Winston of the Prairie Part 33

The stranger laughed dryly. "I guess you needn't worry. I don't fight because I'm fond of it, and you're not the man."

"Not the man?" said Winston.

"No, sir," said the other. "Not like him, now I can see you better.

Well, I'm kind of sorry I started a circus here."

A suspicion of the truth flashed upon Winston. "What sort of a man was the one you mistook for me?"

"Usual British waster. Never done a day's work in his life, and never wanted to, too tired to open his eyes more than half-way when he looked at you, but if he ever fools round the saloon again, he'll know what he is before I'm through with him."

Winston laughed. "I wouldn't be rash or you may get another astonishment," he said. "We really know one or two useful things in the old country, but you can't fetch the settlement before morning, and we'll put you up if you like."

"No, sir," said the other dryly. "I'm not fond of Englishmen, and we might get arguing, while I've had 'bout enough of you for one night."

He rode away, and Winston went back into the house very thoughtfully, wondering whether he would be called upon to answer for more of Courthorne's doings.

It was two or three days later when Maud Barrington returned with her aunt from a visit to an outlying farm, where, because an account of what took place in the saloon had by some means been spread about, she heard a story brought in from the settlement. It kept her silent during the return journey, and Miss Barrington said nothing, but when the Colonel met them in the hall, he glanced at his niece.

"I see Mrs. Carndall has been telling you both a tale," he said. "It would have been more fitting if she had kept it to herself."

"Yes," said Maud Barrington. "Still, you do not credit it?"

Barrington smiled a trifle dryly. "I should very much prefer not to, my dear, but what we saw the other night appears to give it probability. The man Courthorne was dismissing somewhat summarily is, I believe, to marry the lady in question. You will remember I asked you once before whether the leopard can change his spots."

The girl laughed a little. "Still, are you not presuming when you take it for granted that there are spots to change?"

Colonel Barrington said nothing further, and it was late that night when the two women reopened the subject.

"Aunt," said Maud Barrington, "I want to know what you think about Mrs.

Carndall's tale."

The little lady shook her head. "I should like to disbelieve it if I could."

"Then," said Maud Barrington, "why don't you?"

"Can you give me any reasons? One must not expect too much from human nature, my dear."

The girl sat silent a while, remembering the man who she had at first sight, and in the moonlight, fancied was like her companion at the time. It was not, however, the faint resemblance that had impressed her, but a vague something in his manner, his grace, his half-veiled insolence, his poise in the saddle. She had only seen Lance Courthorne on a few occasions when she was very young, but she had seen others of his race, and the man reminded her of them. Still, she felt half-instinctively that as yet it would be better that n.o.body should know this, and she stooped over some lace on the table as she answered the elder lady.

"I only know one, and it is convincing. That Lance should have done what he is credited with doing, is quite impossible."

Miss Barrington smiled. "I almost believe so, too, but others of his family have done such things somewhat frequently. Do you know that Lance has all along been a problem to me, for there is a good deal in my brother's question. Although it seems out of the question, I have wondered whether there could be two Lance Courthornes in Western Canada."

The girl looked at her aunt in silence for a s.p.a.ce, but each hid a portion of her thoughts. Then Maud Barrington laughed.

"The Lance Courthorne now at Silverdale is as free from reproach as any man may be," she said. "I can't tell you why I am sure of it--but I know I am not mistaken."

CHAPTER XXI

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

It was a hot morning when Sergeant Stimson and Corporal Payne rode towards the railroad across the prairie. The gra.s.sy levels rolled away before them, white and parched, into the blue distance, where willow grove and straggling bluff floated on the dazzling horizon, and the fibrous dust rose in little puffs beneath the horses' feet, until Stimson pulled his beast up in the shadow of the birches by the bridge, and looked back towards Silverdale. There, wooden homesteads girt about with barns and granaries rose from the whitened waste, and behind some of them stretched great belts of wheat. Then the Sergeant, understanding the faith of the men who had sown that splendid grain, nodded, for he was old and wise, and had seen many adverse seasons, and the slackness that comes, when hope has gone, to beaten men.

"They will reap this year--a handful of cents on every bushel," he said. "A fine gentleman is Colonel Barrington, but some of them will be thankful there's a better head than the one he has, at Silverdale."

"Yes, sir," said Corporal Payne, who wore the double chevrons for the first time, and surmised that his companion's observations were not without their purpose.

Stimson glanced at the bridge. "Good work," he said. "It will save them dollars on every load they haul in. A gambler built it! Do they teach men to use the ax in Montana saloons?"

The corporal smiled, and waited for what he felt would come. He was no longer the hot-blooded lad who had come out from the old country, for he had felt the bonds of discipline, and been taught restraint and silence on the lonely marches of the prairie.

"I have," he said tentatively, "fancied there was something a little unusual about the thing."

Stimson nodded, but his next observation was apparently quite unconnected with the topic. "You were a raw colt when I got you, Payne, and the bit galled you now and then, but you had good hands on a bridle, and somebody who knew his business had taught you to sit a horse in the old country. Still, you were not as handy with brush and fork at stable duty,"

The bronze seemed to deepen in the corporal's face, but it was turned steadily towards his officer. "Sir," he said, "has that anything to do with what you were speaking of?"

Stimson laughed softly. "That depends, my lad. Now, I've taught you to ride straight, and to hold your tongue. I've asked you no questions, but I've eyes in my head, and it's not without a purpose you've been made corporal. You're the kind they give commissions to, now and then--and your folks in the old country never raised you for a police trooper."

"Can you tell me how to win one?" ask the corporal, and Stimson noticed the little gleam in his eyes.

"There's one road to advancement, and you know where to find the trooper's duty laid down plain," he said, with a dry smile. "Now, you saw Lance Courthorne once or twice back there in Alberta?"

"Yes, sir, but never close to."

"And you knew farmer Winston?"

Payne appeared thoughtful. "Of course I met him a few times on the prairie, always on horseback with his big hat on, but Winston is dead--that is, I heard him break through the ice."

The men's eyes met for a moment, and Stimson smiled curiously. "There is," he said, "still a warrant out for him. Now, you know where I am going, and, while I am away, you will watch Courthorne and his homestead. If anything curious happens there, you will let me know.

The new man has instructions to find you any duty that will suit you."

The corporal looked at his officer steadily, and again there was comprehension in his eyes. Then he nodded. "Yes, sir. I have wondered whether, if Shannon could have spoken another word that night, it would have been Winston the warrant was issued for."

Stimson raised a restraining hand. "My lad," he said dryly, "the police trooper who gets advancement is the one that carries out his orders and never questions them, until he can show that they are wrong.

Then he uses a good deal of discretion. Now you know your duty?"

"Yes, sir," said Payne, and Stimson, shaking his bridle, cantered off across the prairie.

Then, seeing no need to waste time, the corporal rode towards Courthorne's homestead, and found its owner stripping a binder. Pieces of the machine lay all around him, and from the fashion in which he handled them it was evident that he was capable of doing what the other men at Silverdale left to the mechanic at the settlement. Payne wondered, as he watched him, who had taught the gambler to use spanner and file.

"I will not trouble you if you are busy, Mr. Courthorne, but if you would give me the returns the Bureau ask for, it would save me riding round again," he said.

"I'm afraid I can't," said Winston. "You see, I haven't had the papers."

"Trooper Bacon told me he had given them to you."