Raw Gold: A Novel

  CHAPTER IX.

  AN IDLE AFTERNOON.

  For the next hour or two I poked aimlessly around the post buildings,chafing at the forced inaction and wondering what I would better doafter I'd gone with the squad of redcoats to those graves and helpedbring the bodies in. Even if I had a pack-horse and a grub-stake, itwould be on a par with chasing a rainbow for me to start on a lone huntfor Hank Rowan's _cache_. I didn't know the Writing-Stone country, and aman had no business wandering up and down those somber ridges alone,away from the big freight-trails, unless he was anxious to be among the"reported missing"--which he sure would be if a bunch of non-treatyIndians ever got within gunshot of him. I damned Major Lessard earnestlyfor what I considered his injustice to MacRae, and wondered if he wouldsend his troopers out to look for that hypothetical gold-dust. I didn'tsee how he could avoid making a bluff at doing so, even if he secretlyclassed Rutter's story as a fairy-tale, and I promised myself to findout what he was going to do before I started in the morning.

  While I was sitting with my back against the shaded wall of troop G'sbarrack, turning this over in my mind, a Policeman with the insignia ofa sergeant on his sleeve came sauntering leisurely by. He took me inwith an appraising glance, and stopped.

  "How d'ye do," he greeted, with a friendly nod. "You're the man thatcame in with MacRae, aren't you?"

  I laconically admitted that I was.

  "The k. o. has detailed me to bring in the bodies of the two men whowere killed," he informed me. "He said that you were going along, and soI thought I'd hunt you up and tell you that we'll start about seven inthe morning."

  "I'll be ready," I assured him.

  "Come on over to the bull-pen," he invited cordially. "Sorry we haven'ta canteen in connection, but it's more comfortable over there. Goodplace to lop about, y' know; a decent place to sit, and a few books andcards and that sort of thing. Come along."

  I rather liked the man's style, and as he seemed to be really anxious tomake things pleasant for me, I shuffled off the pessimistic mood I wasdrifting into, and fell in with his proposal. The "bull-pen" proved tobe a combination reading and lounging-room for the troopers not on duty.My self-appointed host, whose name was Goodell, waved me to a chair, andtook one opposite. With his feet cocked up on a window-sill, and acigarette going, he leaned back in his chair, and our conversationslackened so that I had a chance to observe my surroundings. It was abig place, probably fifty feet by a hundred, and quite a number ofredcoats were sprinkled about, some reading, some writing letters, andtwo or three groups playing cards. None of them paid any attention tome, beyond an occasional disinterested glance, until my roving eyesreached a point directly behind me. Then I became aware that one of abunch of four poker-players a few feet distant was regarding me with anexpression that puzzled me. I had turned my head rather quickly andcaught him staring straight at me. It was an odd look, sort of amused,and speculative; at least, that was the way I read it. Twice in the nextten minutes I glanced around quickly and caught him sizing me up, as itwere; and then I hitched my chair sidewise, and deliberately beganstudying the gentleman to see if I could discover the source of hisinterest in me.

  I failed in that, but I stopped his confounded quizzical stare. Hewasn't the style of man that I'd care to stir up trouble with, judgingfrom his size and the shape of his head. He was about my height, buthalf as broad again across the shoulders, and his thick, heavy-bonedwrists showed hairy as an ape's when he stretched his arms to deal thecards. Aside from his physical proportions, there was nothing about theman to set him apart from his fellows. Half a dozen men in that room hadthe same shade of hair and mustache, and the same ordinary blue eyes. Iturned back to the window again, thinking that I was getting nervous asan old maid, to let a curious look from a stranger stir me like that.

  In a few minutes the trooper opposite my friend of the poker-game drewout, and one of the players called loudly on Goodell to take his place.Goodell lighted another cigarette and nonchalantly seated himself in thevacant chair. Then I observed for the first time that the game was forblood rather than pastime, for Goodell paid for his little pile of whitebeans in good, gold coin of the realm. Next to playing a little "draw"myself, I like to watch the game, and so I moved over where I could seethe bets made and the hands exhibited. And there I stuck till "stables"sounded, watching the affable sergeant outgeneral his opponents, andnoting with some amusement the sulky look that grew more intensified onthe heavy face of Hicks (as they called the man who had favored me withthat peculiar stare) when Goodell finessed him out of two or threegenerous-sized pots.

  On my way to attend to my horse, Bat Perkins overtook me.

  "Say, old-timer, is it right about Mac losing his stripes and gettingthirty days in the cooler?" he asked in lowered tone.

  "It sure is," I answered emphatically.

  "What in thunder for?" he inquired resentfully. And because I was achingto express my candid opinion of Major Lessard and all his works to someone who would understand my point of view, I told Bat all aboutit--omitting any mention of the gold-dust. Only four men, Dobson thefathead, Lessard, MacRae and myself, knew what little was known of that,and I felt that I had no license to spread the knowledge further.

  "Oh, they sure do hand it to a man if he makes the least break," Batsympathized. "Mac's one uh the best men they've got in the Force, an'they know it, too. Darned if that don't sound queer t' me; what elsecould he do? But Lessard's a overbearin' son-of-a-gun all round, andhe's always breakin' out in a new place. Say, you might as well comeover an' stay with me while you're round here. I don't reckon you'llenjoy herdin' with these rough-necks."

  Bat's offer was not one to be overlooked by a man in my circumstances,so after supper found me sitting in his kitchen making gloomy forecastsof the future, between cigarettes. Shortly before the moon-faced clocknailed on the wall struck the hour of nine with a great internalwhirring, some one tapped lightly on the door. Bat himself answered theknock. His body shut off sight of whoever stood outside. I could justcatch the murmur of a subdued voice. After a few seconds of listeningBat nodded vigorously, and closed the door. He came back to his chairgrinning pleasantly, and handed me a little package. I tore it open andfound, wrapped tightly about three twenty-dollar gold pieces, anunsigned note from MacRae. It ran:

  "Get after Lessard and see if he won't send an escort with you to Writing-Stone. If he does, and you find anything, I needn't warn you to be careful. I don't think he believed our yarn, at all. If he refuses to act, stay here till I get out. This money will hold you for a while. It's all I could rustle. If you need more, maybe Bat can stake you--he will if he can."

  That was all. Not a word about Lyn. The stiff-necked devil!

  "You know what this is, don't you?" I said to Bat. "How the dickens didhe manage it?"

  Bat's grin became even more expansive. "There ain't a buck trooper onthe job," he replied, "that wouldn't help Mac if he got half a show;he's a white man. It's easy for a prisoner t' slip a note to a friendthat happens t' be mountin' guard. He sent it t' me because I'd be aptt' know where yuh was. _Sabe?_"

  I did. Mac's suggestion was right in line with my own idea. Lessardcould scarcely refuse to do that much, I thought; and it would be ratherunhealthy for those prairie pirates to match themselves against a bunchof Mounted Policemen who were on their guard--provided we found anythingthat was worth fighting over.

  A little later Bat spread a bed for me on the kitchen floor, and Iturned in. But my sleep resolved itself into a series of cat-naps. Whenthe first sunbeam gleamed through the window of Bat's tiny kitchen, Iarose, pulled on my boots and went to feed my horse. And when we hadeaten breakfast I headed straight for Lessard's private quarters. Iexpected he would object to talking business out of business hours, butI didn't care; I wanted to know what he was going to do, before Istarted on that three-day trip. Fortunately Lessard was an early bird,like myself. I met him striding toward the building that seemed to be aclearing house for the official contingent. r />
  "Good-morning, major," I said, mustering up a semblance of heartinessthat was far from being the genuine article--I didn't like the man andit galled me to ask anything of him. "I want to ask you something beforeI leave. Have you talked this affair over with Miss Rowan?"

  "Yes. Why?" He was maddeningly curt, but I pocketed my feelings andpersisted.

  "Then you must know beyond a doubt that there was some truth inRutter's story," I declared. "Hank Rowan was my friend. I'd go out of myway any time to help his daughter. Will you send four or five of yourmen with me to the Writing-Stone to look for that stuff?" I asked himpoint-blank.

  He looked me up and down curiously, and did not answer for a minute."How do you know where to look?" he suddenly demanded. "Writing-Stoneridge is ten miles long. What chance would you have of finding anythingin a territory of that extent?" His cold eyes rested on me in adisagreeable way. "I thought Rutter died before giving you the exactlocation."

  As a matter of fact, MacRae, in detailing the lurid happenings of thatnight, did not repeat the words Rutter had gasped out with his lastbreath. He simply said that Hans died after telling us that they hadbeen attacked, and that the gold was hidden at Writing-Stone. AndLessard, as I said before, had passed up the gold episode at the time;all his concern seemed to be for the robbers' apprehension, which wasnatural enough since a crime had undoubtedly been committed and he borethe responsibility of catching and punishing the perpetrators. Therestoration of stolen goods was probably dwarfed in his mind by theimportance of capturing the stealers.

  I was vastly interested in that phase of it, too, for I realized that aspeedy gathering in of those men of the mask was my only chance to layhold of La Pere's ten thousand; and I had a theory that they were hardlythe sort to be content with that sum, and that Hank Rowan's _cached_gold would be an excellent bait for them, if it could be uncovered.Those steadily reiterated phrases, "raw gold--on the rock" might havesome understandable meaning if one were on the spot, but MacRae had keptthat to himself--and I wasn't running a bureau of information forLessard's benefit. The Canadian government might trust him, but Iwouldn't--not if he took oath on a stack of Bibles, and gave a cast-ironbond to play fair. I couldn't give any sound reason for feeling thatway, beyond the shabby treatment he'd given MacRae. But somehow theman's personality grated on me. Lessard was of the type, rare enough,that can't be overlooked if one comes in contact with it; a big,dominant, magnetic brute type that rouses either admiration orresentment in other ordinary mortals; the kind of a man that womenbecome fascinated with, and other men invariably hate--and sometimesfear. I didn't stop to analyze my feeling toward him, just then; but Ihad the impulse to keep what little I knew to myself, and I obeyed thepromptings of the sixth sense.

  "He did," I answered. "But we can take a chance. Send men that know thecountry. Lyn Rowan's kinfolk are few and far between, now; that goldmeans a good deal to her, in her present circumstances."

  "H--m-m." He mused a few seconds. Then: "If I think there's anypossibility of finding it--well, I'll see what can be done, after thosebodies are brought in. You, I suppose, are ready to start?"

  I nodded.

  "Sergeant Goodell is in charge of the detail. You'll probably find himabout to go. That's all."

  It was like being dismissed from parade; a right-about-face, march!command straight from the shoulder. Again I was overwhelmed withthankfulness that the N. W. M. P. had no string on me; I never tookorders from anybody in that tone of voice, and I wanted to shake adefiant fist under the autocratic major's nose and tell him so. I hadsense enough to see that the time and place was unpropitious forstarting an argument of that sort, so I kept an unperturbed front andwent about my business.