The Intriguers

  CHAPTER VIII

  TROUBLE

  Darkness was settling down over the edge of the timber belt that cutsoff the prairie from the desolate barrens. In the fading light thestraggling wood wore a dreary, forbidding look. The spruces weregnarled and twisted by the wind, a number of them were dead, and manyleaned unsymmetrically athwart each other.

  Blake and Harding found no beauty in the scene as they wearily led twopackhorses through the thin, scattered trees, with Benson lagging ashort distance behind. They had spent some time crossing a widestretch of rolling country dotted with clumps of poplar and birch,which was still sparsely inhabited; and now they were compelled to picktheir way among fallen branches and patches of muskeg, for the groundwas marshy and their feet sank among the withered needles.

  Blake checked his pony and waited until Benson came up. The man movedwith a slack heaviness, and his face was worn and tense. He was tiredwith the journey, for excess had weakened him, and now the lust fordrink which he had stubbornly fought had grown overwhelming.

  "I can go no faster. Push on and I'll follow your tracks," he said ina surly tone. "It takes time to get into condition, and I haven'twalked much for several years."

  "Neither have I," Harding answered cheerfully. "I'm more used toriding in elevators and streetcars, but this sort of thing soon makesyou fit."

  "You're not troubled with my complaint," Benson grumbled; and whenBlake started the pony, he deliberately dropped behind.

  "He's in a black mood; we'll leave him to himself," Harding advised."So far he's braced up better than I expected; when a man's beentanking steadily, it's pretty drastic to put him through the totaldeprivation cure."

  "I wonder," Blake said thoughtfully, "whether it is a cure; we haveboth seen men who made some effort to save themselves go down. ThoughI'm a long way from being a philanthropist, I hate this waste of goodmaterial. Perhaps it's partly an economic objection, because I used toget savage in India when any of the Tommies' lives were thrown away bycareless handling."

  "It was your soldiers' business to be made use of, wasn't it?"

  "Yes; but there's a difference between that and the other thing. It'sthe needless waste of life and talent that annoys me. On the frontier,we spent men freely, so to speak, because we tried to get something inreturn--a rebel hill fort seized, a raid turned back. If Benson hadkilled himself in breaking a horse, or by an accident with a harvestingmachine, one couldn't complain; but to see him do so with whisky isanother matter."

  Harding nodded. Blake was not given to serious conversation; indeed,he was rather casual, as a rule; but Harding was shrewd, and he sawbeneath the surface a love of order and a constructive ability.

  "I guess you're right; but your speaking of India, reminds me ofsomething I want to mention. I've been thinking over what Clarke saidto you. His game's obvious, and it might have been a profitable one.He wanted you to help him in squeezing Colonel Challoner."

  "He knows now that he applied to the wrong man."

  "Suppose the fellow goes to work without you? It looks as if he'dlearned enough to make him dangerous."

  "He can do nothing. Let him trump up any plausible theory he likes; itwon't stand for a moment after I deny it."

  "True," agreed Harding gravely. "But if you were out of the way, he'dhave a free hand. As you wouldn't join him, you're a serious obstacle."

  Blake laughed.

  "I'm glad I am; and as I come of a healthy stock there's reason tobelieve I'll continue one."

  Harding said nothing more, and they went on in silence through thegathering darkness. The spruces were losing shape and getting blacker,though through openings here and there a faint line of smoky red glowedon the horizon. A cold wind wailed among the branches, and the thud ofthe tired horses' feet rang dully among the shadowy trunks. Reaching astrip of higher ground, the men pitched camp and turned out the hobbledhorses to graze among the swamp grass that lined a muskeg. Aftersupper they sat beside their fire in silence for a while; and thenBenson took his pipe from his mouth.

  "I've had enough of this; and I'm only a drag on you," he said. "Giveme grub enough to see me through, and I'll start back for thesettlement the first thing in the morning."

  "Don't be a fool!" Blake replied sharply. "You'll get harder and feelthe march less every day. Are you willing to let Clarke get hold ofyou again?"

  "Oh, I don't want to go; I'm driven--I can't help myself."

  Blake felt sorry for him. He imagined that Benson had made a hardfight, but he was being beaten by his craving. Still, it seemed unwiseto show any sympathy.

  "You want to wallow like a hog for two or three days that you'll regretall your life," he said. "You have your chance for breaking free now.Be a man and take it. Hold out a little longer, and you'll find iteasier."

  Benson regarded him with a mocking smile.

  "I'm inclined to think the jag you so feelingly allude to will last aweek; that is, if I can raise money enough from Clarke to keep it up.You may not understand that I'm willing to barter all my future for it."

  "Yes," said Harding grimly; "we understand, all right. Yours is not asingular case; the trouble is that it's too common. But we'll quittalking about it. You can't go."

  He was in no mood to handle the subject delicately; they were alone inthe wilds and the situation made for candor. There was only one way inwhich they could help the man, and he meant to take it.

  Benson turned to him angrily.

  "Your permission's not required; I'm a free man."

  "Are you?" Harding asked. "It strikes me as a very curious boast.Improving the occasion's a riling thing, but there was never a slave inthe world tighter bound than you."

  "That's an impertinence!" Benson exclaimed with a flush, as unsatisfiedlonging drove him to fury. "What business is it of yours to preach tome? Confound you, who are _you_? I tell you, I won't have it! Giveme food enough to last until I reach Sweetwater, and let me go!"

  As he spoke, a haughty ring crept into his voice. Benson would nothave used that tone in his normal state, but he belonged by right ofbirth to a ruling caste, and no doubt felt that he had been treatedwith indignity by a man of lower station. Harding, however, answeredquietly.

  "I am a paint factory drummer who has never had the opportunities youhave enjoyed; but so long as we're up here in the wilds the only thingthat counts is that we're men with the same weaknesses and feelings.Because that's so, and you're hard up against it, my partner and I meanto see you through."

  "You can't unless I'm willing. Man, don't you realize that talking'sof no use? The thing I'm driven by won't yield to words. What's moreto the purpose, I didn't engage to go all the way with you. Now thatI've had enough, I'm going back to the settlement."

  "Very well. You were right in claiming that there was no engagement ofany kind. So far, we have kept you in grub; but we're not bound to doso, and if you leave us, you must shift for yourself."

  There was a tense silence for a moment or two. Benson, his face markedwith baffled desire and scarcely controlled fury, glared at the others.Blake's expression was pitiful, but his lips were resolutely set; andHarding's eyes were very keen and determined.

  A curious look crept into Benson's face, and he made a sign ofresignation.

  "It looks as if I were beaten," he said quietly. "I may as well go tosleep."

  He wrapped his blanket round him and lay down near the fire, and soonafterward Blake and Harding crept into the tent. Benson would be warmenough where he lay, and they felt it a relief to get away from him.

  Day was breaking when Blake rose and threw fresh wood on the fire, andas a bright flame leaped up, driving back the shadows, he saw thatBenson was missing. This, however, did not disturb him, for the manhad been restless and they had now and then heard him moving about atnight. When the fire had burned up and he had filled the kettle,without seeing anything of his friend, he began to grow anxious. Hecalled loudly, but there was no answer, and he could hear no
movementin the bush. The dark spruces had grown sharper in form; he could seesome distance between the trunks, but everything was still.

  "You had better see if the horses are there," Harding suggested, comingout of the tent.

  Blake failed to find them near the muskeg, but as the light got clearerhe saw tracks leading through the bush. Following these for adistance, he came upon the Indian pony, still hobbled, but the other, apowerful range horse, was missing. Mounting the pony, he rode back tocamp, where he found Harding looking grave.

  "The fellow's gone and taken some provisions with him," he said. "Heleft this for us."

  It was a strip of paper, apparently torn from a notebook, with a fewlines expressing Benson's regret at having to leave them in such anunceremonious fashion, and stating that he would leave the horse,hobbled, at a spot about two days' ride away.

  "He seems to think he's showing us some consideration in not riding thebeast down to the settlement," Blake remarked with a dubious smile,feeling strongly annoyed with himself for not taking more precautions.With the cunning which the lust for drink breeds in its victims Bensonhad outwitted him by feigning acquiescence. "Anyway," he added, "I'llhave to go after him. We must have the horse, for one thing; but Isuppose we'll lose four days. This is rough on you."

  "Yes," agreed Harding, "you must go after him; but don't mind about me.The man's a friend of yours, and I like him; I wouldn't feel happy ifwe let him fall back into the clutches of that cunning brute. Nowwe'll get breakfast; you'll need it."

  "If you don't mind waiting," Blake said, while they made a hasty meal,"I'll follow him half-way to Sweetwater, if necessary. You see, Ihaven't much expectation of overtaking him before he leaves the horse.It's faster than the pony; and we don't know when he started."

  "That's so. Still, you're tough; and I guess the first hard day's ridewill be enough for your partner."

  Five minutes later Blake was picking his way as fast as possiblethrough the woods. It was a cool morning, and when he had gone a fewmiles the ground was fairly dear. By noon he was in more open country,where there were long stretches of grass, and after a short rest hepushed on fast. Bright sunshine flooded the waste that now stretchedback to the south, sprinkled with clumps of bush that showed a shadowyblue in the distance. Near at hand, the birch and poplar leaves glowedin flecks of vivid lemon among the white stems; but Blake rode hard,his eyes turned steadily on the misty skyline. It was broken only byclusters of small trees; nothing moved on the wilderness of grass andsand ahead of him.

  He felt tired when evening came, but he pressed on to find water beforehe camped. Benson was a weakling, who would no doubt give them furthertrouble; but they had taken him in hand, and Blake had made up his mindto save him from the rogue who preyed upon his failings.

  It was getting late when he saw a faint trail of smoke curl up againstthe sky from a distant bluff, and on approaching it he checked thejaded pony. Then he dismounted and, picketing the animal, movedcautiously around the edge of the woods. Passing a projecting tongueof smaller brush, he saw, as he had expected, Benson sitting beside thefire. Blake stopped a moment to watch him. The man's face was weary,his pose was slack, and it was obvious that the life he had led hadunfitted him for a long, hard ride. He looked forlorn and dejected;but as Blake moved forward, he roused himself, and his eyes had anangry gleam.

  "So you have overtaken me! I thought myself safe from you!" heexclaimed.

  "You were wrong," Blake replied quietly. "If it had been needful, I'dhave gone after you to Clarke's. But I'm hungry, and I'll cook mysupper at your fire." He glanced at the provisions scattered about."You haven't had much of a meal."

  "It's a long drink I want," Benson growled.

  Blake let this pass. He prepared his supper, and offered Benson aportion.

  "Try some of that," he urged, indicating the light flapjacks fizzlingamong the pork in the frying-pan. "It strikes me as a good deal moretempting than the stuff you have been eating."

  Benson thrust the food aside, and Blake ate in silence. Then he tookout his pipe.

  "Now," he said, "you can go to sleep when you wish. You're probablytired, and it's a long ride back to camp."

  "You seem to count upon my going back with you," Benson repliedmockingly.

  "Of course!"

  "Do you suppose it's likely, after I've ridden all this way?"

  Blake laid down his pipe and leaned forward, where the firelightflickered on his face.

  "Benson, you force me to take a strong line with you. Think a moment.You have land and stock worth a good deal of money which my partnerbelieves can be saved from the rogue who's stealing it from you. Youare a young man, and if you pull yourself together and pay off hisclaims, you can sell out and look for another opening wherever youlike; but you know what will happen if you go on as you are doing ayear or two longer. Have you no friends or relatives in England towhom you owe something? Is your life worth nothing, that you'rewilling to throw it away?"

  "Oh, that's all true," Benson admitted irritably. "Do you think Ican't see where I'm drifting? The trouble is that I've gone too far tostop."

  "Try!" persisted Blake. "It's very well worth while."

  Benson was silent for a few moments, and then he looked up with acurious expression.

  "You're wasting time, Dick," he said. "I've sunk too far. Go back inthe morning, and leave me to my fate."

  "When I go back, you are coming with me."

  Benson's nerves were on edge, and his self-control broke down.

  "Confound you!" he cried. "Let me alone! You have reached the limit;once for all, I'll stand no more meddling!"

  "Very well," Blake answered quietly. "You have left me only onerecourse, and you can't blame me for taking it."

  "What's that?"

  "Superior strength. You're a heavier man than I am, and ought to be amatch for me, but you have lost your nerve and grown soft and flabbywith drink. It's your own doing; and now you have to take theconsequences. If you compel me, I'll drag you back to camp with thepack lariat."

  "Do you mean that?", Benson's face grew flushed and his eyes glittered.

  "Try me and see."

  Savage as he was, Benson realized that his companion was capable ofmaking good his promise. The man looked hard and very muscular, andhis expression was determined.

  "This is insufferable!" he cried.

  Blake coolly filled his pipe.

  "There's no other remedy. Before I go to sleep, I'll picket the horsesclose beside me; and if you steal away on foot during the night, I'llride you down a few hours after daybreak. I think you understand me.There's nothing more to be said."

  He tried to talk about other matters, but found it hard, for Benson,tormented by his craving, made no response. Darkness wrapped themabout and the prairie was lost in shadow. The leaves in the bluffrustled in a faint, cold wind, and the smoke of the fire drifted roundthe men. For a while Benson sat moodily watching his companion, andthen, wrapping his blanket round him, he lay down and turned away hishead. Blake sat smoking for a while, and then strolled toward thehorses and chose a resting-place beside their pickets.

  Waking in the cold of daybreak, he saw Benson asleep, and preparedbreakfast before he called him. They ate in silence, and then Blakeled up the pony.

  "I think we'll make a start," he said, as cheerfully as he could.

  For a moment or two Benson hesitated, standing with hands clenched andbaffled desire in his face; but Blake looked coolly resolute, and hemounted.