Benton of the Royal Mounted Part 6

Indeed, the man's whole appearance seemed to fittingly bear out the many strange stories that were current of his strenuous and eventful past.

CHAPTER V

The elder was quelled, But the younger rebelled; So he spread out his wings and fled over the sea.

Said the jackdaws and crows, "He'll be hanged I suppose, But what in the deuce does that matter to we?"

-_Henry Kingsley_

The second son of an English cavalry officer holding a high rank, young Benton's life up to the age of fifteen-with the exception of a few escapades at Shrewsbury-which were due more to an ingrained hardihood than viciousness, had pa.s.sed very much the same as that of any other well-bred public school boy.

The death of his mother, however, and the later advent of a step-parent, wrought a disastrous change in the boy's. .h.i.therto happy enough life. His stepmother's intolerance with his high spirits led to many family quarrels and finally had the effect of provoking a naturally wayward temper to open rebellion and a definite course of action.

Her studied, unremitting hostility towards the boy succeeded in arousing in him a bitter, lasting hatred for her which, in its intensity and fixity of purpose, was positively awesome and well-nigh incredible in one of his years.

Scorning to follow his elder brother's example in meekly submitting to the new regime he turned, in his misery and distress, to an old friend of his dead mother's, one-Major Carlton-his ofttime confidant and mediator in many boyish troubles.

Borrowing fifty pounds from the latter, and taking little else save his mother's photograph and a few clothes, with a farewell to none except his debtor, he turned his back on that beautiful old Devonshire home forever.

A youthful imagination inspired, perhaps, by prolific and intelligent reading, inexplicably directed his course to the United States; so, booking his pa.s.sage at Liverpool, he found himself later, depleted in money-but not in pluck or resolution-a waif in that vast a.s.semblage of mixed peoples. One letter-the last that he was ever to write home-he despatched to his father.

Sir John Benton's fierce, lined face softened for an instant as he perused his son's missive, but it grew darker and drearier than ever before he had read it through. The letter said no word of return, and he guessed rightly it was meant for an absolutely final farewell.

A strict disciplinarian in his own household, its contents he never divulged to the rest of the family; and if he felt the loss of the manly, headstrong boy, he never showed it hereafter by word or deed. The stern old soldier recognized in those lines-penned with a certain boyish courtesy-only too well the inflexible characteristics that matched, to the full, his own.

Various vicissitudes eventually landed young Benton in a great cattle-raising district of Montana, where he obtained a job as a ch.o.r.e boy on a big ranch, known as the "Circle H." A fearless upbringing amongst horses stood him now in good stead, and this, combined with a willing capacity for work, ultimately won for him the approval of "Big Jim Parsons," the silent, laconic ranch foreman, who befriended the lonely, and now taciturn, youngster.

It is not to be supposed that he gained this patronage any too easily.

Although babbling little concerning his history, his English speech and apparent breeding were sufficient at the start to make him the b.u.t.t of many doubtful pleasantries from the devil-may-care cow-punchers whose bunkhouse victim he was. No sulker, he could a.s.similate the most of it in good part; but there were limitations to such "joshing," as many of his tormentors found out when the savage, uncontrollable Benton temper blazed forth with such appalling venom of fist and tongue that, immature youth though he was, caused the bleeding and cursing authors of the disturbance to retreat aghast at the devil they had raised. The old Mosaic law-"An eye for an eye"-with its grim suggestion of unforgiving finality, always found in Ellis an ardent and exacting adherent.

At such scenes Big Jim would generally appear on the field of hostilities, a threatening, nasal sneer twisting his morose face.

"Quit monkey'n with that kid, now," he would snarl; and with rising wrath: "I tell yu', fer guts, that same dude maverick has yu' all skinned! What was it he called yu', Windy?... Will yore mother stand fer that?... What's happened to yore face, Ike?... Fell down an' trod on it?"

The foreman's rough championing, and his own ability to take care of himself, in course of time discouraged this systematic baiting, and ere long he received the degree of comradeship. Possessing an inborn love for music, which from childhood up his mother had always sedulously encouraged, Ellis was a pianist of no mean ability. This, coupled with a sweet, boyish voice-which in later years was to develop into a magnificent baritone-caused him to be in constant request as a performer on the battered old piano which the ranch-owner's dwelling boasted.

Nothing loath, he played and sang to them the simple old melodies and songs that they knew; and soon from being the ranch b.u.t.t he became one of its especial favorites.

With characteristic honor, although the loan had been but a mere trifle to the wealthy giver, his first laudable ambition had been to pay back to Major Carlton the sum he had borrowed from that kind-hearted bachelor on emigrating; and this, with much self-denial, he found himself able to do during the next two years, thereafter keeping up a desultory correspondence with his old friend which lasted until the latter's death.

Time went on, and Ellis, after drifting here and there through Montana and Wyoming punching for various cattle outfits, finally returned to the "Circle H," where at the early age of twenty-five he became its competent young foreman-vice "Big Jim Parsons," deceased.

By this time, his character, like his frame, was set; to the vehement ambition and ardor of youth had succeeded the cool, matured resolution of manhood-powerful to will, prompt to execute, and patient to endure; he was proof against idle hopes, no less than against groundless fears, and the common chagrins of life took no more hold of his soul than toil or privation of his body. Yet under all this case-hardness, like a virgin pearl lying dormant within its flinty habitation, there still remained deep in him a certain softness of heart that he inherited from the gentle lady whose picture and loving memory he had cherished throughout his wanderings.

It is not to be supposed that during all this time the rough a.s.sociations and surroundings compatible with the calling he followed had not left their mark upon him. But hot-blooded, violent and impulsive though he was by nature, a certain quaint cynicism and command of will and feature enabled him to suppress outwardly these visible signs of his temperament. His life was probably not much more immune from vice than the majority of his fellows who bore themselves more jovially and noisily; but oh the sin of violated love, or cruel desertion-too often a.s.sociated with the sowing of youth's wild oats-he could not accuse himself. The dark eyes of more than one ranch beauty had looked approvingly-perhaps lovingly-on the somber, handsome face and slimly-powerful frame of the reckless young bronco-buster, wondering, half-pityingly, what should make so youthful a countenance so stern. And more than once the inviting loneliness of many whom ties bound had been made only too apparent for his benefit. But the remnants of a nearly forgotten family pride, rather than shyness or coldness, kept Ellis's feet clear of the snares. He was not specially cold, or continent, or tender of conscience, but he chose to take his pleasure in places where he troubled no man's peace, and where there could be no ignominious aftermath to torture him with its useless, heart-aching remorse.

Every wayfarer through this world must needs encounter certain points in his journey where the main trail divides. For awhile the two tracks may run so near to each other that they may seem still almost one, but they will diverge more and more till, ere they end, their issues lie as widely apart as those of good and evil, light and darkness, life and death. So it was now with Ellis Benton, for a chance episode occurred in that young man's life which was fated to bring about a material change in his fortunes and surroundings.

A born fighter, and possessing unusual cleverness with his hands, he was one night unavoidably forced into an encounter with a professional prize-fighter on a public street, in b.u.t.te. A young girl, whom the latter was persecuting with his unwelcome attentions, appealed to the young cow-puncher for protection, and not in vain. Despite the terrible punishment he received, the deadly fury and ability with which he finally put his formidable antagonist away made a visible impression on a well known fight promoter who happened to witness the affray. That worthy, an ex-pugilist himself of considerable renown, with his glib tongue, apparent sincerity, and cleverly framed appeals to the younger man's vanity, succeeded at last in inducing him to enter the ring in earnest. Ellis, in that unsettled period that comes in most strong men's lives, was perhaps, too, subconsciously getting a little weary of the range life that up to now had entirely satisfied his full-blooded energies, but there is little doubt that had he remained with the soberer calling that he had followed so long, it would have been more advantageous to both his profit and honor. But the reckless hardihood, ingrained in his nature, stifled the suggestions of prudence and ambition; when he cut himself adrift from family and friends he severed himself, in intent, no less decisively from the cla.s.s in which he was born and bred than if, as an heir to a throne, he had relinquished his birthright, and become but a humble subject. With a characteristic indifference to possible consequences, he was not the least ashamed, as yet, of the doubtful profession that he had adopted. His subsequent spectacular fighting speedily demonstrated his ability to become a future middleweight champion, and for a while the bouts in which he partic.i.p.ated drew eager crowds, curious to see the coming young pugilist who gave them such a good run for their money, invariably drawing with, or putting away his opponent each time, with a sensational cla.s.s of fighting that was highly gratifying to their taste. Becoming gradually disgusted with the crooked practises and propositions which, somehow, seemed to be inseparable from the game, and more or less inc.u.mbent on those who were dependent on the ring for a living, he made up his mind to forsake the profession which demanded of him the sacrifice of his common honesty. His commendable decision, however, certainly did not carry with it the solace of much pecuniary acquisition; for although fighting with great frequency, and winning, or splitting many big purses during his brilliant, if brief, career, the fast life and heavy expenses compatible with such a profession soon dissipated them along with a considerable portion of his previously acc.u.mulated savings, limiting the sum total of his worldly wealth to less than a thousand dollars.

Becoming, by now, thoroughly restless and inclined to wander afresh, his fancy next took him to South Africa, where he obtained a position in the Chartered Company's service, at which occupation he remained until the outbreak of the South African War two years later. Enlisting then as a private in a well known, and afterwards famous, Irregular Horse, in the later engagements at Elandslaagte, Waggon Hill, and Wepener, he showed to the full the soldierly instincts only natural in one come of his fighting race and breeding, at the latter action, particularly, when in the storming of a strong Boer position, he exhibited a characteristic courage of such an utterly reckless, desperate nature, that subsequently gained for him the Distinguished Conduct Medal and a Sergeant-Major's promotion.

During the terrible Mauser fire, however, which well nigh decimated his squadron, he received a bullet through the body, the same pa.s.sing the base of the right lung, luckily without permanently injuring that vital organ. On recovery, he served throughout the succeeding guerilla warfare until peace was proclaimed at Veereneging, on May 31, 1902. Wearying, then, of South Africa and its war-ravaged desolation, he returned to the country and scenes of his former life, resuming his avocation, riding for a newly-formed cattle company, whose headquarters were near the Canadian border.

Here, during the next few months, he became acquainted with various members of the scattered posts of the Royal North West Mounted Police.

Craving companionship, and with the recollections of his late military experiences still fresh within him, he joined that Force, and after pa.s.sing through the inevitable curriculum of their headquarters at Regina, he was eventually transferred to L Division.

Several notable stock-stealing cases, in which his fearless ability and previous range experience enabled him to obtain long term convictions on the offenders, soon brought him under the favorable notice of his superiors, who recognized his worth in this particular line, and in a little less than four years he was promoted to the rank in which we find him in the beginning of this story.

CHAPTER VI

"Whoo-oh!-Steady!... Let's git me cigarette lit!

Oh, a cow-puncher's curse on that frizzling sun!

There!... Whoop!... Go to her, goldarn it!

Yu' dirty, mean, locoed old son of a gun!"

-_Bronco-Buster's Chorus_

Morning came, and with it a visit from one Gallagher, a middle-aged bachelor, his nearest neighbor, whose ranch lay about a mile distant.

The Sergeant, seated outside the door, in the sun, smoking an after-breakfast pipe, greeted the newcomer civilly as he lowered himself stiffly out of the saddle, and waited for the other to divulge his business.

Nature had not been kind to Mr. Gallagher in regard to his physiognomy, and Ellis, whenever he contemplated that homely visage, from certain canine peculiarities therein, always mentally labeled him "Old Dog-face." It _was_ an ugly, repellant countenance in a way, but the eyes were those of an honest man, and the thick lips expressed a species of genial humor.

Meeting each other casually at the usual weekly mail gatherings, Benton was always conscious of a kind of surly friendliness on Gallagher's part, that showed up in marked contrast to the silent, mistrustful antipathy, with which many of those present generally regarded him; which att.i.tude, be it remarked, worried the Sergeant but little. The rancher broached the subject of his visit with little preamble.

"Old man Tucker, from Fish Creek, was over wantin' to see yu' yesterday, Sargint. Didn't find yu' in, so he come around to my place before he went back."

"Oh," said Ellis absently, and with a slight trace of weary irritation in his tones; "what's bitin' that old fool now-was he full?"

It was curiously noticeable that, when back amidst the habitues and surroundings of his former life and calling, how naturally he reverted to the terse, ungrammatical speech of the range.

Gallagher, with a grin, lit his pipe, and leaning back in the chair that the Sergeant had dragged out for him, blew out a cloud of smoke reflectively.

"Well, he weren't what you'd call exactly sober," he drawled. "It was the same old business.... Says there's some of them a layin' to run off that bunch o' hawsses o' his. Reckons he's got it straight this time."

"He always has," responded the policeman, spitting with contemptuous remembrance. "I'm just about fed up with his picayune happenings. He makes me tired. Time and again he's got me a chasin' over to his place, and there's never nothin' doin'.... Just some gag they've bin a throwin'

into him."

The other was silent for a s.p.a.ce. "Mebbe," he acquiesced musingly. "But I don't know, Sargint ... he seemed more worked up this time'n I ever see him."

Ellis pondered over this dilemma. A complaint was a complaint, and anyhow, no one could ever accuse him of neglecting his duty.