Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 4

The speech was accompanied with a sudden shove, and the door banged to.

Still the Sergeant waited.

"Aw, come on, yer crazy mutt!" he heard the soberer voice of Harry say, and saw him walk slowly on down the street, his bibulous comrade unsteadily following.

Keeping in the shade, Ellis noiselessly paralleled their direction, until they were well beyond the last false-fronted store and amongst some vacant lots, not far from the isolated detachment. He stopped for a moment and listened intently. Except for the tipsy arguing of Harry's companion, who was still in the rear, all was quiet.

"Well, you gimme half, anyway," he heard him keep chanting.

Now was his chance. With two of them, he knew he must act quickly, and "acting quickly" was only a mild expression for _some_ of the Sergeant's little methods in his business which, though invariably attended with excellent results, did not, sad to relate, always strictly conform to the rules laid down in that worthy little Manual issued to all members of the Force for their regimental and legal guidance.

With fell intention, he crossed over swiftly to the drunk. It was no time for niceties in the manner of arrest, for the man might arouse the neighborhood, and the Sergeant had reasons for not being particularly desirous of an audience just then.

With the deadly calculation of an ex-pugilist, he carefully judged his distance in the dim light and swung a single terrific right uppercut to the point of the chin. The head snapped back and, with a choking gasp, the man fell heavily to the ground in an inert heap.

At the smack and the thud of the falling body, Harry halted in the dark ahead.

"What's up?" he growled. "Are yer all in?"

Ellis shouldered roughly into him and, with an oath, the man reeled back.

"Why, what's this?" he bl.u.s.tered and, as the shadowy outline of Benton's Stetson hat in the uncertain light penetrated his vision, "why, it's the '_cop_'!"

"Yes," said the Sergeant through his set teeth and, with suppressed fury, "I've got you now where I want you! I'll give you call me '_cop_,'

you G-d-d, dirty pimp!" and he smashed in a vicious left drive, flush on Harry's nose.

It was a staggering blow, and the blood squirted, but somehow the man kept his feet and threw himself into a fighting posture, like one accustomed to using his hands.

He was by far the heavier of the two, but his movements were slow and muscle-bound and the tigerishly vicious attack of the Sergeant, with all its concentrated hate and science behind it, paralyzed him. He tried to cover up, but those terrible punches with the giver's vindictive "Oof-oof," accompanying each blow, seemed to reach his body and face at will.

It was all over inside of three minutes. Presently, ducking a savage swing from his weightier opponent, Ellis feinted for the jaw then, like lightning, drove two heavy, telling punches to that region termed in pugilistic parlance the "solar plexus." The man, with a gasp, doubled up and sank down.

Breathing heavily after the exertion, Benton kneeled on him and, reaching to his hip pocket, dragged forth his handcuffs and snapped them on Harry's wrists; then, slowly rising to his feet, he waited.

It was still quiet all round, and he felt a fierce exultation at accomplishing his purpose without undue disturbance. Stepping over to his first victim, he made a quick examination, and satisfied himself that the man was only knocked out. He would come to after a time, he decided, and was probably more drunk than hurt. _Harry_ was the one who had incurred his animosity the most.

Presently that individual, with a groaning curse, sat up and was violently sick. Then for the first time he became conscious of his manacled wrists and began to raise his voice in filthy expressions at Ellis.

"Quit that talk," said the Sergeant, in a tense, fierce undertone. "I don't want any bother and have you waking everybody up at this time o'

night, I'm arresting both you fellers for vagrancy. Now, are you coming quiet or not?"

A torrent of blasphemy greeted the suggestion.

"Not you nor any other -- cop kin take me," he foamed from the ground; then, suddenly kicking out, he caught Benton a nasty jar on the shin-bone.

The pain acted as the last straw to the exasperated Sergeant. With an oath, he drew from his pocket a small steel article known in police circles as a "come-along" and, clipping it on one of his prisoner's wrists, he twisted viciously. The exquisite torture drew a shriek from the wretched man.

"Shut up," whispered Ellis savagely. "If you start hollerin' again and still refuse to walk I'll"-and he gave another slight twist to the wrist-"I'll break your arm! Now will you come, eh?"

"Oh, o-o-h. No, no; oh, don't. Yes, yes, I'll come," came the agonized response.

"So," said the Sergeant quietly, as he jerked the man to his feet. "I thought you would. Now don't you start monkeyin' no more. Step out!" And with his hand on the other's collar, he guided him towards the detachment, which was only a short distance away.

On arriving there he unlocked the door and, ushering his captive into the office, at the back of which were two cells, he leisurely removed the handcuffs and proceeded to search him. What with blood, bruises, and dirt, the man's face was a sight, and Benton, his anger now somewhat a.s.suaged, felt slightly uneasy as he reflected on the prisoner's appearance at the morrow's court.

"Put your arms up!" he ordered, and mechanically dived into the coat pockets. His right hand encountered something square and soft, and he drew it out.

At the sight of the object his eyes dilated strangely. Well, well; it was only a woman's little hand-bag with a name printed on it under a celluloid panel-

He read it at a quick glance and, ceasing his investigations, he grew curiously still. The prisoner, raising his head, met the Sergeant's gaze. He shrank back, appalled, and a cry of fear burst from his mashed lips, for it seemed to him as if the devil himself were looking out of Benton's ruthless eyes. With an indescribable bitterness of tone, the policeman suddenly spoke:

"You skunk," he said; "you dirty, sneaking coyote. It was _you_, then, that robbed that poor thing with the little kiddie on the West-bound?"

He stopped and choked with his rage. Presently he burst out again: "Lord, Lord! but I'm glad I bashed you up like I did, and but for a probable charge of manslaughter I'd manhandle you properly. So _that's_ what you and your pal were laughin' about when you went in to that bar?

When you come to die-which event, may it please G.o.d to grant quickly-I hope that'll be the very, very last thing in your memory-that you once robbed a helpless woman and her kid."

He remained silent after this for a s.p.a.ce, for a sudden disquieting thought had occurred to him.

"See here; look," he began again. "If I put this charge of theft against you, it'll mean having to locate and drag that woman back here all those weary miles, to identify her property and prove up the case against you."

At his words a gleam of hope lit up the prisoner's disfigured face.

"For G.o.d's sake, policeman," he mumbled out of his twisted mouth, "give us a chanct-just this once."

The Sergeant pondered awhile. It was the easiest way out for himself, _and_ for the woman, he reflected. Churchill was away and n.o.body would know anything about this business. He tipped the contents of the bag out. A bunch of keys, a woman's handkerchief, some smelling-salts, a ticket to Vancouver, and various small odds and ends.

"Where's that money?" he snapped out. "Here-let's go through you!"

His search revealed a dollar's worth of silver.

"Dig up the rest of that twenty-five dollars!" he demanded.

Slowly the other took off one of his boots, and from it produced two ten-dollar bills.

"We had some dough of our own when we come on the train," he volunteered to Ellis's silent look of interrogation, "but we got inter a poker game with some fellers and lost out, so we broke into the five-spot fer some supper and booze."

Benton considered a bit longer, then suddenly made up his mind and opened the door.

"_Voertsek, du verdomde schelm!_" he said sharply, jerking his head towards the aperture.

A glossary of South African, and other words will be found at the end.

The man stared at him stupidly for a moment. "I don't savvy you," he muttered.

"Beat it, you d-d crook! D'you savvy _that_?" came the policeman's harsh response. "Out of town by the first train that comes in-East or West-and take your pal with you."

"We ain't got the price," was the somewhat aggrieved answer.