Northwest! Part 18

"Is he dead?" Jimmy gasped.

"Not yet, I think," said Stannard, and Deering, running up, pushed him back and got on his knees.

Using some effort, he lifted the man's head and partly turned him over.

The others saw a few drops of blood about a very small hole in the breast of his deerskin jacket.

"A blamed awkward spot!" Deering remarked and gave Jimmy a sympathetic glance. "Your luck's surely bad, but get hold. We must carry him to the house."

Stannard got down; he was cooler than Jimmy, but they heard an angry shout, and Deering jumped for the lamp. When he ran forward the others saw a young police-trooper crawl from the ditch. Stopping on the bank, he looked down into the mud, and Bob, a few yards off, studied him with a grim smile. Jimmy remarked that Okanagan had not a rifle.

"If you try to get your blasted gun, I'll sock my knife to you," said Bob. "Shove on in front and stop where the light is."

The trooper advanced awkwardly. His Stetson hat was gone and his head was cut. When he saw the man on the ground he stopped.

"You've killed him," he said. "Put up your hands! You're my prisoners!"

Bob laughed.

"Cut it out! That talk may go at Regina; we've no use for it in the bush."

"An order from the Royal North-West goes everywhere. Quit fooling with that knife. My duty is--"

"Oh, shucks!" said Bob, and turned to the others. "The kid fell on his head and is rattled bad."

"He's hurt; give him a drink, Stannard," said Deering. "We must help the other fellow. Lift his feet; I'll watch out for his head. Get hold, Bob."

They carried the man to the house. When they put him down he did not move, but Jimmy thought he breathed. Deering pushed a folded coat under his neck and held Stannard's flask to his mouth. His lips were tight and the liquor ran down his skin.

"A bad job!" said Deering, who opened the man's jacket. "All the same, his heart has not stopped."

The packers from the barn were now pushing about the door and he beckoned one.

"Take the best horse and start for the hotel. Get the clerk to wire for a doctor and bring him along as quick as you can make it."

The packer went off and Deering asked the policeman: "Who's your pal?"

"He's Douglas, the game-warden. Looks as if you'd killed him."

"He's not dead yet," Deering rejoined, and pulled out some cigarettes.

"He may die. I don't know, but we'll give him all the chances we can. In the meantime, take a smoke and tell us what you were doing at the clearing."

The trooper lighted a cigarette and leaned against the wall. Somebody had fixed two candles on the logs and the light touched the faces of the group. All were quiet but Deering, and Jimmy noted with surprise that Stannard let him take control. Stannard's look was very thoughtful; Bob's was keen and grim. The trooper had obviously got a nasty knock. At the door the packers were half seen in the gloom, but Jimmy felt the unconscious man on the boards, so to speak, dominated the picture.

Although Jimmy himself was highly strung he was cool.

"My officer sent me to help the warden round you up for poaching on the reserve," said the trooper. "When we hit the clearing we saw you were out with the pit-light and Douglas reckoned we'd get Okanagan first; the rest of you were tourists and wouldn't bother us. Douglas calculated Okanagan knew the best stand for a shot and would go right there. His plan was to steal up and get him. I was to watch out and b.u.t.t in when I was wanted."

"It didn't go like that!" Bob remarked. "When you saw me by the ditch had I a gun?"

"So far as I could see you had not. You began to pull your knife."

Stannard motioned Bob to be quiet and the other resumed: "I heard Douglas shout and I got on a move. In the dark, I ran up against a stump, pitched over, and went into the ditch. I heard a shot--"

"You heard _one_ shot?" said Deering.

"I don't know--I'd hit my head and was trying to find my rifle. Well, I guess that's all!"

"I shot twice," said Jimmy, in a quiet voice. "I don't think Bob used a gun. All the same, when I pulled the trigger I imagined I heard another report; but perhaps it was my rifle. I really don't know."

"The number of shots is important," Stannard observed.

Deering looked up sharply. "To find out is the police's job. Ours is not to help."

"We ought to help," Jimmy rejoined. "I thought a deer was coming; I had no object for shooting the warden, but if my bullet hit him, the police must not blame Bob." He turned to the others. "How many shots did you hear?"

Perhaps it was strange, but n.o.body knew. A packer thought he heard three shots, although he admitted he might have been cheated because the reports echoed in the woods. After a few moments they let it go and Deering glanced at the man on the floor.

"Maybe he knows. I doubt if he will tell!"

The trooper advanced awkwardly. "Give me a light. I'm going across the clearing; I want to see your stands."

For the most part, the others went with him. Their curiosity was keen and it looked as if n.o.body reflected that the lad was their antagonist.

In fact, since they carried in the warden, all antagonism had vanished.

Jimmy, however, remained behind. He was on the floor and did not want to get up. After the strain, he was bothered by a dull reaction and felt slack. By and by Stannard returned and sat down on the boards.

"Well?" said Jimmy. "Have you found out much?"

"The trooper found your two cartridges and the posts Bob gave us. You were at a big stump, Bob a short distance on your left, although he declares he had not a gun. My stand was on your other side. The warden's track across the brush was plain. He was going nearly straight for the stump and the bullet mark is at the middle of his chest."

"It looks as if I shot him," Jimmy said and shivered.

"Then you must brace up and think about the consequences!"

"Somehow I don't want to bother about this yet. Besides, it's plain I thought I aimed at a deer."

"I doubt," Stannard remarked, with some dryness. "For one thing, the police know we killed the big-horn on the reserve, and since we took Bob again, to state he cheated us would not help. The fellow's a notorious poacher, and when the warden arrived he found us using the pit-light, which the game laws don't allow. On the whole, I think the police have grounds to claim Douglas was not shot by accident."

"But he may get better."

"It's possible; I think that's all. But suppose he does get better? Do you imagine his narrative would clear you?"

Jimmy pondered. Until Stannard began to argue, all he had thought about was that he had shot the warden, but now he weighed the consequences. He was young and freedom was good. Moreover, he had seen men, chained by the leg to a heavy iron ball, engaged making a road. A warden with a shot-gun superintended their labor, and Jimmy had thought the indignity horrible. He could not see himself grading roads, perhaps for all his life, with a gang like that.

"What must I do about it?" he asked.

"I'd put up some food and start for the rocks. Take a rifle and the Indian packer, and try to get down the east side of the range by the neck below the b.u.t.tress. Then you might perhaps push across to the foothills and the plains. The police will, no doubt, reckon on your going west for the Pacific coast, and, if you tried, would stop you. As far as Revelstoke, the railroad follows the only break in the mountains, and orders will be telegraphed to watch the stations. No; I think you must steer for the Alberta plains."

Jimmy knitted his brows. If he could reach the coast, he might get into the United States or on board a ship, but he must cross British Columbia and, for the most part, the province was a rugged, mountainous wilderness. The northern railroads were not yet built; the settlements were along the C. P. R. track and the lake steamboat routes. He dared not use the railroad; but when he thought about the rocks and broken mountains he must cross to reach the plains he shrank.

"I could not carry the food I'd need," he said.