutting the water with barely a splash. For the space of a
half-minute Yorke stared apprehensively at the swirling eddy, beneath
which the other had vanished. The line still remained taut. Then he
gave a gasp of relief, as Redmond's head re-appeared, and that young
gentleman swam to the side. Extending a hand, the senior constable
lugged his comrade to terra firma.
"That's good!" he ejaculated fervently. "D----n the fish, anyway! I
guess you couldn't make--" He broke off abruptly, and remained staring
at the dripping George with startled eyes. The latter's face registered
unutterable horror, and he shook as with the ague. Speech seemed beyond
him. He could only mouth and point back to the gloomy depths whence he
had just emerged.
"Here!" cried Yorke, with an oath, "whatever is the matter, Reddy? Man!
you look as if you'd seen a ghost!"
Then his own face blanched, as the shivering George bubbled incoherently,
"B-b-body! b-b-body! My God, Yorkey! th-there's a s-s-stiff d-down
th-there! Ugh! I d-d-dived right onto it!"
For a brief space they remained staring at each other; then, a strange
light of understanding broke over Yorke's face, and he made a snatch at
Redmond's clothes. "Come!" he jerked out briskly. "Get 'em on quick,
Red, else you'll catch your death of cold--never mind about drying
yourself--you can change when you get back."
In shivering silence his comrade commenced to struggle into his
underclothes and "fatigue-slacks." Yorke snapped the line and reeled in
the slack. "Stiff!" he kept ejaculating "stiff! Yes, by gad! and I can
make a pretty good guess who that stiff is! . . . Burke'll have all the
evidence he wants--now. You beat it, Reddy, as soon as you're fit and
get him. A run'll warm you up. The grappling-irons are back of the
stable. And say! tell him to bring a good long rope. Lord, I hope
Doctor Cox hasn't left yet. I'll stay here, Reddy. Hurry up!"
An hour or so later, a morbidly expectant group gathered on the
river-bank. Redmond, luckily, had reached the detachment just prior to
the coroner's departure, and that gentleman now comprised one of a party.
Slavin had hitched his team to a cotton-wood clump nearby, and was now
busily rigging the double set of three-pronged grappling-irons. When all
was ready, he motioned to his companions to stand back, and then, with a
preliminary whirl or two, flung the irons into the pool, some distance
ahead of the spot indicated by Redmond.
Slowly and ponderously he began the dragging recover, with the muscular
skill of a man long inured to the gruesome business. His first effort
was unsuccessful--weeds and refuse were all he salvaged. He tried again,
with the same result. Cast after cast proved futile. After the last
failure he turned and glowered morosely upon Redmond.
"'Tis either dhrunk or dhramin' ye must be, bhoy! There's nothin' there.
I've a good mind," he added slowly "a d----d good mind tu shove ye undher
arrest for makin' a friv'lus report tu yeh superior!"
Yorke now came to his comrade's rescue. "By gum, Burke," he flashed out
"if you'd seen his mug when he came up out of that hole you wouldn't have
thought there was anything frivolous about it, I can tell you!"
Poor George voiced a vehement protest, in self defense. "Good God,
Sergeant!" he expostulated, "d'you think I'd come to you with a yarn like
that? I tell you it is there. Have another try. Sling farther over to
the right here!"
Grumblingly, the latter complied, and began the slow recover. Suddenly,
the rope checked. Slavin strained a moment, then he turned around to the
expectant group. "Got ut'" he announced grimly. "I can tell by th' feel
av ut. Tail on tu th' rope there, all av yez! Now! Yeo! Heave ho!"
Like a tug of war team they all bowed their backs and strained with all
their might; but their efforts proved futile. "Vast heavin!" said
Slavin, breathing heavily. "'Tis shtuck somehow--I will have tu get th'
team an' double-trees. Get a log off'n that breakwater, bhoys, so's th'
rope will not cut inta th' edge av th' bank."
He crossed over to the horses. "Now!" said he, some minutes later, as he
backed up the team and made all fast to the double-trees. "Yu', Reddy,
an' Lanky, guide th' rope over th' log. Yu', Yorkey, get th' feel av ut,
an' give me th' wurrd. I du not want to break ut."
Yorke leant over the edge of the bank, loosely feeling the rope. "All
right!" he announced.
Slavin, edging his team cautiously forward, and taking the strain to
avoid a violent jerk, clucked to them. With a scramble, and a steady
heave of their powerful hind-quarters, they started.
With bated breath the watchers gazed at the rope--creeping foot by foot
out of the discoloured water.
"Keep a-going!" Yorke shouted to Slavin. "It's coming up, all right!"
It came. Arising slowly and sullenly out of the depths they beheld a
horrible, dripping, shapeless something that eventually resolved itself
into a human body--clothed in torn rags and matted with river-refuse.
Then, to the salvagers, came the most astounding and sinister revelation
of all. Startled oaths burst from them as they beheld now what had
retarded their first pull. Bound tightly to the body with rusted wire
was a huge, hand-squared block of stone. The sergeant's last and
successful cast had resulted in two prongs of the grappling-irons
catching in the enveloping wire.
Slowly and cautiously the whole hideous bulk was finally drawn up the
shelving bank and over the log and onto dry ground. Yorke shouted, and
Slavin, checking the horses, detached the rope from the double-trees.
Handing the lines over to Lanky Jones he joined the others, who were
critically examining their gruesome catch. To their surprise, although
the features were unrecognisable, the corpse was not so decomposed as
they had first imagined, the ice-cold water having preserved it to a
certain extent. Still firmly hooked to the rags of clothing--a
ludicrously grim joke--was the huge jumping, gasping trout which Redmond
had struck and lost.
Suddenly Yorke uttered a low exclamation. "Burke! Burke!" he said
tensely, "there you are! . . . Look at the right hand'"
The eyes of all were centered on the grimy, stiffened, clawlike fist.
They saw that two of the fingers were missing. An exultant oath burst
from Slavin. "By G----!" he said, with grim conviction, "it's him all
right!--that pore hobo shtiff--Dick Drinkwater. Eyah! fwhat's in a name?
Fwhat's in a name?" He pointed to the grinning jaws. "Luk at th' gold
teeth av um, tu!" he added.
The coroner was examining the almost fleshless skull. He gave a cry of
anger and dismay. "Good God!" he gasped. "Look here, all of you! . . .
This man's been shot through the head, too!" He indicated the small,
circular orifice in the occiput, and its egress below the left eye.
"Only an exceedingly powerful, high-pressure weapon could have done
that," he continued significantly, "both holes are alike--bullet hasn't
'mushroomed' at all."
"Eyah!" Slavin agreed wearily. "We know fwhat kind av a gun did ut. And
luk here!" he added savagely, pointing to the bare feet, "here's another
of Mr. Man's little jokes--no boots. If they'd have been lift on they'd
have shtuck tighter'n glue--in that water. Reddy was 'bout right,
Yorkey! Gully, d----n him! did frame us that day. Must have used thim
himsilf tu make thim thracks wid--early in th' mornin'--behfure he met up
wid us on th' thrail. Oh, blarney my sowl! Yes! Had us chasin' for a
whole silly week, all for--"
He broke off abruptly, choking with rage. For awhile, in silence, the
party gazed at the pitiful, hideous monstrosity that had once been a man.
Then the ever-practical Redmond proceeded, with the aid of a large
pebble, to burst, strand by strand, the wire which bound the stone to the
body.
"That stone, too!" said the doctor darkly. "Sergeant, in view of what
you've been telling me, there seems something very, very terrible about
all this. I suppose there's absolutely no doubt in your mind now, who--?"
The Irishman jerked out a great oath. "Doubt!" echoed he grimly, "doubt!
So little doubt, Docthor," added he hoarsely, "that we go get 'um this
very night."
"Alas, poor Yorick!" said Yorke sadly. "Say, Burke!" he continued in an
awe-struck voice "this is like a leaf out of O'Brien's book, with a
vengeance. You remember him, that cold-blooded devil who Pennycuik
nailed up in the Yukon--used to shoot 'em and shove their bodies under
the ice?"
Slavin nodded gloomily. "At Tagish, ye mane? Yeah! I 'member ut.
Penny sure did some good wurrk on that case."
Redmond had by this time completed his gruesome task. "There's lots of
these blocks lying around Gully's," he remarked, "I've seen 'em. Place's
got a stone foundation. Look at the notches he's chipped in this one--to
keep the wire from slipping!"
"Eyah!" said Slavin, with grimly-unconscious humour, "Exhibit B. We must
hang on to ut, heavy as it us--an' th' wire, tu! Well, people, we'd
betther shove this pore shtiff on the buckboard, an' beat ut." He turned
to the doctor's laconic factotum. "Come on, Lanky!" he said briskly.
"Let's go hitch up."
Presently, when all was ready, Slavin took the lines and the coroner
climbed up beside him. The rest of the party followed on foot. A
sombre, strange little procession it looked, as it moved slowly westward
into the dusky blaze of a blood-red sunset. In the hearts of the
policemen grim resolve was not unmixed with certain well-founded
forebodings, as they fully realized what a sinister, dangerous mission
lay ahead of them that night.