The Luck of the Mounted Part 19

"He says _Nemoyah_!--not to give the bottles to Many Drunks, as when he gets full of _skutiawpwe_ he raises h.e.l.l on th' reserve, an' there's no livin' with him. Says he beats up his squaw an' starts in to scalp th'

dogs an' chickens."

"Shtop ut!" bawled Slavin, "d'ju hear, Yorkey? . . . shtoolin' th'

nitchie on tu commit a felony an' th' like, thataways!" He sniffed disgustedly. "_Skutiawpwe_ an' squaws! . . . blarney me sowl! but ye've a quare idea av a josh. 'Tis a credit y'are tu th' Ould Counthry, an' no error. I do not wondher ye left ut."

"Sh-sh!" said that gentleman soothingly, "coa.r.s.ely put, Burke! coa.r.s.ely put! . . . Say Wine and Women, guv'nor! Wine and Women! If you were in India, Burke, they'd make you Bazaar-Sergeant--put you in charge of the morals of the regiment. Both items are all right--always providing you don't get a lady like Misthress Lee for a chaser. How'd you like to be in Nick's shoes? What 'shteps' would you take?"

Slavin stared at his tormentor, blankly, a moment. "Shteps?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed sharply, "fwhat shteps?" . . . He leant back with a fervent sigh and softly rubbed his huge hands together. "Long wans, avick! . . .

eyah, d----d long wans, begorrah!"

Many Drunks now realizing that he was merely the victim of a joke, scowled in turn upon Yorke. Muttering something to MacDavid he backed up against the wall and, squatting down, proceeded philosophically to fill his pipe.

"What's that he said?" queried Yorke of the interpreter, "I couldn't catch it."

The latter grinned. "He says--of all the white men he's ever met in his time, Stamixotokon[1] and my self are the only ones he's ever known to tell th' truth."

"It's my belief the beggar'd flirt with Mrs. Lee, himself, if he only got the chance" said Redmond laconically, "d'you recollect that day he picked her parcel up for her--how nice she was to him?"

"Eyah," said Slavin darkly, "I remimber ut! That man"--he darted an accusing finger at Yorke--"wud thry tu come th' Don Jewan wid anything wid a shkirrt on--from coast to coast. _Flirrt_? Yeh're tellin' th'

trute, bhoy, yeh're tellin' th' trute! He'd a-made a good undhershtudy for ould n.o.bby Guy, down Regina."

He settled himself comfortably and lit his pipe. "Eyah, th' good ould days, th' good ould days!" he resumed reminiscently, between puffs, "Hark now till I tell ye th' tale av ould n.o.bby!"

"Is that the man they used to Josh about, down Regina?" enquired Redmond.

"Used to say 'I'm a man of few words'?"

Slavin nodded affirmatively. "That's him, Sarjint in charrge av th' town station he was--years back. This is--whin I was Corp'ril at headquarthers. A foine big roosther av a man was n.o.bby, wid a mighty pleasant way wid um--'specially wid th' ladies. Wan night--blarney me sowl! Will I iver forghet ut? n.o.bby 'phones up th' Gyard-room reporthin' th' Iroquois Hotel on fire, an' requestin' th' O.C. for a shquad av men tu help fight ut, an' kape th' crowd back. So down we wint, a bunch av us. It sure was a bad fire all right. No lives was lost, but th' whole shebang was burnt tu th' ground. Kapin' th' crowd back was our hardest job. Du fwhat we cud, we cud not make some av th'

silly fules kape back clear av th' danger-zone--wimmin an' all, bedad!

"By and by, a section av the wall tumbles an' quite a bunch av people got badly hurt--n.o.bby amongst thim. We dhragged thim out as quick as we cud an' laid them forninst th' wall av a buildin' near-by--awaithin' some stretcher-bearers. n.o.bby'd got his leg bruk, but he seemed chipper enough an' chewed th' rag wid us awhile. Next tu him was a wumman--cryin' something pitiful--she'd got her leg bruk, tu. n.o.bby rised him up on his elbow an' lukked at her.

"Now, 'tis powerful dhry wurrk, bhoys, fightin' fire, an' may be n.o.bby--well, I cannot account for ut otherwise--him havin' th' nerve' tu du' fwhat he did--onless p'raps 't'was just th' natch'ril tindher-hearthedness av th' man--thryin' for tu comfort her. Afther that wan luk tho', n.o.bby he 'comes tu th' halt,' so tu shpake, an' 'marks time' awhile considherin'--for becod, she was a harrd-lukkin ould case--long beyant mark av mouth.

"Presintly, sez he: 'I'm a man av few wurrds!--'tis of then I have kissed a _young_ wumman!'--an' he thwirls th' big buck moustache av um very slow--'fwhy shud I not kiss an ould wan? . . .'--_an' he did_. . . .

"That's how th' man's throuble shtarted. Brought ut all on umsilf.

Course at th' toime, fwhy! she slapped th' face av um an' called um all manner av harrd names--but, all th' same! she must have liked ut, for while they was convalescin' she was everlashtingly sendhin n.o.bby notes an' flowers an' such like. But for all that n.o.bby wud have no thruck wid her, for all she was a widder, well fixed--wid a house av her own an'

lashuns av money. Whin they was both out av hospital she was afther urn again, an' du fwhat he cud he cud not shake that wumman.

"Th' ind av ut was, n.o.bby reports sick, an' th' reg'minthal docthor, ould 'Knockemorf' Probyn, gives um th' wance over. He luks over some papers an' sez he: 'A change an' a rist is fwhat yu' need, Sarjint Guy. There's a dhraft leavin' next week for Hersch.e.l.l Island[2]--I think I will mark yu up fur ut.'

"'_Hersch.e.l.l Island_?' sez pore n.o.bby, an' wid that he let's out a howl.

"'Tut, tut!' sez ould Knockemorf, who was wise tu th' man's throuble.

'Tis safer off there'll yu'll be, man, than here, I'm thinkin'.'

"He was shtandin' by th' Gyard-room gate that day-week whin th' dhraft marched out on their way tu enthrain--n.o.bby amongst thim. 'Good-bye, Docthor!' he calls out, tears in th' eyes av um, ''Tis sendhin me tu me grave y'are, G.o.d forgive yez!'

"'Nonsince!' shouts Knockemorf. 'Say yeh prayers an' kape yeh bowils opin, me man, an' ye will take no harrm!'

"Some sind-off! well!--time wint on, an' wan day I gets a letther from me ould friend, Ginger Johnson, who was stationed there tu, tellin' me all th' news. n.o.bby, sez he, was doin' fine, fat as a hog, an' happy as a c.o.o.n in a melun patch. Wan day, sez he, a buck av th' name av Wampy Jones comes a runnin' inta th' Post, wid th' face av a ghost an' th' hair av um shtickin shtraight up. Said a Polar bear'd popped out forninst a hummock an' chased um--like tu th' tale av Morley, here. n.o.bby, sez Johnson, on'y grins at th' man, an' sez he: 'That's nothin'!' An' thin he shtarts in tellin' thim all 'bout this widder at Regina."

[1] Note by Author--The late Colonel Macleod, who for many years was Commissioner of the R.N.W.M. Police. He was greatly respected and trusted by all the Indian tribes.

[2] Note by Author--This island is in the Arctic Circle. The most northerly post of the R.N.W.M. Police.

CHAPTER XI

Methought I heard a voice cry, "Macbeth shall sleep no more!"

MACBETH

The sergeant's story evoked a general laugh from his hearers. He arose and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Come on, bhoys!" said he.

"Let's beat ut. Morley here's a respectable married man--we've bin demoralisin' him an' his store long enough, I'm thinkin'."

Pocketing his packet of mail he and his subordinates stepped to the door, MacDavid casually following them outside. Tethered to the hitching-post, they noticed, were the team of scare-crow cayuses belonging to Sun Dog and Many Drunks.

"Poor beggars look as if a turn-out on the range wouldn't do them any harm," remarked Redmond.

The thud of hoof-beats suddenly fell upon their ears and, turning, they beheld Gully on his gray horse loping past them, about twenty yards distant. Apparently in a hurry, he merely waved to them and rode on, heading in the direction of his ranch. And then occurred a startling, sinister incident which no man there who witnessed it ever forgot.

Suddenly, with the vicious instinct of Indian curs, three dogs which had been sprawling in the shade of the dilapidated wagon-box sprang forward simultaneously in a silent, savage dash at the horse's heels. The nervous animal gave a violent jump, nearly unseating its rider, who pitched forward onto the saddlehorn.

They heard his angry, startled oath, and saw him jerk his steed up and whirl about, then, quick as conjuring, came a darting movement of his right hand between the lapels of his coat and a pistol-barrel gleamed in the sun.

The curs, by this time, were flying back to the shelter of the wagon-box, but ere they reached it--crack! crack! crack! three shots rang out in quick succession, and three lumps of quivering canine flesh sprawled grotesquely on the prairie.

The startled spectators stared aghast. Startled--for, though all of them there were more or less trained shots, such swift, deadly gunmanship as this was utterly beyond their imaginations. Gully had made no pretence at aiming. With a snapping action of his wrist he had seemed to literally fling the shots at the retreating dogs. It was the practised whirl and flip of the finished gun-man.

No less astounding was the uncanny legerdemain displayed in drawing from and replacing the weapon in its place of concealment. The Indians, attracted from the store by the sounds of shooting, began gabbling and gesticulating affrightedly, but when MacDavid spoke to them sharply in Cree they retreated inside again.

Some distance away, glaring at the dead dogs, the justice sat in his saddle, and from beneath his huge moustache he spat a volley of most un-magisterial oaths, delivered in a snarling, nasal tone foreign to the ears of his listeners. A minute or so he remained thus, then his baleful eyes met the steady, meaning stare of the motionless quartette and his face changed to a blank, irresolute expression. He made a motion of urging his horse forward, then, checking it abruptly, he wheeled about, loping away in his original direction.

The trader was the first one to find his voice. "Well, my G.o.d!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Did you ever see th' like o' that?"

His companions remained curiously silent. "Gully!" he continued, with vibrating voice, "whoever'd a-thought that that drawlin' English dude could shoot like that? . . . Fred Storey should have been here. . . ."

Still getting no response to his remarks he glanced up wonderingly. The three policemen were staring strangely at each other, and something in their expression startled him.

"Eh! Why! What's up?" he queried sharply.

Then Slavin spoke grimly. "Let's go luk at thim dogs," was all he vouchsafed.

They stepped forward and inspected the carca.s.ses critically. "Fifty yards away, if he was a foot!" said Redmond, "and he dropped them in one!

two! three! . . ."