Bindloss Harold
The Mistress of Bonaventure

CHAPTER XXIII
LIBERTY

Sleep had brought me a brief forgetfulness, but the awakening was not pleasant when I painfully straightened my limbs on the jolting platform, while the twin whistles shrieked ahead. Every joint ached from the previous day's exertions, my borrowed garments were clammy with dew, and I shivered in the cold draught that swept past the slowing cars. The sun had not cleared the grayness which veiled the east, and, frowned down upon by huge elevators which rose higher and higher against a lowering sky, the straggling town loomed up depressingly out of the surrounding desolation. The pace grew slower, a thicket of willows choked with empty cans and garbage slid by, then the rails of the stockyards closed in on each hand, and we jolted over the switches into the station, which was built, as usual, not in, but facing, the prairie town.

There was no sign of life in its ill-paved streets, down which the dust wisps danced; bare squares of wooden buildings, devoid of all ornamentation, save for glaring advertisements which emphasized their ugliness, walled them in, and the whole place seemed stamped with the dreariness which characterizes most prairie towns when seen early on a gloomy morning by anybody not in the best of spirits. My fellow-passengers were apparently asleep, but I was the better pleased, having no desire for speech, and I dropped from the platform as soon as the locomotive stopped. Hurrying out of the station, I did not turn around until a row of empty farm wagons hid the track, which action was not without results.

One hotel door stood open, but knowing that its tariff was not in accordance with my finances, I passed it by and patrolled the empty streets until the others, or a dry goods store, should make ready for business. One of the latter did so first, and when I entered a mirror showed that the decision was not unnecessary. The borrowed jacket was far too small, the vest as much too large, while somebody's collar cut chokingly into my sunburnt neck. Still, the prices the sleepy clerk mentioned were prohibitive, and after wasting a little time in somewhat pointed argument – of which he had the better – I strode out of the store, struggling with an inclination to assault him. Western storekeepers are seldom characterized by superfluous civility, and there are disadvantages attached to a life in a country so free that, according to one of its sayings, any man who cannot purchase boots may always walk barefooted.

"I don't know what the outfit you've got on cost you, and shouldn't wonder, by the way it fits, if you got it cheap," he said. "We don't turn out our customers like scarecrows, anyway, and if you'd had the money we would have tried to make a decent show of you."

I was nevertheless able, after almost emptying my purse, to replace at least the vest and jacket at a rival establishment, whose proprietor promised to forward the borrowed articles to their legitimate owners. I afterwards discovered that they never received them.

"You look smart as a city drummer, the top half of you, but it makes the rest look kind of mean. You want to live up to that coat," he said, after a critical survey.

"I can't do it at the price, unless you will take your chances of getting paid when the stock go East," I said; and the dealer shook his head sorrowfully.

"We don't trade that way with strangers, and I don't know you."

I was in a reckless mood, and some puerile impulse prompted me to astonish him. "My name is Henry Ormesby!"

The man positively gasped, and then, with Western keenness, prepared to profit by the opportunity. "I'll fit you out all for nothing if you'll walk round to the photographer's and give me your picture with a notice to stick in the window that you think my things the best in town," he said. "It would be worth money every time the prairie boys come in, and I don't mind throwing a little of it into the bargain."

This was exasperating, but I could not restrain a mirthless laugh; and, leaving the enterprising dealer astonished that any man should refuse such an offer, I hurried out of the store; but by the time the breakfast hour arrived all trace of even sardonic humor had left me. It was with difficulty I had raised sufficient ready money for the journey, and there now remained but two or three silver coins in my pocket, while, remembering that the dealer had been justified in pointing out the desirability of a complete renovation, I reflected gloomily that it would be useless, because, in all probability, the nation would shortly feed and clothe me. I also remembered how I had seen men with heavy chains on their ankles road-making before the public gaze in a British Columbian town.

Meanwhile I was very hungry, and presently sat down to a simple breakfast in a crowded room. While waiting a few minutes my eyes fell on a commercial article in a newspaper, which, while noting a revival of trade, deplored the probable abandonment of much needed railroad extension. The writer appeared well posted, and mentioned the road we hoped so much from as one of the works which would not be undertaken. I laid down the journal with a sigh, and noticed that the men about me were discussing the coming trial.

"I expect they'll send Ormesby up," said one man, between his rapid gulps. "Don't know whether he done it, but he threatened the other fellow, and said he'd see him roasted before he helped; while that match-box would fix most anybody up."

"Well, I don't know," observed a neighbor. "The match-box looks bad; but I guess if I'd been burning a place up I shouldn't have forgotten it. Still, it might be fatal unless he could disown it. As to the other thing, I don't count much on what he said. A real fire-bug would have kept his mouth shut and helped all he was worth instead of saying anything."

"I'm offering five to one he goes up. Any takers?" said the first speaker; and it was significant that, although most Westerners are keen at a bet, nobody offered.

"I'd do it for less, 'cept for the match-box," said one.

I managed to finish my breakfast, feeling thankful that – because (so their appearance suggested) those who sat at meat had driven in from the prairie to enjoy the spectacle – none of them recognized me. The odds, in their opinion, were more than five to one against me, and I agreed with them. Slipping out I found Dixon, and reported my presence to the police; and, after what seemed an endless waiting at the court, it was early afternoon when Dixon said to me: "They'll be ready in five minutes, and I want you to keep a tight rein on your temper, Ormesby. I can do all the fancy talking that is necessary. You can keep your heart up, too. There are going to be surprises for everyone to-day."

I was called in a few minutes, and if the court had been thronged on previous occasions, it was packed to suffocation now. It was a bare, ugly, wood-built room, even dirtier than it was dingy. Neither is there anything impressive, save, perhaps, to the culprit, about the administration of Western justice, and I was thankful for a lethargy which helped me to bear the suspense with outward indifference. Nothing striking marked the first part of the proceedings, and I sat listening to the drawl of voices like one in a dream. Some of the spectators yawned, and some fidgeted, until there was a sudden stir of interest as the name "Thomas Wilkins" rang through the court.

"I guess that's the prosecution's trump ace," said a man beneath me.

I became suddenly intent as this witness took his stand. He was of the usual type of Canadian-born farm hand, bronzed and wiry, but not heavily built, and hazarded what I fancied was a meaning glance at me. I could not understand it, for he seemed at once ashamed and exultant.

"I was hired by Rancher Niven to help him at Gaspard's Trail, and remember the night of the fire well. Guess anybody who'd been trod on by a horse and left with broken bones to roast would," he said; and proceeded to confirm Niven's testimony. This was nothing new, and the interest slackened, but revived again when the witness approached the essential part of his story, and I could hear my own heart thumping more plainly than the slow drawling voice.

"I was round at the wreck of the homestead some time after the fire. Don't know the date, but Niven made a note of it. Kind of precise man he was. The place wasn't all burnt to the ground, and Niven he crawls in under some fallen logs into what had been the kitchen. The door opened right on to the prairie, and anybody could slip in if they wanted to. Niven grabbed at something on the floor. 'Come along and take a look at this,' says he; and I saw it was a silver match-box he held up. There was 'H. Ormesby' not quite worn off it. Niven he prospects some more, and finds a flattened coal-oil tin. Yes, sir, those you are holding up are the very things. 'We don't use that brand of oil, and buy ours in bigger cans,' says he."

I could see by the spectators' faces it was damaging testimony, and Dixon's serene appearance was incomprehensible, while, for the benefit of those ignorant of Western customs, it may be explained that kerosene is sold in large square tins for the settler's convenience in several parts of the Dominion.

"I went over to the store with Niven next day," continued the witness. "The man who kept it allowed that Rancher Ormesby was about the only man he sold that brand to in small cans."

There were signs of subdued sensation, and Wilkins continued: "We gave them both to Sergeant Mackay, and by-and-by I was summoned to come here and testify. I came right along; then it struck me it was mean to help in sending up the man who'd saved my life. So I just lit out and hid myself until the police trailed me."

It was news to hear that Lane had no hand in the witness's disappearance; and again he flashed an apparently wholly unwarranted, reassuring glance in my direction. Then, while I wondered hopelessly whether Dixon could shake his testimony, the latter stood up.

"I purpose to ask Thomas Wilkins a few questions later, and will not trouble him about the match-box, being perfectly satisfied as to the accuracy of the facts he states," he said.

I could see the spectators stare at him in surprise, and, wondering if he had lost his senses, settled myself to listen as the storekeeper deposed to selling me oil of the description mentioned, adding reluctantly that very few others took the same size of can. This, and a lengthy speech, closed the prosecutor's case, and it seemed, when he had finished, that nothing short of a miracle could save me. The audience was also evidently of the same opinion.

Dixon commenced feebly by submitting evidence as to my uprightness of character, which his opponent allowed to pass unchallenged with a somewhat contemptuous indifference. Then he said: "It will be remembered that in his evidence Sergeant Mackay deposed that the witness Niven told him the burning homestead was not insured, and I will call the Western agent of a famous fire office."

The evidence of the gentleman in question was brief and to the point. "I have heard the statement that Gaspard's Trail was not insured, and can't understand it. The witness Niven took out a policy three months before the fire, and sent in his claim straight off to me. The company declined to meet it until this case was settled. Am I quite certain, or can I offer any explanation? Well, here's our premium receipt foil and record of the policy. Can't suggest any explanation, except that somebody is lying."

This was received with some sensation, and Dixon smiled at me as if there were more in store. "You will observe that the witness Niven cannot be considered a very truthful person. I will recall Thomas Wilkins," he said.

Wilkins had lost his shamefacedness when he reappeared. "I said the prisoner saved my life, and meant just that," he said, answering a question. "It was he who took me out of the fire, and I had sense enough to see he was leading the boys who saved all Niven's horses. It's my opinion – you don't want opinions? Well, I'll try to pitch in the solid facts."

"Your master went East for a few days before the fire and brought a case of groceries home with him," said Dixon. "Will you tell us if you opened that case?"

"I did," was the answer. "He sent me into the station for it with the check. Said our storekeeper was a robber, and he'd saved money by buying down East. It was a blame heavy case, so I started to open it in the wagon, and had just pulled the top off when Niven came along."

"Did you see anything except groceries in it?" asked Dixon; and there was a stirring in the court when Wilkins answered: "I did. I had lit on to the top of three coal-oil tins when the boss came in."

"Did he look pleased at your diligence?"

"No, sir. He looked real mad. 'If you'll do what you're asked to without mixing up my private things it will be good enough for me. Get your horses fixed right now,' he said."

"You are sure about the oil tins? Were they large or small – and did you ever see them or the groceries again?"

"Dead sure," was the answer. "I stowed the groceries in the kitchen, but never saw the oil. It was a smaller size than we used, any way. Didn't think much about it until I read a paper about this trial not long ago. Begin to think a good deal now."

I drew in a deep breath, and the movements of expectant listeners grew more audible when, reminded that his impressions were not asked for, Wilkins stepped down. Hope was beginning to dawn, for I could see that Dixon was on the trail of a conspiracy. Everybody seemed eager, the prosecutor as much so as the rest, and there was a deep silence when Dixon folded up the paper on which he had been making notes.

"My next witness is Miss Lucille Haldane, of Bonaventure," he said.

There was a low murmur, every head was turned in the same direction, and I grew hot with shame and indignation when Haldane's younger daughter walked into the witness stand. It seemed to me a desecration that she should be dragged forward into an atmosphere of crime as part of the spectacle before a sea of curious faces, and I had never felt the enforced restraint so horribly oppressive as when I read admiration in some of them. Had it been possible to wither up Dixon with a glance it is hardly likely that he would ever have handled a case again. The girl looked very young and pretty as, with a patch of almost hectic color in each cheek, and a brightness in her eyes, she took her place. She wore no veil, and held herself proudly as, without sign of weakness, she looked down at the assembly. While she did so there was, without articulate sound, something that suggested wonder and approval in the universal movement, and I heard a man beneath me say: "She's a daisy. Now we're coming right into the business end of the play."

"You know the prisoner, Ormesby?" asked Dixon; and though her voice was low, its clear distinctness seemed to permeate the building as she answered: "I do. He is a friend of my father's, and visited us at Bonaventure occasionally."

"Did you ever see a silver match-box in his possession, and, if so, could you describe it?"

"I did, on several occasions. He wore it hooked on to his watch-chain, and once handed it to me to light a lamp with. It had an oak-leaf engraving with a partly obliterated inscription – 'From – to H. Ormesby.'"

"I think that is an accurate description," said Dixon; and when the judge, who held up a little silver object and passed it on to the jury, signified assent, I glanced in savage bewilderment at the speaker. It had appeared shameful cruelty to hale that delicate girl into a crowded court; now it also appeared sheer madness. She never once glanced in my direction, but stood with head erect, one hand resting on the rails, where the pitiless sunlight beat full upon her, with eyes fixed only on the judge; but in spite of her courage I could see that her lips trembled, while the little gloved fingers tightened spasmodically on the rails. Then I hung my head for very shame that I had been the unwitting cause of such an ordeal, feeling that I would prefer to suffer ten convictions rather than that she should become a subject for discussion in every saloon, and the free commentary of the Western press, even if she could have saved me.

"When did you last see the match-box?" asked Dixon.

"On the morning of the Wednesday in the third week after the fire. I am sure of the day, because the visit of some friends from Montreal impressed it on my memory. Henry Ormesby had stayed all night at Bonaventure and left early in the morning. A maid brought me the match-box, which she had found on the bureau, with one or two articles of clothing; and as he did not return I told her to slip the match-box inside the packet and forward them. I forgot the incident until the trial recalled it."

As Lucille ceased it flashed upon me that I had wondered how the match-box had made its way into a pocket in which I never carried it. Then I was borne down by a great wave of gratitude to the girl who, it seemed, had saved me. She was rigorously cross-examined, and, while I do not know whether the prosecutor exceeded due limits in his efforts to shake her evidence, I grew murderously inclined towards him as I noticed how his victim's color came and went, and the effort it cost her not to shrink under the questions. But her courage rose with the emergency, and when the indignation crept into her eyes there was several times subdued applause as her answer to some innuendo carried a rebuke with it.

At last the approbation was no more subdued, but swelled into a hoarse murmur which filled all the court when she drew herself up at the question: "And it was because you were a firm friend of the prisoner's you recollected all this so opportunely, and, in spite of the diffidence any lady in your position would feel, volunteered to give evidence?"

The damask patch had spread to Lucille Haldane's forehead, but instead of being downcast her eyes were filled with light. "No," she said; and the vibration in her voice had a steely ring. "It was because I am a Canadian, and accordingly desired to see justice done to an innocent man. Can you consider such a desire either uncommon or surprising?"

A full minute had elapsed before the case proceeded, during which an excitable juryman rose and seemed on the point of haranguing the assembly until a comrade dragged him down. Then laughter broke through the murmurs as he gesticulated wildly amid shouts of "Order."

A Scandinavian domestic quaintly corroborated her mistress's statement, and there was no doubt that the scale was turned; but Dixon did not leave his work half-completed, and the next witness confirmed this evidence.

"I keep the Railroad Hotel. It's not a saloon, but a hotel, with a big H," he said. "Know Harry Ormesby well. Saw him about three weeks after the fire lighting a cigar I gave him from a silver match-box. Oh, yes, I'm quite sure about the box; had several times seen the thing before. Was pretty busy when the boys started smoking round the stove after supper, and forgot to pick up something bright beneath Ormesby's chair. Was going to tell him he'd dropped his box, when somebody called me. The boys cleared out when the cars came in, and I saw Niven among them. Knew him as a customer – don't want to as a friend. Got too much of the coyote about him. My Chinaman was turning out the lights when I saw somebody slip back quietly. He grabbed at something by the chair, and went out by the other door. There was only a light in the passage left, and I didn't quite recognize him. Could swear it wasn't Ormesby, and think he was more like Niven. Asked Niven about it afterwards, and he said it wasn't he; didn't see Ormesby, but wired his lawyer when I'd read the papers. Don't believe Ormesby had enough malice in him to burn up a hen-house."

There were further signs of sensation, and Sergeant Mackay was called again. He had ridden over to Gaspard's Trail the day following the fire, and decided to clear out the refuse dump, he said. Then the whole audience grinned, when, being asked why he did so, he glanced at the jury as if for sympathy, answering: "I was thinking I might find something inside it. A man must do his duty, but it was a sairly distressful operation." He found two unopened coal-oil tins resembling the flattened one, and was certain by the appearance of the dump they had been placed there some time before the fire.

There was no further evidence. Dixon said very little, but that little told. The jury had scarcely retired before one of them reappeared, and, with a rush of blood to my forehead and a singing in my ears, I caught the words – "Not guilty!"

Then, when the judge, and even the prosecuting counsel, said he fully concurred, the murmurs swelled until they filled the court again; and presently I was standing outside, a free man, in the center of an excited crowd, for Western citizens are desperately fond of any sensation. How many cigars and offers of liquid refreshment were thrust upon me I do not remember, but they were overwhelmingly numerous, and I was grateful when Dixon came to the rescue.

"Mr. Ormesby is much obliged to you, gentlemen, but it's quiet he wants just now," he said; while we had hardly reached the leading hotel where Dixon led me than there was a clamor in the direction of the court, and I looked at him inquiringly.

"I expect they've issued a warrant for Niven on a charge of conspiracy or arson, and the boys have heard of it," he said. "However, I have had sufficient professional occupation for to-day, and we're going to get supper and afterwards enjoy ourselves as we can."

I had, nevertheless, determined to thank my benefactress first, and, ignoring Dixon's advice, sent up my name. I was informed that Miss Haldane would receive nobody, and the lawyer smiled dryly when I returned crestfallen. "I don't think you need feel either hurt or surprised," he said.

The inhabitants of the prairie towns differ from the taciturn plainsmen in being vociferously enthusiastic and mercurial, and to my disgust the citizens came in groups to interview me, while one, who shoved his way into our quarters by main force, said the rest would take it kindly if I made a speech to them.

"You can tell them I feel honored, but nobody can charge me with ever having done such a thing in my life," I said; and the representatives of the populace retired, to find another outlet for their energies, as we presently discovered.

"I owe my escape solely to a lady's courage and your skill, Dixon; but why didn't you try to implicate Lane?" I said; and the lawyer laughed.

"Any reasonable man ought to be satisfied with the verdict and demonstration. It would have been difficult, if not useless, while I fancy that if Lane is allowed a little more rope his time will shortly come," he said. "Hallo! Here are more enthusiastic citizens desirous of interviewing you."

"Keep them out for heaven's sake," I said; but before Dixon could secure the door Sergeant Mackay strode in.

"I have come to congratulate ye. It will be a lesson til ye, Ormesby," he announced.

I did not see the hand he held out. "I'm in no mood for sermons, and can't appreciate your recent actions as they perhaps deserve," I said; and the sergeant's eyes twinkled mischievously.

"It should not be that difficult; and ye have the consolation that we served the State," he said. "It was in the interests of justice we – well – we made use of ye to stalk the other man."

"There's no use pretending I'm grateful," I commenced; but Dixon broke into a boisterous laugh, and the sergeant's face grew so humorous that my own relaxed and we made friends again. The reunion had not long been consummated when a rattle of wheels, followed by the tramp of many feet and the wheezy strains of a cornet, rose from below, and, striding to the window, I said with dismay: "Lock the door. They're coming with a band and torches now."

"I'm thinking ye need not," said Mackay dryly. "It's a farewell to Miss Haldane they're giving."

We gathered at the opened window, looking down at a striking spectacle. A vehicle stood waiting, and behind it, lighted by the glow of kerosene torches, a mass of faces filled the street. The heads were uncovered almost simultaneously, and Lucille Haldane appeared upon the hotel steps, with her attendants behind her. At first she shrank back a little from the gaze of the admiring crowd, to whom her spirit and beauty had doubtless appealed; but when one of them urged something very respectfully, with his hat in his hand, she moved forward a pace and stood very erect, a slight but queenly figure, looking down at them.

"I am honored, gentlemen," she said falteringly, though her voice gained strength. "It was merely a duty I did, but I am gratified that it pleased you, just because it shows that all of us are proud of our country and eager, for its credit, to crush oppression and see justice done to the downtrodden."

The street rang with the cheer that followed, and when Dixon seized his hat the action was infectious. The next minute we were moving forward amid the ranks of the enthusiastic crowd behind the vehicle, which jolted slowly towards the station; and I discovered later that the uncomfortable sensation at the back of my neck was caused by the hot oil from a torch, which dripped upon it. In the meantime I noticed nothing but the sea of faces, the tramp of feet, and the final burst of cheering at the station, in which Mackay, holding aloft his forage cap, joined vociferously.

"It's only fit and proper. She's as good and brave as she's bonny," he said.