The Story of the Foss River Ranch Read online

  He stepped briskly from his house, for he was "schrammed" with cold in his white drill clothing. As he approached the energetic butcher, he saw a man entering the market-place from the southern extremity of the settlement. He paused to look closely at the new-comer. In a moment he recognized Thompson, one of the clerks from Lablache's store. He conjectured at once that this man might be able to supply him with the information he desired, and so changed his direction and went across to meet him.

  "Mornin', Thompson," he said, peering keenly into the pale, haggard face of the money-lender's employee. "What's up with you? You look positively ill. Have you heard how the arrest went off last night?"

  There was a blunt directness about the doctor which generally drove straight to the point. The clerk wearily passed his hand across his forehead. He seemed half asleep, and, as the doctor had asserted, thoroughly ill.

  "Arrest, doctor? Precious little arrest there's been. I've been out on the prairie all night. What, haven't you heard about the governor? Good lor'! I don't know what's going to happen to us all. Do you think we're safe here?"

  "Safe here? What do you mean, man?" the doctor answered, noting the other's fearful glances round. "Why, what ails you? What about Lablache?"

  Others had now appeared upon the market-place and Doctor Abbot saw "Lord" Bill, dressed in a gray tweed suit, and looking as fresh as if he had just emerged from the proverbial bandbox, coming leisurely towards him.

  "What about Lablache, eh?" replied Thompson, echoing the doctor's question ruefully. "A pretty nice thing Horrocks and his fellows have let themselves, and us, in for."

  Bill had come up now and several others had joined the group. They stood by and listened while the clerk told his story. And what a story it was too. It was vividly sanguinary, and enough to strike terror into the hearts of his audience.

  He told with great gusto of how Lablache had been abducted. How the police horses and the money-lender's had been stolen from the stables at the store. He dwelt on the frightful horrors committed up at the Breed camp. How he had seen the police shot down before his very eyes, and he became expansive on the fact that, with his own hands, Retief had carried off Horrocks, and how he had heard the raider declare his intention of hanging him. It was a terrible tale of woe, and his audience was thrilled and horrified. "Lord" Bill alone appeared unmoved. A close observer even might have noticed the faintest suspicion of a smile at the corners of his mouth. The smile broadened as the sharp doctor launched a question at the narrator of terrible facts.

  "How came you to see all this, and escape?"

  Thompson was at no loss. He told how he had been sent up by "Poker" John to find Horrocks and tell him about Lablache. How he arrived in time to see the horrors perpetrated, and how he only managed to escape with his own life by flight, under cover of the darkness, and how, pursued by the bloodthirsty Breeds, he had managed to hide on the prairie, where he remained until daylight, and then by a circuitous route got back to the settlement.

  "I tell you what it is, doctor," he finished up consequentially, "the Breeds are in open rebellion, and, headed by that devil, Retief, intend to clear us whites out of the country. It's the starting of another Riel rebellion, and if we don't get help from the Government quickly, it's all up with us. That's my opinion," and he gazed patronizingly upon the crowd, which by this time had assembled.

  "Nonsense, man," said the doctor sharply. "Your opinion's warped. Besides, you're in a blue funk. Come on over to 'old man' Smith's and have a 'freshener.' You want bucking-up. Coming, Bill?" he went on, turning to Bunning-Ford. "I want an 'eye-opener' myself. What say to a 'Collins'?"

  The three moved away from the crowd, which they left horrified at what it had heard, and eagerly discussing and enlarging upon the sanguinary stories of Thompson.

  "Poker" John was already at the saloon when the three reached the door of "old man" Smith's reeking den. The proprietor was sweeping the bar, in a vain effort to clear the atmosphere of the nauseating stench of stale tobacco and drink. John was propped against the bar mopping up his fourth "Collins." He usually had a thirst that took considerable quenching in the mornings now. His over-night potations were deep and strong. Morning "nibbling" had consequently become a disease with him. "Old man" Smith, with a keen eye to business, systematically mixed the rancher's morning drinks good and strong.

  Bill and the doctor were not slow to detect the condition of their old friend, and each felt deeply on the subject. Their cheery greetings, however, were none the less hearty. Smith desisted in his dusty occupation and proceeded to serve his customers.

  "We're having lively times, John," said the doctor, after emptying his "long sleever." "Guess Retief's making things 'hum' in Foss River."

  "Hum? Shout is more like it," drawled Bill. "You've heard all the news, John?"

  "I've enough news of my own," growled the rancher.

  "Been up all night. I see you've got Thompson with you. What did Horrocks do after you told him about Lablache?" he went on, turning to the clerk.

  Bill and the doctor exchanged meaning glances. The clerk having found a fresh audience again repeated his story. "Poker" John listened carefully. At the close of the narrative he snorted disdainfully and looked from the clerk to his two friends. Then he laughed loudly. The clerk became angry.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Allandale, but if you doubt my word—"

  "Doubt your word, boy?" he said, when his mirth had subsided. "I don't doubt your word. Only I've spent most of the night up at the Breed camp myself."

  "And were you there, sir, when Horrocks was captured?"

  "No, I was not. After you came to my place and went on to the camp, I was very uneasy. So, after a bit, I got my 'hands' together and prepared to follow you up there. Just as I was about to set out," he went on, turning to the doctor and Bill, "I met Jacky coming in. Bless you if she hadn't been to see the pusky herself. You know," with a slight frown, "that child is much too fond of those skulking Breeds. Well, anyway, she said everything was quiet enough while she was there and," turning again to Thompson, "she had seen nothing of Retief or Horrocks or any of the latter's men. We just put our heads together, and she convinced me that I was right, after what had occurred at the store, and had better go up. So up I went. We searched the whole camp. I guess we were there for nigh on three hours. The place was quiet enough. They were still dancing and drinking, but not a blessed sign of Horrocks could we find."

  "I expect he'd gone before you got there, sir," put in Thompson.

  "Did you find the bodies of the murdered police?" asked the doctor innocently.

  "Not a sign of 'em," laughed John. "There were no dead policemen, and, what's more, there was no trace of any shooting."

  The three men turned on the clerk, who felt that he must justify himself.

  "There was shooting enough, sir; you mark my words. You'll hear of it to-day, sure."

  "Lord" Bill walked away towards the window in disgust. The clerk annoyed him.

  "No, boy, no. I'm thinking you are mistaken. I should have discovered some trace had there been any shooting. I don't deny that your story's true, but in the excitement of the moment I guess you got rattled—and saw things."

  Old John laughed and turned away. At that instant Bill called them all over to the window. The bar window overlooked the market-place, and the front of Lablache's store was almost opposite to it.

  Bill pointed towards the store as the three men gathered round. "Old man" Smith also ranged himself with the others.

  "Look!" Bill smiled grimly.

  A buckboard had just drawn up outside Lablache's emporium and two people were alighting. A crowd had gathered round the arrivals. There was no mistaking one of the figures. The doctor was the first to give expression to the thought that was in the mind of each of the interested spectators.

  "Lablache!" he exclaimed in astonishment

  "And Horrocks," added "Lord" Bill quietly.

  "Guess he wasn't hung then after all," said "Poker" John, tur
ning as he spoke. But Thompson had taken his departure. This last blow was too much. And he felt that it was an advantageous moment in which to retire to his employer's store, and hide his diminished head amongst the bales of dry goods and the monumental ledgers to be found there.

  "That youth has a considerable imagination." The Hon. Bunning-Ford turned from the window and strolled leisurely towards the door.

  "Where are you going?" exclaimed "Poker" John.

  "To cook some breakfast."

  "No, no, you must come up to the ranch with me. Let's go right over to the store first, and hear what Lablache has to say. Then we'll go and feed."

  Bill shrugged. Then,—

  "Lablache and I are not on the best of terms," he said doubtfully. He wished to go notwithstanding his demur. Besides he was anxious to go on to the ranch to see Jacky. The doubt in his tone gave John his cue, and the old man refused to be denied.

  "Come along," he said, and linking his arm within the other's, he led the way over to the store; the doctor, equally eager, bringing up the rear.

  Bill suffered himself to be thus led. He knew that in such company Lablache could not very well refuse him admission to his office. He had a decided wish to be present when the money-lender told his tale. However, in this he was doomed to disappointment. Lablache had already decided upon a plan of action.

  At the store the three friends made their way through the crowd of curious people who had gathered on the unexpected return of the chief actors in last night's drama; they made their way quickly round to the back where the private door was.

  Lablache was within, and with him Horrocks. The heavy voice of the money-lender answered "Poker" John's summons.

  "Come in."

  He was surprised when the door opened, and he saw who his visitors were. John and the doctor he was prepared for, but "Lord" Bill's coming was a different matter. For an instant he seriously meditated an angry objection. Then he altered his mind, a thing which was rare with him. After all the man's presence could do no harm, and he felt that to object to him, would be to quarrel with the rancher. On second thoughts he would tolerate what he considered the intrusion.

  Lablache was ensconced in his basket chair, and Horrocks was at the great man's desk. Neither moved as their visitors entered. The troubles of the previous night were plainly written on both men's faces. There was a haggard look in their eyes, and a generally dishevelled appearance about their dress. Lablache in particular looked unwashed and untidy. Horrocks looked less troubled, and there was a strong air of determination about his face.

  "Poker" John showed no niceness in broaching the subject of his visit. His libations had roused him to the proper pitch for plain speaking.

  "Well, what happened to you last night, Lablache? I guess you're looking about as blue as they make 'em. Say, I thought sure Retief was going to do for you when I heard about it."

  "Ah. Who told you about—about me?"

  "Your clerk."

  "Rodgers?"

  "No, Thompson."

  "Ah! Have you seen Rodgers at all?"

  "No." John turned to the other two. "Have you?"

  Neither of the men had seen the clerk, and old John turned again to Lablache.

  "Why, what's happened to Rodgers?"

  "Oh, nothing. I haven't seen him since I have been back—that's all."

  "Well, now tell us all about last night," went on the rancher. "This matter is going to be cleared up. I have been thinking of a vigilance committee. We can't do better."

  Lablache shook his great head. To the doctor and "Lord" Bill there seemed to be an utter hopelessness conveyed in the motion.

  "I have nothing to tell. Neither has Horrocks. What happened last night concerns ourselves alone. You may possibly hear more later on, but the telling by us now will do no good, and probably a lot of harm. As for your vigilance committee, form it if you like, but I doubt that you will do any good with it."

  This refusal riled the old rancher. He was just in that condition when it would take little to make him quarrel. He was about to rap out an angry retort when a knock came at the partition door. It was Thompson. He had come to say that the troopers had returned, and wanted to see the sergeant. Also to say that Rodgers was with them. Horrocks immediately went out to see them, and, before John could say a word, Lablache turned on him.

  "Look here, John, for the present my lips are sealed. It is Horrocks's wish. He has a plan which he wishes to carry out quietly. The result of his plan largely depends upon silence. Retief seems to have sources of information everywhere. Walls have ears, man. Now, I shall be glad if you will leave me. I—I must get cleaned up."

  John's anger died within him. He saw that Lablache was upset. He looked absolutely ill. The old man's good nature would not allow him to press this companion of his ranching life further. There was nothing left for him to do but leave.

  As he rose to go, the money-lender unbent still further.

  "I'll see you later, John, I may then be able to tell you more. Perhaps it may interest you to know that Horrocks has discovered the path across the keg, and—he's going to cross it. Good-by. So long, Doc."

  "Very well, I shall be up at the ranch. Come along, Bill. Jacky, I expect, is waiting breakfast for us."

  Lablache heard the old man's remark as the latter passed out, and a bitter feeling of resentment rose within him. He felt that everything was against him. His evil nature, however, would not let him remain long desponding. He ground his teeth and cursed bitterly. It had only wanted a fillip such as this to rouse him from the curious lethargic hopelessness into which the terrible night's doings had cast him.

  The moment the three men got away from the store, Doctor Abbot drew attention to the money-lender's words.

  "Going to cross the keg, eh? Well, if he's really discovered the path it's certainly the best thing to do. He's a sharp man is Horrocks."

  "He's a fool!"

  Bill's words were so emphatic that both men stared at him. If they were startled at his words, they were still more startled at the set expression of his face. Doctor Abbot thought he had never seen the insouciant Bill so roused out of himself.

  "Why—how?"

  "How? I tell you, man, that no one knows that path except—except—Retief, and, supposing Horrocks has discovered it, if he attempts to cross, there can only be one result to his mad folly. I tell you what it is, the man should be stopped. It's absolute suicide—nothing more nor less."

  Something in the emphasis of "Lord" Bill's words kept the others silent until the doctor left them at his home. Then as the two men hurried out across the prairie towards the ranch, the conversation turned back to the events of the previous evening.

  At the ranch they found Jacky awaiting the old man's return, on the veranda. She was surprised when she saw who was with him. Her surprise was a pleasant one, however, and she extended her hand in cordial welcome.

  "Come right in, Bill. Gee, but you look fit—and slick."

  The two young people smiled into each other's faces, and no onlooker, not even the observant Aunt Margaret, could have detected the understanding which passed in that look. Jacky was radiant. Her sweet, dark face was slightly flushed. There were no tell-tale rings about her dark eyes. For all sign she gave to the contrary she might have enjoyed the full measure of a night's rest. Her visit to the Breed camp, or, for that matter, any other adventures which had befallen her during the night, had left no trace on her beautiful face.

  "I've brought the boy up to feed," said old John. "I guess we'll get right to it. I've got a 'twist' on me that'll take considerable to satisfy."

  The meal passed pleasantly enough. The conversation naturally was chiefly confined to the events of the night. But somehow the others did not respond very eagerly to the old rancher's evident interest and concern. Most of the talking—most of the theorizing—most of the suggestions for the stamping out of the scourge, Retief, came from him, the others merely contenting themselves with agreeing to his suggestions wi
th a lack of interest which, had the old man been perfectly sober, he could not have failed to observe. However, he was especially obtuse this morning, and was too absorbed in his own impracticable theories and suggestions to notice the others' lack of interest.

  At the conclusion of the meal the rancher took himself off down to the settlement again. He must endeavor to draw Lablache, he said. He would not wait for him to come to the ranch.

  Jacky and Bill went out on to the veranda, and watched the old man as he set out with unsteady gait for the settlement.

  "Bill," said the girl, as soon as her uncle was out of earshot, "what news?"

  "Two items of interest One, the very best, and the other—the very worst."

  "Which means?"

  "No one has the least suspicion of us; and Horrocks, the madman, intends to attempt the passage of the keg."

  "Lord" Bill jaws shut with a snap as he ceased speaking. The look which accompanied his last announcement was one of utter dejection. Jacky did not reply for an instant, her great eyes had taken on a look of deep anxiety as she gazed towards the muskeg.

  "Bill, can nothing be done to stop him?" She gazed appealingly up into the face of the tall figure beside her. "He is a brave man, if foolish."

  "That's just it, dear. He's headstrong and means to see this thing through. Had I thought that he would ever dream of contemplating such a suicidal feat as attempting that path, I'd never have let him see the cattle cross last night. My God! it turns me sick to think of it."

  "Hush, Bill, don't talk so loud. Do you think any one could dissuade him? Lablache, or—or uncle, for instance."

  Bunning-Ford shook his head. His look was troubled.

  "Horrocks is not the man to be turned from his purpose," he replied. "And besides, Lablache would not attempt such a thing. He is too keen to capture—Relief," with a bitter laugh. "A life more or less would not upset that scoundrel's resolve. As for your uncle," with a shrug, "I don't think he's the man for the task. No, Jacky," he went on, with a sigh, "we must let things take their course now. We have embarked on this business. We mustn't weaken. His blood be upon his own head."