The Luck of the Mounted Part 10

Strangely compelling, Yorke found that bruised, eager, wistful young face, with its earnest, honest eyes. "All right!" he agreed, with languid bonhomie. "You've certainly earned the office of Dictator, and, as I remarked--we really have quite a lot in common. Mind, though, you don't repent of your bargain. One thing!" the curved, defiant nostrils dilated faintly, "Seems the world always has use for us runagates in one capacity. It's just the likes of us that compose the rank and file of most of the Empire's military police forces. Who makes the best M.P.

man, executing duty, say, in a critical life-and-death hazard? The cautious, upright, model young man, with a tender regard for a whole skin and a Glorious Future? Or the poor devil who's lost all, and doesn't care a d----n? We tackle the world's dangerous, dirty criminal work and--sw.a.n.k and all--Society don't want to forget it."

He pointed to their horses who were playfully rearing and biting at each other in equine sport. "Look at old Parson and Fox tryin' to warm themselves? Bloomin' fine example we've set 'em. Well! _allons_! _mon camarade_, let's up and beat it."

CHAPTER VI

_A deed accursed! Strokes have been struck before By the a.s.sa.s.sin's hand, whereof men doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore; But this foul crime, like Cain's, stands darkly out._ THOMAS TAYLOR

Hastily dressing, the two policemen mounted and took the trail once more.

Side by side as they rode along, in each man's heart was an estimate of the other vastly different from that with which they started out that memorable morning.

Yorke, his spirits now fully recovered, became quite companionably communicative, relating picturesque, racy stories of India, the Yukon, and other countries he had known. George, in receptive mood, listened in silent appreciation to one of the most fascinating _raconteurs_ he had ever met in his young life. Incidentally he felt relieved as he noted his comrade now tactfully avoiding morbid egotism--dwelling but lightly upon the milestones that marked his chequered career.

The bodily stiffness and soreness, consequent upon their recent bout, was now well-nigh forgotten, though occasionally they laughingly rallied each other as the sharp air stung their bruised faces. They were just surmounting the summit of a long, steep grade in the trail.

Said Redmond dubiously: "See here; look! I'm darned if I like getting the freedom of the City of Cow Run sportin' such a pretty mug as this!

How many more miles to this giddy burg, old thing?"

Yorke grinned unfeelingly. "Hard on nine miles to go yet. We're about half way. _Isch ga bibble_! . . . open your ditty-box and sing! you blooming whip-poor-will."

"A werry heart goes all the way, But a sad one tires in a mile a'; A--"

The old lilt died on his lips. With a startled oath he reined in sharply and, shielding his eyes from the sun-glare, remained staring straight in front of him. They had just topped the crest of the rise. The eastward slope showed a low-lying, undulating stretch of snow-bound country, spa.r.s.ely dotted with clumps of poplar and alder growth, through which the trail wound snake-like into the fainter distance. Southwards, below the rolling, shelving benches, lay the river, a steaming black line, twisting interminably between frosty, bush-fringed banks.

No less startled than his companion, Redmond pulled up also and stared with him. Not far distant on the trail ahead of them they beheld a dark, ominous-looking ma.s.s, vividly conspicuous against the snow. Suddenly the object moved and resolved itself unmistakably into a horse struggling to rise. For an instant they saw the head and the fore-part of the body lift, and then flop p.r.o.ne again. Close against it lay another dark object.

"Horse down!" snapped Yorke tersely. "h.e.l.l!" he added, "looks like a man there, too! come on quick!"

Responding to a shake of the lines and a fierce thrust of the spurs, their horses leapt forward and they raced towards their objective.

"Steady! steady!" hissed Yorke, checking his mount as they drew near the fallen animal and its rider, "pull Fox a bit, Red! Mustn't scare the horse!"

Slackening into a walk, they flung out of saddle, dropped their lines, crouched, and crept warily forward. The horse, a big, splendid seal-brown animal, had fallen on its right side, with its off fore-leg plunged deep in a snow-filled badger-hole. The body of the man lay also on the off-side with one leg under his mount. The stiffened form was a ghastly object to behold, being literally encased in an armour-like sh.e.l.l of frozen, claret-coloured snow.

At the approach of the would-be rescuers the poor brute whinnied pitifully and made another ineffectual attempt to rise. Yorke flung himself onto the head and held it down, while George dived frantically for the man's body, and tugged until he had got the leg from under.

"Hung up! by G.o.d!" gasped the former, "his foot's well-nigh through the stirrup!"

Redmond, ex-medical student, made swift examination. "Dead!" he p.r.o.nounced with finality, "Good G.o.d! dead as a herring! The man's been dragged and kicked to death!" He made a futile effort to release the imprisoned foot.

"No! no!" cried Yorke sharply, "no use doing that if he's dead.

Coroner's got to view things as they are."

The horse began to struggle again painfully. Peering down the badger-hole they could see the broken bone of its leg protruding bloodily through the skin. Yorke released one hand and reached for his gun.

"Poor old chap!" he said, "we'll fix you. Quick Red! pull the body as far back as the stirrup-legadeiro'll go! That'll do! There, old boy! . . ."

And with practised hand he sent a merciful bullet crashing through brain and spinal cord. The hind legs threshed awhile, but presently, with a muscular quiver they stiffened and all was still. Yorke, releasing his hold struggled to his feet, and the two men stared pityingly at what lay before them. What those merciless, steel-shod hoofs had left of the head and the youthful body indicated a man somewhere in his twenties. His ice-bound outer clothing consisted of black Angora goatskin chaps and a short sheepskin coat.

"Can't place him--like this," muttered Yorke, after prolonged scrutiny, "but I seem to know the horse."

Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation--something between a groan and a cry. Redmond, startled at a new horror apparent on the other's ghastly face, clutched him by the arm.

"What's up?" he queried tensely.

Yorke struggled to speak. "Fox!" he gasped presently--"this morning. . . . I never told you. My G.o.d!--You might have got hung up like this, too."

"No! no! Yorkey!" Redmond almost shouted the disclaimer, "Slavin wised me up to that trick of his yesterday. I forgot. It was my own fault I got piled like that. Forget it, old man! I say forget it!"

He shook the other's arm with a sort of savage gentleness.

A look of vague relief dawned on Yorke's haggard face. "Ay, so!" he murmured, and paused with brooding indecision. "That's absolved my conscience some, but not altogether."

They remained silent awhile after this. Presently Yorke pulled himself together and spoke briskly and decisively. "Well, now! we'll have to get busy. Blair's place is only about three miles from here--nor'east--they're on the long-distance 'phone. Doctor c.o.x of Cow Run's the coroner for this district. If I can get hold of him I'll get him to come out right-away--and I'll notify Slavin."

Catching up his horse he swung into the saddle. "I'll be back here on the jump. You stick around, and say, Reddy, you might as well have a dekko at the lay of things while you're waiting. Where he came off the perch, how far he's been dragged, and all that. Be careful though, keep well to the side and don't foul up the tracks. And don't get too far away, either!"

He galloped off and soon disappeared over a distant rise. Left to himself George mounted Fox and set to work to follow out the senior constable's instructions.

"Well?" queried Yorke, swinging wearily out of his saddle an hour or so later, "How'd you make out? Find the place where he flopped? Rum sort of perch you've got there--you look like Patience on a monument!"

George, seated upon the rump of the dead horse, nodded and grunted laconic response: "Sure. 'Bout two miles down the trail there. How'd you get along, Yorkey? Did you raise Slavin and the coroner?"

"Got Slavin all hunkadory," said the senior constable briefly, "he should be here soon, now. Dr. c.o.x'd just left for Wilson's, two miles this side of Cow Run. They're on the 'phone, too; so I left word there for him to come on here right away." He seated himself alongside the other.

Awhile they carried on a desultory, more or less speculative conversation anent the fatality, until they grew morbidly weary of contemplating the poor broken body. Yorke slid off the dead horse suddenly.

"Wish Slavin were here!" he said, "let's take a dekko from the top of the rise, Reddy, see'f we can see him coming. I'm getting cold sitting here."

Redmond, nothing loath, complied. Mounting, they turned back to the summit of the ridge. Reaching it, the jingle of bells smote their ears, and they espied the Police cutter approaching them at a rapid pace.

"Like unto Jehu, the son of Nimshi!" murmured Yorke, "he's sure springing old T and B up the grade."

Sergeant Slavin pulled up his smoking team along-side his two mounted subordinates. "So ho, bhoys!" was his greeting, "fwhat's this bizness?"

Yorke rapidly acquainted him with all the details. At one point in his narration he had occasion to turn to George: "That's how it was, Reddy?"

And the latter replied, "That's about the lay of it, Yorkey."

The sergeant listened, but absently. To them it did not seem exactly to be an occasion for levity; but they could have sworn that, behind an exaggerated grimness of mien, he was striving to suppress some inward mirth, as his deep-set Irish eyes roved from face to face.

"Yez luk as if yez had been hung up an' dhragged tu--th' pair av yez," he remarked casually.

Remembrance smote the two culprits. They exchanged guilty glances and swallowed the home-thrust in silence.