CHAPTER XVI
MACNAIR GOES TO JAIL
The silence in the little room became almost painful. MacNair utteredno word as his glance strayed from the flushed, excited face of thegirl to the figure of Corporal Ripley, who stood hat in hand, gazingfrom one to the other with eyes plainly troubled by doubt andperplexity.
"Well, why don't you do something?" cried the girl, at length. "Itseems to me if I were a man I could think of something to do besidesstand and gape!"
Corporal Ripley cleared his throat. "Do I understand," he beganstiffly, "that you intend to prefer certain charges againstMacNair--that you demand his arrest?"
"I should _think_ you would understand it!" retorted the girl. "I havetold you three or four times."
The officer flushed slightly and shifted the hat from his right to hisleft hand.
"Just step inside, MacNair," he said, and then to the girl: "I'lllisten to you now, if you please. You must make specific charges, youknow--not just hearsay. Arresting a man in this country is a seriousmatter, Miss Elliston. We are seven hundred miles from a jail, and thelaw expects us to use discretion in making an arrest. It don't do usany good at headquarters to bring in a man unless we can back up ourcharge with strong evidence, because the item of transportation ofwitnesses and prisoner may easily run up into big money. On the otherhand it's just as bad if we fail or delay in bringing a guilty man tobook. What we want is specific evidence. I don't tell you this todiscourage any just complaint, but only to show you that we've got tohave direct and specific evidence. Now, Miss Elliston, I'll hear whatyou've got to say."
Chloe sank into a chair and motioned the others to be seated. "We mayas well sit down while we talk. I will try to tell you only the factsas I myself have seen them--only such as I could swear to on a witnessstand." The officer bowed, and Chloe plunged directly into the subject.
"In the first place," she began, "when I brought my outfit in I noticedin the scows, certain pieces with the name of MacNair painted on theburlap. The rest of the outfit, I think, consisted wholly of my ownfreight. I wondered at the time who MacNair was, but didn't make anyinquiries until I happened to mention the matter to Mr. Lapierre. Thatwas on Slave River. Mr. Lapierre seemed very much surprised that anyof MacNair's goods should be in his scows. He examined the pieces andthen with an ax smashed them in. They contained whiskey."
"And he destroyed it? Can you swear it was whiskey?" asked the officer.
"Certainly, I can swear it was whiskey! I saw it and _smelled_ it."
"Can you explain why Lapierre did not know of these pieces, until youcalled his attention to them?"
Chloe hesitated a moment and tapped nervously on the table with herfingers. "Yes," she answered, "I can. Mr. Lapierre took charge of theoutfit only that morning."
"Who was the boss scowman? Who took the scows down the Athabasca?"
"A man named Vermilion. He was a half-breed, I think. Anyway, he wasa horrible creature."
"Where is Vermilion now?"
Again Chloe hesitated. "He is dead," she answered. "Mr. Lapierre shothim. He shot him in self-defence, after Vermilion had shot anotherman."
The officer nodded, and Chloe called upon Big Lena to corroborate thestatement that Lapierre had destroyed certain whiskey upon the bank ofSlave Lake. "Is that all?" asked the officer.
"No, indeed!" answered Chloe. "That isn't all! Only last week, I wentto visit MacNair's fort on Snare Lake in company with Mr. Lapierre andLena, and four canoemen. We got there shortly after dark. Fires hadbeen built on the beach--many of them almost against the walls of thestockade. As we drew near, we heard loud yells and howlings thatsounded like the cries of animals, rather than of human beings. Weapproached very close to the shore where the figures of the Indianswere distinctly visible by the light of the leaping names. It was thenwe realized that a wild orgy of indescribable debauchery was inprogress. The Indians were raving drunk. Some lay upon the ground ina stupor--others danced and howled and threw fire-brands about inreckless abandon.
"We dared not land, but held the canoe off shore and watched thehorrible scene. We had not long to wait before the inevitablehappened. The whirling fire-brands falling among the cabins andagainst the walls of the stockade started a conflagration, which soonspread to the storehouse. And then MacNair appeared on the scene,rushing madly among the Indians, striking, kicking, and hurling themabout. A few sought to save themselves by escaping to the timber.And, jerking a rifle from the hand of an Indian, MacNair fired twice atthe fleeing men. Two of them fell and the others escaped into thetimber."
"You did not see any whiskey in the possession of these Indians?" askedCorporal Ripley. "You merely surmised they were drunk by theiractions?"
Chloe nodded. "Yes," she admitted, "but certainly there can be nodoubt that they were drunk. Men who are not drunk do not----"
MacNair interrupted her. "They were drunk," he said quietly, "verydrunk."
"You admit that?" asked the officer in surprise. "I must warn you,MacNair, that anything you say may be used against you." MacNairnodded.
"And, as to the killing of the men," continued Chloe, "I charge MacNairwith their murder."
"Murder is a very serious charge, Miss Elliston. Let's go over thefacts again. You say you were in a canoe near the shore--you saw a manyou say was MacNair grab a rifle from an Indian and kill two men. Stopand think, now--it was night and you saw all this by firelight--are yousure the man who fired the shots was MacNair?"
"Absolutely!" cried the girl, with a trace of irritation.
"It was I who shot," interrupted MacNair.
The officer regarded him curiously and again addressed the girl. "Oncemore, Miss Elliston, do you know that the men you saw fall are dead?Mere shooting won't sustain a charge of murder."
Chloe hesitated. "No," she admitted reluctantly. "I did not examinetheir dead bodies, if that is what you mean. But MacNair afterwardtold me that he killed them, and I can swear to having seen them fall."
"The men are dead," said MacNair.
The officer stared in astonishment. Chloe also was puzzled by thefrank admission of the man, and she gazed into his face as thoughstriving to pierce its mask and discover an ulterior motive. MacNairreturned her gaze unflinchingly and again the girl felt anindescribable sense of smallness--of helplessness before this man ofthe North, whose very presence breathed strength and indomitableman-power.
"Was it possible," she wondered, "that he would dare to flaunt thisstrength in the very face of the law?" She turned to Corporal Ripley,who was making notes with a pencil in a little note-book. "Well," sheasked, "is my evidence _specific_ enough to warrant this man's arrest?"
The officer nodded slowly. "Yes," he answered gravely. "The evidencewarrants an arrest. Very probably several arrests."
"You mean," asked the girl, "that you think he may have--an accomplice?"
"No, Miss Elliston, I don't mean that. In spite of your evidence andhis own words, I don't think MacNair is guilty. There is somethingqueer here. I guess there is no doubt that whiskey has been run intothe territory, and that it has been supplied to the Indians. Youcharge MacNair with these crimes, and I've got to arrest him."
Chloe was about to retort, when the officer interrupted her with agesture.
"Just a moment, please," he said quietly; "I'm not sure I can makemyself plain to you, but you see in the North we know something ofMacNair's work. Of what he has done in spite of the odds. We know theNorth needs men like MacNair. You claim to be a friend of the Indians.Do you realize that up on Snare Lake, right now, are a bunch of Indianswho depend on MacNair for their existence? MacNair's absence willcause suffering among them and even death. If his storehouse has beenburned, what are they going to eat? On your statements I've got toenter charges against MacNair. First and foremost the charge ofmurder. He will also be charged with importing liquor, having liquorin prohibited territory, smuggling whiskey, and supplying liquor to theIndians.
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br /> "Now, Miss Elliston, for the good of those Indians on Snare Lake I wantyou to withdraw the charge of murder. The other offences are bailableones, and in my judgment he should be allowed to return to his Indians.Then, when his trial comes up at the spring assizes, the charge ofmurder can be placed against him. I'll bet a year's pay, MacNair isn'tto blame. In the meantime we will get busy and comb the barrens forthe real criminals. I've got a hunch. And you can take my word thatjustice shall be done, no matter where the blow falls."
Suddenly, through Chloe's mind flashed the memory of what Lapierre hadtold her of the Mounted. She arose to her feet and, drawing herself uphaughtily, glared into the face of the officer. When she spoke, hervoice rang hard with scorn.
"It is very evident that you don't want to arrest MacNair. I haveheard that he is a law unto himself--that he would defy arrest--that hehas the Mounted subsidized. I did not believe it at the time. Iregarded it merely as the exaggerated statement of a man who justlyhates him. But it seems this man was right. You need not troubleyourself about MacNair's Indians. I will stand sponsor for theirwelfare. They are my Indians now. I warn you that the day of MacNairis past. I refuse to withdraw a single word of my charges against him,and you will either arrest him, or I shall go straight to Ottawa. AndI shall never rest until I have blazoned before the world the wholetruth about your rotten system! What will Canada say, when she learnsthat the Mounted--the men who have been held up before all the world asmodels of bravery, efficiency, and honour--are as crooked and graftingas--as the police of New York?"
Corporal Ripley's face showed red through the tan, and he started tohis feet with an exclamation of anger. "Hold on, Corporal." The voiceof MacNair was the quiet voice with which one sooths a petulant child.He remained seated and pushed the Stetson toward the back of his head."She really believes it. Don't hold it against her. It is not herfault. When the smoke has cleared away and she gets her bearings,we're all going to like her. In fact, I'm thinking that the time iscoming when the only one who will hate her will be herself. I like hernow; though she is not what you'd call my friend. I mean--not yet."
Corporal Ripley gazed in astonishment at MacNair and then very frigidlyhe turned to Chloe. "Then the charge of murder stands?"
"Yes, it does," answered the girl. "If he were allowed to go free nowthere would be three murders instead of two by the time of the springassizes or whatever you call them, for he is even now upon the trail ofa man he has threatened to kill. I can give you his exact words. Hesaid: 'I have taken the man-trail . . . and at the end of that trailwill lie a dead man--myself or Pierre Lapierre!'"
"Lapierre!" exclaimed the officer. "What has he got to do with it?"He turned to MacNair as if expecting an answer. But MacNair remainedsilent. "Why don't you charge Lapierre with the crimes you told me hewas guilty of?" taunted the girl. Again she saw that baffling twinklein the grey eyes of the man. Then the eyes hardened.
"The last thing I desire is the arrest of Lapierre," he answered."Lapierre must answer to me." The words, pronounced slowly anddistinctly, rasped hard. In spite of herself, Chloe shuddered.
Corporal Ripley shifted uneasily. "We'd better be going, MacNair," hesaid. "There's something queer about this whole business--something Idon't quite understand. It's up to me to take you up the river; but,believe me, I'm coming back! I'll get at the bottom of this thing ifit takes me five years. Are you ready?"
MacNair nodded.
"I can let you have some Indians," suggested the girl.
"What for?"
"Why, for a guard, of course; to help you with your prisoner."
Ripley drew himself up and answered abruptly: "The Mounted is quitecapable of managing its own affairs, Miss Elliston. I don't need yourIndians, thank you."
Chloe glanced wrathfully into the boyish face of the officer. "Suityourself," she answered sweetly. "But if I were you, I'd want a wholeregiment of Indians. Because if MacNair wants to, he'll eat you up."
"He won't want to," snapped Ripley. "I don't taste good."
As they passed out of the door, MacNair turned. "Good-by, MissElliston," he said gravely. "Beware of Pierre Lapierre." Chloe madeno reply and as MacNair turned to go, he chanced to glance into thewide, expressionless face of Big Lena, who had stood throughout theinterview leaning heavily against the jamb of the kitchen door.Something inscrutable in the stare of the fishlike, china-blue eyesclung in his memory, and try as he would in the days that followed,MacNair could not fathom the meaning of that stare, if indeed it hadany meaning. MacNair did not know why, but in some inexplainablemanner the memory of that look eased many a weary mile.
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