Northwest! Part 26

"Mr. Deering went because he is Jimmy's friend," said Margaret.

"Just that! Ye can trust the big fellow," Jardine agreed. "Then, if he was where Jimmy puts him, he didna shoot. Stannard stopped and it looks as if he had nothing to do wi' it; but I dinna ken. Stannard's no' a man ye can reckon up, and a line from his stand would cut the warden's track."

"But the bullet mark----"

Jardine smiled. "Jimmy, and maybe the trooper lad, would think that fixed it, but he didna look where the bullet _cam' oot_. I wonder if Stannard looked."

"Bob is accountable," said Margaret obstinately.

"Verra weel. Bob's in the rocks. Are ye for tracking the man?"

"By and by he must come down for food. When he does come down we'll try to find him."

"Bob's a good bushman," Jardine remarked. "I alloo the police will not hit his trail, but maybe he will not bother to watch out for us----" He stopped and gave Margaret a thoughtful look when he resumed: "Bob would reckon to find out who shot Douglas is no' our job."

"The job is ours," said Margaret quietly, but Jardine thought the blood came to her skin. She, however, got up and when she had put out the plates for breakfast went to bed.

In the morning Jardine gave Jimmy boots and clothes, and two days afterwards loaded him with all the supplies he would carry. After breakfast Jimmy strapped on his pack, but when he was ready to go he hesitated. The loghouse was warm and home-like, and for two days he had rested and enjoyed Margaret's society. Now he must plunge into the wilds, he frowned. The snow was creeping down the rocks and a cold wind wailed in the dark pine-tops. Then Jimmy turned to his hosts and forced a smile.

"You have given me all I needed; I knew you would see me out."

"Sure thing," said Jardine. "In the bush, your friends' job is to see ye oot."

"You are useful friends," Jimmy replied with a touch of emotion. "All the same, I feel I ought not to bother you; I ought to start for the railroad and give myself up to the police. If Douglas was hurt by my carelessness, I ought to pay."

"You mustn't go yet," said Margaret firmly. "You don't altogether know the carelessness was yours, and perhaps it was not. Somehow I think we will find out."

"Ah," said Jimmy, "if you do find out the shot wasn't mine---- But I doubt and the doubt weighs on me."

Margaret smiled and gave him her hand. "Brace up and trust your luck!

Stop in the mountains until we send for you. Perhaps we will send for you sooner than you think."

Jimmy went down the path and joined the waiting Indian. He was comforted, and when he plunged into the woods his moodiness was gone.

Margaret went back into the house and Jardine said in a thoughtful voice, "Ye kind o' engaged ye'd send for the lad; but until ye satisfy the police he's no' their man, he canna come back."

"That is so. The thing is rather obvious," Margaret agreed and smiled.

"However, since I did engage to send for Jimmy, I must try to make good."

XX

BOB'S DENIAL

Not long after Jimmy's visit to Kelshope, Margaret one evening rode up the trail from the station. Her cayuse carried a load of groceries, but when she set off her object was not altogether to bring home supplies.

Wakening before daybreak, she imagined she heard the fence-rails rattle at the corner farthest from the house. Sometimes a deer jumped the fence, and when Margaret got up she went to the spot. She saw no tracks, but some time afterwards found a footmark where the trail left the clearing. The mark was fresh and she thought it was not made by her father's boot.

Margaret said nothing to Jardine. Had a stranger come down the valley, he would have kept the smooth path, because in the dark the belt of slashing that generally surrounds a forest ranch is an awkward obstacle.

Moreover, to account for a stranger's coming from the mountains was hard. Had Jimmy returned, he would have stopped at the house; but Bob would not and Margaret had undertaken to find Bob.

When the Vancouver train rolled into the station n.o.body got on board, but a police trooper came from the agent's office, and going along the line, looked into the cars. Margaret had not remarked him before the train stopped and thought his curiosity ominous. If Bob had stolen past the ranch, he, however, had not tried to get on board and was hiding somewhere about. Margaret was puzzled and resolved to stop at the hotel and see Stannard. She admitted that her resolve was perhaps not logical, because if Stannard knew more about the shooting than others, he would not enlighten her. All the same, she meant to see him.

Getting down where the wagon road went round to the front of the hotel, she tied her horse to a tree and took a path across the hill. The trees were thick, but the moon was bright and in places its beams pierced the wood. In front and some distance above her, she saw illuminated windows at the top of the hotel; then the terrace wall cut the reflection from the drawing-room and rotunda. The high wall was in the gloom, but at the bottom pools of silver light broke the dark shadow of the trees.

Margaret knew the steps to the terrace. Had she gone to the front door, she must have waited at the office until a page brought Stannard, and she thought she would sooner find him in the rotunda before he knew she was about.

She heard music in the drawing-room and somebody on the terrace talking, but the wall was high and when the music stopped all was quiet. In the woods one lifts one's feet with mechanical caution and Margaret was a rancher's daughter. Her advance was noiseless, but at a bend of the path she stopped.

A few yards off, a man stood under a tree. His back was to Margaret, but the dark object across his shoulder was a slung rifle and she thought she knew him. Stannard leaned against a trunk opposite. He wore dinner dress and a loose light coat. He was in the moonlight, and when he shook his head Margaret thought his smile ironical. The other's pose was stiff and his fist was clenched. Margaret put her hand in the pocket of her deerskin coat and then moved a branch. The man turned and his hand went to his rifle. Margaret heard the sling rattle.

"You don't want your gun, Bob; I know you. Besides, I've got a pistol,"

she said.

Bob swore softly and Stannard lifted his hat.

"Aren't you rather theatrical, Miss Jardine? I imagined gun pulling was out of date."

"Bob's theatrical; but he's _slow_," Margaret rejoined, and although her heart beat her voice was steady. "I haven't yet pulled my gun."

"It looks as if you had better leave yours alone," Stannard remarked to Bob.

Bob's face got very dark, but Stannard smiled.

"Did you want to see me or the other, Miss Jardine?"

"I want to see Bob first, but you may remain," said Margaret and gave Bob a searching glance. "Who shot warden Douglas?"

"I did not, anyhow," Bob replied fiercely. "I hadn't a gun and when I'd fixed the others I put out my lamp. I'd no use for using the pit-light.

The fool plan was Deering's."

"All the same, you quit!"

"I sure quit. Somebody shot Douglas and the police knew he'd got a pick on me. They'd got to put the shooting on one of the gang."

"Perhaps it's important the police knew you had a pick on Douglas,"

Stannard remarked.

"For all that, I didn't use my gun," Bob rejoined.

Margaret pondered. As a rule, Bob was marked by a rather sinister quietness, but now he talked with something like pa.s.sion. He had stepped forward and a moonbeam touched his face. Margaret thought he knew, but he did not move out of the light. Somehow she felt she must believe his statement. Then Stannard turned to her.

"Perhaps it's strange, but I rather think he speaks the truth."

"If you did not use your gun, who did shoot Douglas?" Margaret resumed, looking at Bob. "I want to know. A trooper's watching the station, and if I shout, the hotel clerk will call him on the 'phone."

Bob's pa.s.sion vanished and Margaret thought his calm ominous.

"That's another thing! Looks as if Jimmy plugged the fellow. He sort of allowed he done it and he started for the rocks."