CHAPTER IV.
A TALE HALF TOLD.
When they were gone we let our hands down to their natural level anddrew a long breath.
"We appear to have got considerably the worst of this transaction," Iobserved. "The La Pere outfit is shy something like ten thousanddollars--we're afoot, minus everything but cigarette material. It's awonder they didn't take that, too. A damn good stroke of business, allright," I finished, feeling mighty sore at myself. When it was too late,I could think of half a dozen ways we might have avoided getting heldup.
"I got you into it, too," MacRae said calmly. "But don't get excited andrun on the rope this early in the game, Sarge; you'll only throwyourself. Brace up. We've been in worse holes before." Never a word ofwhat it might mean to him; never even hinted that the high moguls atFort Walsh were more than likely to put him on the rack for letting anysuch lawless work be carried out successfully, in his own district. AMounted Policeman can make no excuses for letting a tough customer slipthrough his fingers; the only way he can escape censure is to be broughtin feet first.
He motioned to the poor devil lying by the fire.
"Look at him, Sarge," he went on, in a different tone. "You always had apretty good memory for faces. So have I, for that matter, but--goahead--look."
I bent over the man, looked closely at the still features, dropped onone knee and turned his face toward the firelight to make sure. Irecognized him instantly, and I knew that MacRae had no doubts of hisidentity, for each of us had broken bread and slept in the same blanketswith that quiet figure.
"It's Rutter," I whispered, and MacRae nodded silently.
"He's done for, too--no, by God, he isn't!" I cried, and shrankinvoluntarily, for his eyeballs rolled till only the whites showed in away that made me shudder. "He's not dead, yet, Mac!"
"One of you fellows get some water," Mac commanded. He squatted besideme, holding up Rutter's head. In a minute Bruce was back with his hatfull of water from the creek that whimpered just beyond the willowpatch. I peeled off my coat and spread it over the marred limbs, andBruce held the water so that I could dip in my hand and sprinkleRutter's face. After a little his mouth began to twitch. Queer gurglingsounds issued from his throat. He moved his head slightly, looking fromme to MacRae. Presently he recognized us both; his face brightened.
"Gimme a drink," he whispered huskily.
Mac propped him up so that he could sip from the hat. He came near goingoff again, but rallied, and in a second or two his lips framed aquestion:
"Did yuh--get 'em?"
I shook my head. "You might say that they got us," I answered.
"Who were they, Hans?" MacRae questioned eagerly. "And why did they dothis to you? We'll make them sweat blood for this night's work. Did youknow them? Tell us if you can."
"No," Rutter spoke with a great effort. Each sentence came as if tornpiecemeal from his unwilling tongue; short, jerky phrases, conceived inpain and delivered in agony. "We--me'n Hank Rowan--comin' from theNorth--made a stake on the Peace. They started it--at the Stone--yuhknow--Writin'-Stone. Hank an' me--you'll find Hank in thecottonwoods--Stony Crossin'. I tried--tried t' make Walsh. Two of'em--masked--tried t' make me tell--tell 'em--where we made the _cache_.I'm--I'm done--I guess. The dust, it's--it's--_a-a-ah_----"
The gnarled hands shut up into clenched fists, and the feeble voicetrailed off in an agonized moan.
I laved his pain-twisted face with the cool water and let a few dropstrickle into his open mouth. He gasped a few times, then, gatheringstrength again, went on with that horrible spasmodic recitation.
"They were after us--a long time. Lyn's at Walsh. There's a--a goodstake. Get it--for her. It's _cached_--under the Stone--yuhknow--Writin'-Stone. Three sacks. That's what--they wanted.You'll--you'll--on the rock above--marked--gold--raw gold--that'sit--gold--raw gold--Mac--I want--I want----"
That was all. The tense muscles relaxed. His head fell back limp onMacRae's arm, and the rest of the message went with the game oldDutchman across the big divide. We laid him down gently, folded his armson his breast, and for a moment held our peace in tribute to hispassing.
MacRae was first to speak.
"There's a lot back of this that I can't understand," he said, more tohimself than to the rest of us. "It beats me why these two old cowmenshould be here in this country, tangled up with buried gold-dust, andbeing hunted like beasts for its possession. Old Hans was certainly inhis right mind or he wouldn't have known us; and if he told us right,Hank Rowan has been murdered too. If Lyn is at Walsh, she may be able toshed some light on this. But I'll swear I feel like a man groping in adark room."
"If Lyn is at Walsh," I asserted stoutly, "she got there since I leftthis morning. I was there two days, and I wasn't in the background byany means; and she's the sort of girl that isn't backward about hailinga friend. We know one thing--the men that killed Rutter are the onesthat held us up, and got off with that money of mine. And say--how didthose fellows know I had that money and where I was carrying it? GoodLord! it sounds like the plot of a dime novel."
It was a stubborn riddle for us to try and read. And our surroundings atthat particular moment were not the most favorable to coherent thoughtor plausible theory-building. When a man has been robbed at the point ofa gun, and set afoot in the heart of an unpeopled waste, with a dead manand a dying fire for company, his nerves are apt to get a little bit onedge. Things that wouldn't tax your fortitude in daylight look like theworks of the devil when you have to face them in the black hours of thenight. None of us are so far removed from savagery that a few grains ofsuperstition don't lurk in our souls, all ready to bob up if the settingis appropriate. If it should ever be my lot to take the Long Trail atshort notice, I hope it will be under a blue sky and a blazing sun. Itwas hard to be philosophic, or even decently calm, standing there in thesickly glow of the fading coals with old Hans mutely reminding us thatlife is a tenuous thread, easily snipped.
A little night breeze rustling the willows about us brought into my mindthe fact that our masked acquaintances could easily sneak up and pot usif, as an afterthought, they decided to do a really workmanlike job.Doubt it? Wasn't the dead man stretched in the shadow convincing proofof their capacity for pure devilishness? Read the history of those daysalong the line, and you'll turn some red pages. There were no half-waymeasures in the code of an outlaw then; the pair who held us up wouldhave taken our lives as nonchalantly as they relieved us of our materialpossessions had we proved in the least degree troublesome.
I hinted what was in my mind to MacRae, and when he agreed that it was apossible contingency, we filed out of the treacherous light and squattedin the edge of a quaking-asp grove where we couldn't be seen, and wherea coyote, much less a man, couldn't steal up on us without the crackleof dry brush betraying him.
"What do you think you'll do, Sarge?" Mac whispered to me, while we satthere undecided as to our next move. "Go on to Benton, or stay here onthe chance of breaking even?"
"I've got to stick; it's the only thing I can do," I growled back. "I'vebeen sure enough whipsawed this deal, but I'm still in the game, andwhen it comes to calling the last turn I'll be there with a stack ofblues. How in hell can I show my face in Benton while some other fellowis packing the money La Pere trusted me to bring back? If I can rustlehorses I'll send these two boys on home, with a note to the old manexplaining how the play came up. If those jaspers flash any part of theroll in the Territory before snowfall, I'll get them. I've got to getthem, to square myself."
"That would be my idea, if I were in your place," he answered. "Ifthey're like the average run of men that turn a trick of that kind,they'll give themselves away in the long run. It's lucky, in a way, thatyou had paper money instead of gold; the big bills will be theirdownfall if they undertake to spend them in this country--and if oldHans had it straight, they're not going to pull out with a measly tenthousand dollars. It's an ugly mess, and liable to be worse before it'scleaned up. If there is a stake like that _cached_ around the Stone,the
se land pirates will camp mighty close on the trail of anybody thatgoes looking for it. And it won't be any Sunday-school picnic dealingwith them--they showed a strong hand there," he motioned to the placewhere Rutter lay.
"The best thing we can do," he continued, "is to drag it for Pendd' Oreille, afoot. We have two extra horses there. We can get a littlesleep and move early in the morning. I'll have to report this thing inperson at Walsh, but before I do I want to know if Hank Rowan was reallykilled at Stony Crossing. If we find him there as Rutter said, you cangamble that trouble has camped in our dooryard for a lengthy stay. Andit might be a good idea for you to give your men a gentle hint to keeptheir mouths closed about this affair--all of it. There's a slim chanceat the best of finding that gold, even if it's there, and it won't helpus nor the rest of the Force to run down the men who held us up, ifeverybody on both sides of the line gets to talking about it."
"I'll tell them," I agreed. "I reckon you have the right idea. I thinkit's a cinch that if we land the men that set us afoot and got away withthe money, we'll have the cold-blooded brutes that put Hans Rutter'slight out. But I don't _sabe_, Mac, why those old-timers should be mixedinto a deal of this kind. Their cattle and range on the Canadian had agold-mine beat to death for money-making; old men like them don't jumptwo thousand miles from home without mighty strong reasons."
"They probably had, if we only knew," MacRae muttered. "I reckon we'dbetter start; we can't do any good here."
Mac led the way. The four of us slipped through the brushy bottom assilently as men unaccustomed to walking might go, for we had nohankering, unarmed as we were, to bring those red-handed marauders afterus again, if they happened to be lurking in that canyon. Rutter's bodywe had no choice but to leave undisturbed by the blackening fire. In themorning we would come back and bury him, but for that night--well, hewas beyond any man's power to aid or injure, lying there alone in thedark.