Bindloss Harold
The Mistress of Bonaventure

CHAPTER XX
LEADEN-FOOTED JUSTICE

I had spent a number of weary days awaiting trial, when a visitor was announced, and a young, smooth-shaven man shown into my quarters. He nodded to me pleasantly, seated himself on the edge of the table, and commenced: "Your friends sent me along. I hope to see you through this trouble, Rancher, and want you to tell me exactly how your difficulties began. Think of all the little things that didn't strike you as quite usual."

"I should like to hear in the first place who you are. I know your name is Dixon, but that does not convey very much," I said.

The stranger laughed good-humoredly. "And such is fame! Now I had fancied everybody who read the papers knew my name, and that I had won some small reputation down at Winnipeg. Anyway, I'm generally sent for in cases with a financial origin."

Then I remembered, and looked hard at the speaker. The last sentence was justified, but he differed greatly from one's idea of the typical lawyer. He was not even neatly dressed, and his manner singularly lacked the preciseness of the legal practitioner.

"I must apologize, for I certainly have read about you," I said. "It was perhaps natural that as I did not send for you I should be surprised at your taking an interest in my case. I am, however, afraid I cannot retain you, for the simple reason that I don't know where to raise sufficient money to recompense any capable man's services."

"Aren't you a little premature? My clients don't usually plead poverty until I send in my bill," was the answer. "You own a tolerably extensive holding in Crane Valley, don't you?"

"I do; but nobody, except one man with whom I would not deal, would buy a foot of it just now," I answered. Then, acceding to the other's request, I supported the statement by a brief account of my circumstances. "All this is quite beside the question," I concluded.

"No!" said Dixon. "As a matter of fact, I find it interesting. Won't you go on and bring the story down to the present?"

I did so, and the man's face had changed, growing intent and keen before I concluded.

"I should rather like to manage this affair for you," he said. "My fees! – well, from what one or two people said about you, I can, if necessary, wait for them."

"You will probably never be paid. Who was it sent for you?"

"Charles Steel, who was, however, not quite so frank about finances as you seem to be," was the answer. "It was also curious, or otherwise, that I was requested to see what could be done by two other gentlemen who offered to guarantee expenses. That is about as much as I may tell you. You are not the only person with an interest in the future of the Crane Valley district."

"I seem to be used as a stalking-horse by friends and enemies alike, and get the benefit of the charges each time they miss their aim. The part grows irksome," I said dryly. "However, if you are willing to take the risks, I need capable assistance badly enough."

Dixon seemed quite willing, and asked further questions. "You seem a little bitter against the sergeant. What kind of man is he?" he said. "I mean, has he a tolerably level head, or is he one of the discipline-made machines who can comprehend nothing not included in their code of rules?"

"I used to think him singularly shrewd, but recent events have changed my opinion, and you had better place him in the latter category," I said; and Dixon chuckled over something.

"Very natural! I must see him. From what you said already, he doesn't strike me as a fool. Well, I don't think you need worry too much, Mr. Ormesby."

Dixon had resumed his careless manner before he left me, and, for no particular reason, I felt comforted. We had several more interviews before the trial began, and I can vividly remember the morning I was summoned into court. It was packed to suffocation, and the brilliant sunshine that beat in through the long windows fell upon faces that I knew. Their owners were mostly poor men, and I surmised had covered the long distance on horseback, sleeping on the prairie, to encourage me. There was, indeed, when I took my stand a suppressed demonstration that brought a quicker throb to my pulses and a glow into my face. It was comforting to know that I had their approbation and sympathy. If the life I had caught brief glimpses of at Bonaventure was not for me, these hard-handed, tireless men were my equals and friends – and I was proud of them.

So it was in a clear, defiant voice I pleaded "Not guilty!" and presently composed myself to listen while Sergeant Mackay detailed my arrest. Bronzed faces were turned anxiously upon him when he was asked: "Did the prisoner volunteer any statement, or offer resistance?"

Mackay looked down at the men before him, and there was a significant silence in the body of the court. Then, with a faint twinkle in his eyes, he answered: "There was a bit demonstration at the station in the prisoner's favor, but he assisted us in maintaining order. The charge, he said, was ridiculous."

This I considered a liberal view to take of what had passed and my own comments, and, though I knew that Mackay was never addicted to unfairly making the most of an advantage, I remembered Dixon's opinion. If he were actuated by any ulterior motive, I had, however, no inkling of what it might be.

Nothing of much further importance passed until the man who had preferred the charge against me took his stand; when, watching him intently, I was puzzled by his attitude. He appeared irresolute, though I felt tolerably certain that his indecision was quite untinged with compunction on my account. He had also a sullen look, which suggested one driven against his will, and, twice before he spoke, made a slight swift movement, as though under the impulse of a changed resolution.

"I am the owner of the lands and remains of the homestead known as Gaspard's Trail," he said. "I bought them at public auction when sold by the gentleman who held the prisoner's mortgage. Twice that day the latter threatened both of us, and his friends raised a hostile demonstration. He told me to take care of myself and the property, for he would live to see me sorry; but I didn't count much on that. Thought he was only talking when naturally a little mad. Have had cause to change my opinions since. I turned in early on the night of the fire and slept well, I and my hired man, Wilkins, being the only people in the house. Wilkins wakened me about two in the morning. 'Get up at once! Somebody has fired the place!' he said.

"I got up – in a mighty hurry – and got out my valuables. One end of the house was 'most red-hot. There wasn't much furniture in it. The prisoner had cleared out 'most everything, whether it was in the mortgage schedule or whether it was not; but there was enough to keep me busy while Wilkins lit out to save the horses. Wind blew the sparks right on to the stable. I went out when I'd saved what I could, and as Wilkins had been gone a long time, concluded he'd made sure of the horses. Met the prisoner when I was carrying tools out of a threatened shed. Asked him to help me. 'I'll see you burned before I stir a hand,' he said. Noticed he was skulking round the corner of a shed, and seemed kind of startled at the sight of me, but was too rattled to think of much just then. Didn't ask him anything more, but seeing the fire had taken hold good, sat down and watched it. Yes, sir, I told somebody it wasn't insured.

"By-and-by the prisoner came back with a dozen ranchers. Didn't seem friendly, or even civil, most of them, and there was nothing I could do. Then I got worried about Wilkins, for he'd been gone a long time, and the stable was burning bad. One of the ranchers said he'd make sure there were no beasts inside it, and the prisoner and the rest went along. They found Wilkins with some bones broken, and got him and the horses out between them. Then, when the place was burnt out, Sergeant Mackay rode up. I was homeless; but none of the ranchers would take me in. Somebody said he wasn't sorry, and I'd got my deserts. Believe it was the prisoner; but can't be certain. That's all I know except that before I turned in I saw all the lamps out and fixed up the stove. Am certain the fire didn't start from them.

"I was hunting among the ruins with Wilkins a little while ago when I found a flattened coal-oil-tin under some fallen beams in the kitchen. I never used that oil, but heard at the railroad store that the prisoner did. Mightn't have taken the trouble to inquire, but that I found close beside it a silver match-box. It was pretty well worn, but anyone who will look at it close can read that it was given to H. Ormesby. Considering the prisoner must have dropped it there, I handed both to the police."

When Niven mentioned the match-box I started as though struck by a bullet. It was mine, undoubtedly, and most of my neighbors had seen it. That it was damning evidence in conjunction with the oil-tin, and had been deliberately placed there for my undoing, I felt certain. There was a half-audible murmur in the court while the judge examined the articles, and I read traces of bewilderment and doubt in the faces turned towards me. That these men should grow suspicious roused me to a sense of unbearable injury, and I sent my voice ringing through the court. "It is an infamous lie! I lost the match-box, or it was stolen from me with a purpose, a month after the fire."

The judge dropped his note-book, the prosecutor smiled significantly; but I saw that the men from the prairie believed me, and that was very comforting. Something resembling a subdued cheer arose from various parts of the building.

"Silence!" said the judge sternly. "An interruption is neither admissible nor seemly, prisoner. You will be called on in turn."

"We need not trouble about the prisoner's denial, which was perhaps natural, if useless, because the witness' statement will be fully borne out by the man who was present when he found the match-box," said the lawyer for the Crown. "I will now call Sergeant Mackay again."

Mackay's terse testimony was damaging, and aroused my further indignation. I had not expected that he would either conceal or enlarge upon anything that would tell against me; but had anticipated some trace of reluctance, or that he would wait longer for questions between his admissions. Instead, he stood rigidly erect, and reeled off his injurious testimony more like a speaking automaton than a human being.

"A trooper warned me that he had seen a reflected blaze in the sky," he said. "We mounted and rode over to Gaspard's Trail. Arriving there I found a number of men, including the owner, Niven, and the prisoner. Niven said the place was not insured. They were unable to do anything. I see no need to describe the fire. The house was past saving; but the ranchers, with the prisoner among them, broke into the burning stable to bring out the horses, which had been overlooked, and found the hired man, Wilkins, partly suffocated in a stall. He was badly injured, but bore out the owner's statement that lamps and stove were safe when they retired.

"I proceeded to question the spectators. Knew them all as men of good character, and as they had newly ridden in, saw no reason to suspect more than one in case the fire was not accidental. Asked Niven whom he first met, and he said it was the prisoner, shortly after the fire broke out. Stated he met him slipping through the shadow of a shed, and the prisoner refused to assist him. Was not surprised at this, knowing the prisoner bore Niven little goodwill since the latter bought his property. Had heard him threaten him and another man supposed to be connected with him in the purchase of Gaspard's Trail."

"What reason have you to infer that any other man was concerned in the purchase of Gaspard's Trail?" asked the prosecutor; and Mackay answered indifferently:

"It was just popular opinion that he was finding Niven the money."

"We need not trouble about popular opinion," said the lawyer somewhat hurriedly. "We will now proceed to the testimony of the hired man, Thomas Wilkins."

Thomas Wilkins was called for several times, but failed to present himself, and a trooper who hurried out of court came back with the tidings that he had borrowed a horse at the hotel and ridden out on the prairie an hour ago. Since then nobody had seen him.

The Crown prosecutor fidgeted, the judge frowned, and there was a whispering in the court, until the former rose up: "As Wilkins is one of my principal witnesses, I must suggest an adjournment."

It cost me an effort to repress an exclamation. I had already been kept long enough in suspense, and suspecting that Wilkins did not mean to return, knew that a lengthened adjournment would be almost equally as disastrous as a sentence.

"Have you no information whatever as to why he has absented himself?" asked the judge. Receiving a negative answer, he turned towards the trooper: "Exactly what did you hear at the hotel?"

"Very little, sir," was the answer. "He didn't tell anybody where he was going, but just rode out. The hotelkeeper said he guessed Wilkins had something on his mind by the way he kicked things about last night."

"It will be the business of the police to find him as speedily as possible. In the meantime, I can only adjourn the case until they do, unless the prisoner's representative proceeds with the examination of witnesses," said the judge.

Dixon was on his feet in a moment. "With the exception of Sergeant Mackay and the witness Niven, who will be further required by my legal friend, I do not purpose to trouble the witnesses," he said. "While I can urge no reasonable objection to the adjournment, it is necessary to point out that it will inflict a grievous injury on one whom I have every hope of showing is a wholly innocent man. It is well known that this is the one time of the year when the prairie rancher's energies are taxed to the utmost, and the loss of even a few days now may entail the loss of the harvest or the ruin of the stock. My client has also suffered considerably from being brought here to answer what I cannot help describing as an unwarranted charge, and it is only reasonable that bail should be allowed."

"Is anyone willing to offer security?" asked the judge.

There was a few moments' silence, and then a hum of subdued voices as a man rose up; while I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw it was Boone. In spite of the slight change in his appearance, he must have been aware that he was running a serious risk, for his former holding lay almost within a day's journey. I could also see that some of the spectators started as they recognized him.

"I shall be glad to offer security for the prisoner's reappearance, so far as my means will serve," he said.

"You are a citizen of this place, or have some local standing?" asked the judge.

Boone answered carelessly: "I can hardly claim so much; but a good many people know me further west, and I am prepared to submit my bank-book as a guarantee."

He had scarcely finished, when another man I had not noticed earlier stood up in turn. "I am authorized by Carson Haldane, of Bonaventure, to offer bail to any extent desired."

The judge beckoned both of them to sit down again, and called up a commissioned police officer and Sergeant Mackay. Then I felt slightly hopeful, guessing that a good deal depended on Mackay's opinion. The others drew aside, and my heart throbbed fast with the suspense until the judge announced his decision.

"As the charge is a serious one, and the police hope to find the missing witness very shortly, I must, in the meantime, refuse to allow bail."

I had grown used to the crushing disappointment which follows short-lived hope; but the shock was hard to meet. It seemed only too probable that Lane or his emissaries had spirited Wilkins away, and would not produce him until it was too late to save my crop. Still, there was no help for it, and I followed the officer who led me back to my quarters with the best air of stolidity I could assume.

"What did you think of it?" asked Dixon, who came in presently with a smile on his face; and I answered ruefully: "The less said the better. It strikes me as the beginning of the final catastrophe, and if Wilkins substantiates the finding of the match-box, conviction must follow. What is the usual term of detention for such offenses?"

"You needn't worry about that," was the cheerful answer. "Things are going just about as well as they could. There'll be a second adjournment, and then perhaps another."

"And I must lie here indefinitely while my crops and cattle go to ruin! That is hardly my idea of things going well; and if you are jesting, it is precious poor humor," I broke in.

Dixon laughed. "I am not jesting in the least. You seem to be one of those people, Ormesby, who believe everything will go to ruin unless they hold control themselves. Now, it would not surprise me, if, on your return, you found your crops and cattle flourishing. Further, the prosecution hold a poor case, and I expect, when my turn comes, to see it collapse. There isn't so much as you might fancy in the match-box incident. The men who burn down places don't generally leave such things about. I have had a talk with the sergeant, and, though he's closer than an oyster, I begin to catch a glimmering of his intentions."

"Why can't you explain them then? I'm growing tired of hints, and feel tempted to tell my mysterious well-wishers to go to the devil together, and leave me in peace," I said.

"A little ill-humor is perhaps excusable," was the tranquil answer. "It is wisest not to prophesy until one is sure, you know. Now, I'm open, as I said, to do my best for you; but in that case you have just got to let me set about it independently. Usual or otherwise, it is my way."

"Then I suppose I'll have to let you. Your reputation should be a guarantee," I answered moodily, and Dixon lifted his hat from the table.

"Thanks!" he said dryly. "It is, in fact, the only sensible thing you can do."

CHAPTER XXI
AGAINST TIME

Dixon's prediction proved correct. When I was brought into court a second time there was still no news of Wilkins, and after further testimony of no importance the case was again adjourned. This time, however, bail was allowed, and Boone and Rancher Gordon stood surety for me. The latter was by no means rich, and had, like the rest of us, suffered severe losses of late. Dixon was the first to greet me when I went forth, somewhat moodily, a free man for the time being.

"You don't look either so cheerful or grateful as you ought to be," he said.

"You are wrong in one respect. I am at least sincerely grateful for your efforts."

Dixon, in defiance of traditions, smote me on the shoulder. "Then what's the matter with the cheerfulness?"

"It is not exactly pleasant to have a charge of this description hanging over one indefinitely, and I have already lost time that can never be made up," I said. "Lane will no doubt produce his witness when he considers it opportune, and there is small encouragement to work in the prospect of spending a lengthy time in jail while one's possessions go to ruin."

"You think Lane had a hand in his disappearance?" Dixon asked thoughtfully; and when I nodded, commented: "I can't quite say I do. My reasons are not conclusive, and human nature's curious, anyway; but I'm not sure that Wilkins will, if he can help it, turn up at all. However, in the meantime, the dinner we're both invited to will put heart into you."

He slipped his arm through mine, and led me into the leading hotel, where, as it was drawing near the time for the six o'clock supper, every man turned to stare at us as we passed through the crowded bar and vestibule. I was making for the general dining-room when Dixon said: "Go straight ahead. It was not easy to manage, but our hosts were determined to do the thing in style."

He flung a door open, and Boone and Gordon greeted me in turn, while I had never seen a menu in a Western hostelry to compare with that of the following meal. Perhaps Gordon noticed my surprise, for he said: "It was Adams who fixed up all this, and came near having a scrimmage with the hotelkeeper about the wine. 'This comes from California, and I prefer it grown in France. Those labels aren't much use to any man with a sense of taste,' says he. This brand, wherever they grew it, is quite good enough for me, but I'm wondering where Adams learned the difference."

Boone smiled at me. "I have," he said, "a good memory, and learned a number of useful things during a somewhat varied experience."

The meal was over and the blue cigar smoke curled about us, when I turned to Gordon: "There are two things I should like to ask you. First, and because I know what losses you have had to face, how you raised the money to liberate me in the generous way you did; and, second, how many acres are left unsown at Crane Valley?"

The gaunt rancher fidgeted before he answered: "You have said 'Thank you' once, and I guess that's enough. You're so blame thin in the hide, and touchy, Ormesby; and it wasn't I who did it – at least not much of it."

Dixon appeared to be amused, and when Gordon glanced appealingly at Boone the latter only smiled and shook his head; seeing which, I said quietly: "In short, you sent round the hat?"

There was no doubt that the chance shot had told, for Gordon rose, very red in face, to his feet. "That's just what I didn't. Don't you know us yet? Send round the hat when the boys knew you were innocent and just how I was fixed! No, sir. They came right in, each bringing his roll of bills with him, and if I'd wanted twice as much they'd have raised it. And now I've given them away – just what they made me promise not to."

I had anticipated the answer, but it stirred me, nevertheless, and while Gordon stared at me half angry, half ashamed of his own vehemence, I filled a wine-glass to the brim. "Here's to the finest men and stanchest comrades on God's green earth," I said, looking steadily at him.

It was Dixon who brought us down to our normal level, for, setting his glass down empty, he commented: "You're not overmodest, Ormesby, considering that you are one of them. Still, I think you're right. People in the East are expecting a good deal from you and the good country that has been given you."

Gordon joined in the lawyer's laugh, but I broke in: "You have not answered my second question."

"Well!" and the rancher smiled mischievously. "You're so mighty particular that I don't know what to say. Still, things looked pretty tolerable last time I was down to Crane Valley."

Dixon accompanied us to the station when it was time to catch the train, and as he stood on the car platform said to me: "It's probably no use to tell you not to worry, but I'd sit tight in my saddle and think as little as possible about this trouble if I were you."

He dropped lightly from the platform, cigar in hand, as the train pulled out, and, though most unlike the traditional lawyer in speech or agility, left me with a reassuring confidence in his skill.

It was early morning when I rode alone towards Crane Valley, feeling, in spite of Dixon's good advice, distinctly anxious. It is true that Thorn and Steel were both energetic, but no man can drive two teams at once, and it was my impression that, having more at stake, I could do considerably more in person than either of them. I had small comfort in the reflection that, after all, the question how much had been accomplished was immaterial, because there was little use in sowing where, while I lay in jail, an enemy might reap, and I urged my horse when I drew near the hollow in which the homestead lay, and then pulled him up with a jerk. Gordon had said things had been going tolerably well, but this proved a very inadequate description. The plowed land had all been harrowed and sown, and beyond it lay the shattered clods of fresh breaking, where I guessed oats had been sown under the sod newly torn from the virgin prairie. Ten men of greater endurance could not have accomplished so much, and I sat still, humbled and very grateful, with eyes that grew momentarily dim, fixed on the wide stretch of black soil steaming under the morning sun. It seemed as though a beneficent genie had been working for my deliverance while I lay, almost despairing, in the grip of the law.

Then Steel, springing out from the door of the sod-house, came up at a run, with Thorn behind him. It was strangely pleasant to see the elation in their honest faces, and Steel's shout of delight sent a thrill through me.

"This is the best sight I've seen since you left us," he panted, wringing my hand. "Thorn's that full up with satisfaction he can't even run. We knew Dixon and Adams would see you through between them."

"Has Dixon been down here?" I asked, for the lawyer had not told me so; and Thorn, who came up, gasped: "Oh, yes; and a Winnipeg man he sent down went round with Adams 'most everywhere. Say, did you strike Niven for compensation?"

"No," I answered, a trifle ruefully. "I am only free on bail, and not acquitted yet."

Steel's jaw dropped, and his dismay would have been ludicrous had it not betrayed his whole-hearted friendship, while Thorn's burst of sulphurous language was an even more convincing testimony. Again I felt a curious humility, and something enlarged in my throat as I looked down at them.

"If I can't stand Lane off with you two and the rest behind me I shall deserve all I get, and we must hope for the best," I said. "But if you could handle three teams each you could not have done all this."

Thorn, who was not usually vociferous in expressing his sentiments, appeared glad of this diversion, and, after a glance at the plowed land, strove to smile humorously. "Think you could have done it any better yourself?"

"It's a fair hit," I answered. "You know exactly how much I can do. Let me down easily. How did you manage it?"

"We didn't manage anything," said Thorn. "No, sir. The boys, they did it all. Everybody came or sent a hired man, and blame quaint plowing some of them cow-chasers done. Put up a dollar sweepstake and ran races with the harrows, they did, and Steel talked himself purple before he stopped them. They've busted the gang-plow, and one said he ought to have been a dentist by the way he pulled out the cultivator teeth."

"And where did you come in?" I asked, and duly noted the effort it cost Steel to follow his comrade's lead.

"We just lay back and turned the good advice on," he said. "Tom, he led the prayer meeting when, after supper, they turned loose on Lane. Oh, yes, we rode in and out for provisions. Sally, she would have the best in the settlement, and sat up all night cooking. Don't know how you'll feel when you see the grocery bill."

"I can tell you now," I said. "I feel that there's nothing in the whole Dominion too good for them – or you – and I'd be glad, if necessary, to sell my shirt to pay the bill."

We went on to the house together, and Sally, hiding her disappointment, plunged with very kindly intentions into a spirited description of her visitors' feats. "That's a testimonial," she said, pointing through the window to an appalling pile of empty tins. "I just had to get them when some of the boys brought their own provisions in. I set one of them peeling potatoes all night to convince him."

"Peeling potatoes?" I interpolated; and Steel, smiling wickedly, furnished the explanation.

"Sally was busy in the shed when he came along, and wanted to help her considerable. 'Feel like peeling half a sackful?' says Sally; and when the fool stockman allowed he'd like it better than anything, says she, 'Then, as I'm tired, you can.' She just left him with it, while she talked to the other man; but there was grit in him, and he peeled away until morning. Wanted to marry her, too, he did."

Sally's glance foreboded future tribulation for the speaker, and Thorn frowned; but Steel, disregarding it, concluded gravely: "Dessay he might have done it, but he heard Sally turn loose on me one day, and took warning."

In spite of the shadow hanging over me, it was good to be at home, and perhaps the very uncertainty as to its duration made the somewhat sordid struggle of our life at Crane Valley almost attractive. Lane, it seemed only too probable, would crush us in the end, but there was satisfaction in the thought that every hour's work well done would help us to prolong our resistance. So the days of effort slipped by until I received a notice to present myself at court on a specified date, and, there being much to do, I delayed my departure until the last day. Steel insisted on accompanying me to the railroad, but protested against the time of starting. "One might fancy you were fond of jail by the hurry you're in to get back to it," he said. "We could catch the cars if we left hours later."

"It's as well to be on the right side," I said; for I had been in a state of nervous impatience all day. Wilkins had been found, and now that a decision appeared certain, I grew feverishly anxious to learn the best – or the worst.

It was a day in early summer when we set out and pushed on at a good pace, though already the sun shone hot. Steel, indeed, suggested there was no need for haste, but after checking my beast a little, I shot ahead again. "It might be your wedding you were going to!" he said.

We had covered part of the distance left to traverse on the second day when a freighter's lumbering ox-team crawled out of a ravine, and Steel pulled up beside him. "I don't know if you're mailing anything East, but you're late if you are," said the teamster.

"Then there's something wrong with the sun," said Steel. "If he's keeping his time bill we're most two hours too soon."

"You would have been last week," answered the other; while a sudden chill struck through me as I remembered the promised acceleration of the transcontinental express. "They've improved the track in the Selkirks sooner than they expected, and they're rushing the Atlantic hummer through on the new schedule this month instead of next."