The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE HUE AND CRY

  "A thousand head of cattle, John! A thousand; and 'hustled' from underour very noses. By thunder! it is intolerable. Over thirty-five thousanddollars gone in one clean sweep. Why, I say, do we pay for the up-keepof the police if this sort of thing is allowed to go on? It isdisgraceful. It means ruination to the country if a man cannot run hisstock without fear of molestation. Who said that scoundrel Retief wasdead--drowned in the great muskeg? It's all poppy-cock, I tell you; theman's as much alive as you or I. Thirty-five thousand dollars! Byheavens!--it's--it's scandalous!"

  Lablache leant forward heavily in his chair and rested his great armsupon John Allandale's desk. "Poker" John and he were seated in theformer's office, whither the money-lender had come, post-haste, onreceiving the news of the daring raid of the night before. The greatman's voice was unusually thick with rage, and his asthmatical breathingcame in great gusts as his passionate excitement grew under the lash ofhis own words. The old rancher gazed in stupefied amazement at thefinancier. He had not as yet fully realized the fact with which he hadjust been acquainted in terms of such sweeping passion. The old man'sbrain was none too clear in the mornings now. And the suddenness of theannouncement had shocked his faculties into a state of chaos.

  "Terrible--terrible," was all he was able to murmur. Then, bracinghimself, he asked weakly, "But what are you to do?"

  The weather-beaten old face was working nervously. The eyes, in thepast keen and direct in their glance, were bloodshot and troubled. Helooked like a man who was fast breaking up. Very different from thenight when we first met him at the Calford Polo Club ball. There couldbe no doubt as to the origin of this swift change. The whole atmosphereof the man spoke of drink.

  Lablache turned on him without any attempt to conceal the latentferocity of his nature. The heavy, pouchy jowl was scarlet with hisrage. The money-lender had been flicked upon a very raw and tender spot.Money was his god.

  "What am I to do?" he retorted savagely. "What are _we_ to do? What isall the ranching world of Alberta to do? Why, fight, man. Hound thisscoundrel to his lair. Follow him--track him. Hunt him from bush to bushuntil we fall upon him and tear him limb from limb. Are we going to sitstill while he terrorizes the whole country? While he 'hustles' everyhead of stock from us, and--and spirits it away? No, if we spendfortunes upon his capture we must not rest until he swings from a gibbetat the end of his own lariat."

  "Yes, of course--of course," the rancher responded, his cheek twitchingweakly. "You are quite right, we must hunt this scoundrel down. But weknow what has gone before--I mean, before he was supposed to have died.The man could never be traced. He seemed to vanish into thin air. Whatdo you propose?"

  "Yes, but that was two years ago," said Lablache, moodily. "Things maybe different now. A thousand head of cattle does not vanish so easily.There is bound to be some trace left behind. And then, the villain hasonly got a short start of us. I sent a messenger over to Stormy CloudSettlement the first thing this morning. A sergeant and four men will besent to work up the case. I expect them here at any moment. As justicesof the peace it devolves on both of us to set an example to thesettlers, and we shall then receive hearty co-operation. You understand,John," the money-lender went on, with pompous assertiveness, "although,at present, I am the chief sufferer by this scoundrel's depredations, itis plainly your duty as much as mine to take this matter up."

  The first rough storm of Lablache's passion had passed. He was "yanking"himself up to the proper attitude for the business in hand. Although hehad calmed considerably his lashless eyes gleamed viciously, and hisflabby face wore an expression which boded ill for the object of hisrage, should that unfortunate ever come within the range of his power.

  "Poker" John was struggling hard to bring a once keen intellect to bearupon the affair. He had listened to the money-lender's account of theraid with an almost doubtful understanding, the chief shock to which wasthe re-appearance of the supposed dead Retief, that prince of"hustlers," who, two years ago, had terrorized the neighborhood by hisimpudent raids. At last his mind seemed to clear and he stood up. And,bending across the desk as though to emphasize his words, he showedsomething of the old spirit which had, in days gone by, made him asuccessful rancher.

  "I don't believe it, Lablache. This is some damned yarn to cover thereal culprit. Why, man, Peter Retief is buried deep in that reeking keg,and no slapsided galoot's goin' to pitch such a crazy notion as hisresurrection down my throat. Retief? Why, I'd as lief hear that Satanhimself was abroad duffing cattle. Bah! Where's the 'hand' that's gulledyou?"

  Lablache eyed the old man curiously. He was not sure that there mightnot be some truth in the rancher's forcible skepticism. For the momentthe old man's words carried some weight, then, as he remembered theunvarnished tale the cowboy had told, he returned to his conviction. Heshook his massive head.

  "No one has gulled me, John. You shall hear the story for yourself assoon as the police arrive. You will the better be able to judge of thefellow's sincerity."

  At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs came in through the openwindow. Lablache glanced out on to the veranda.

  "Ah, here he is, and I'm glad to see they've sent Sergeant Horrocks. Thevery man for the work. Good," and he rubbed his fat hands together."Horrocks is a great prairie man."

  "Poker" John rose and went out to meet the officer. Later he conductedhim into the office. Sergeant Horrocks was a man of medium height,slightly built, but with an air of cat-like agility about him. He wasvery bronzed, with a sharp, rather than a clever face. His eyes wereblack and restless, and a thin mouth, hidden beneath a trim blackmustache, and a perfectly-shaped aquiline nose, completed the sum of anyfeatures which might be called distinctive. He was a man who wasthoroughly adapted to his work--work which needed a cool head and quickeye rather than great mental attainments. He was dressed in a browncanvas tunic with brass buttons, and his riding breeches were concealedin, a pair of well-worn leather "chaps." A Stetson hat worn at the exactangle on his head, with his official "side arms" secured round hiswaist, completed a very picturesque appearance.

  "Morning, Horrocks," said the money-lender. "This is a pretty businessyou've come down on. Left your men down in the settlement, eh?"

  "Yes. I thought I'd come and hear the rights of the matter straightaway. According to your message you are the chief victim of this'duffing' business?"

  "Exactly," replied Lablache, with a return to his tone of anger, "onethousand head of beeves! Thirty-five thousand dollars' worth!" Then hewent on more calmly: "But wait a moment, we'll send down for the 'hand'that brought in the news."

  A servant was despatched, and a few minutes later Jim Bowley entered.Jacky, returning from the corrals, entered at the same time. Directlyshe had seen the police horse outside she knew what was happening. Whenshe appeared Lablache endeavored to conceal a look of annoyance.Sergeant Horrocks raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was not accustomedto petticoats being present at his councils. John, however, withoutmotive, waived all chance of objection by anticipating his guests.

  "Sergeant, this is my niece, Jacky. Affairs of the prairie affect her asnearly as they do myself. Let us hear what this man has to tell us."

  Horrocks half bowed to the girl, touching the brim of his hat with asemi-military salute. Acquiescence to her presence was thus forced uponhim.

  Jacky looked radiant in spite of the uncouthness of her riding attire.The fresh morning air was the tonic she loved, and, as yet, the day wastoo young for the tired shadows to have crept into her beautiful face.Horrocks, in spite of his tacit objection, was forced to admire thesturdy young face of this child of the prairie.

  Jim Bowley plunged into his story with a directness and simplicity whichdid not fail to carry conviction. He told all he knew without anyattempt at shielding himself or his companions. Horrocks and the oldrancher listened carefully to the story. Lablache looked fordiscrepancies but found none. Jacky, whilst paying every attention,keenly watched the fac
e of the money-lender. The seriousness of theaffair was reflected in all the faces present, whilst the daring of theraid was acknowledged by the upraised brows and wondering ejaculationswhich occasionally escaped the police-officer and "Poker" John. When thenarrative came to a close there followed an impressive pause. Horrockswas the first to break it.

  "And how did you obtain your release?"

  "A Mennonite family, which had bin travelin' all night, came along 'boutan hour after daylight. They pitched camp nigh on to a quarter mile fromthe bluff w'ere we was tied up. Then they came right along to look furkindlin'. There wasn't no other bluff for half a mile but ours. Theyfound us all three. Young Nat 'ad got 'is collar-bone broke. Them'ustlers 'adn't lifted our 'plugs' so I jest came right in."

  "Have you seen these Mennonites?" asked the officer, turning sharply tothe money-lender.

  "Not yet," was the heavy rejoinder. "But they are coming in."

  The significance of the question and the reply nettled the cowboy.

  "See hyar, mister, I ain't no coyote come in to pitch yarns. Wot I'vesaid is gospel. The man as 'eld us up was Peter Retief as sure as I'm aliving man. Sperrits don't walk about the prairie 'ustling cattle, an' Iguess 'is 'and was an a'mighty solid one, as my jaw felt when 'e gaggedme. You take it from me, 'e's come around agin to make up fur lost time,an' I guess 'e's made a tidy haul to start with."

  "Well, we'll allow that this man is the hustler you speak of," went onHorrocks, bending his keen eyes severely on the unfortunate cowboy."Now, what about tracking the cattle?"

  "Guess I didn't wait fur that, but it'll be easy 'nough."

  "Ah, and you didn't recognize the man until you'd seen his horse?"

  The officer spoke sharply, like a counsel cross-examining a witness.

  "Wal, I can't say like that," said Jim, hesitating for the first time."His looks was familiar, I 'lows. No, without knowing of it I'drecognized 'im, but 'is name didn't come along till I see that beast,Golden Eagle. I 'lows a good prairie hand don't make no mistake overcattle like that. 'E may misgive a face, but a beastie--no, siree."

  "So you base your recognition of the man on the identity of his horse. Adoubtful assertion."

  "Thar ain't no doubt in my mind, sergeant. Ef you'll 'ave it so, Idid--some."

  The officer turned to the other men.

  "If there's nothing more you want this man for, gentlemen, I have quitefinished with him--for the present. With your permission," pulling outhis watch, "I'll get him to take me to the er--scene of disaster in anhour's time."

  The two men nodded and Lablache conveyed the necessary order to the man,who then withdrew.

  As soon as Bowley had left the room three pairs of eyes were turnedinquiringly upon the officer.

  "Well?" questioned Lablache, with some show of eagerness.

  Horrocks shrugged a pair of expressive shoulders.

  "From his point of view the man speaks the truth," he replieddecisively. "And," he went on, more to himself than to the others, "wenever had any clear proof that the scoundrel, Retief, came to grief.From what I remember things were very hot for him at the time of hisdisappearance. Maybe the man's right. However," turning to the others,"I should not be surprised if Mr. Retief has overreached himself thistime. A thousand head of cattle cannot easily be hidden, or, for thatmatter, disposed of. Neither can they travel fast; and as for tracking,well," with a shrug, "in this case it should be child's play."

  "I hope it will prove as you anticipate," put in John Allandale,concisely. "What you suggest has been experienced by us before. However,the matter, I feel sure, is in capable hands."

  The officer acknowledged the compliment mechanically. He was thinkingdeeply. Lablache struggled to his feet, and, supporting his bulk withone hand resting upon the desk, gasped out his final words upon thematter.

  "I want you to remember, sergeant, this matter not only affects mepersonally but also in my capacity as a justice of the peace. Towhatever reward I am able to make in the name of H.M. Government I shalladd the sum of one thousand dollars for the recovery of the cattle, andthe additional sum of one thousand dollars for the capture of themiscreant himself. I have determined to spare no expense in the matterof hunting this devil," with vindictive intensity, "down, therefore youcan draw on me for all outlay your work may entail. All I say is,capture him."

  "I shall do my best, Mr. Lablache," Horrocks replied simply. "And now,if you will permit me, I will go down to the settlement to give a feworders to my men. Good-morning--er--Miss Allandale; good day, gentlemen.You will hear from me to-night."

  The officer left in all the pride of his official capacity. And possiblyhis pride was not without reason, for many and smart were the capturesof evil-doers he had made during his career as a keeper of the peace.But we have been told that "pride goeth before a fall." His estimationof a "hustler" was not an exalted one. He was accustomed to dealing withmen who shoot quick and straight--"bad men" in fact--and he was equallyquick with the gun, and a dead shot himself. Possibly he was a shadequicker and a trifle more deadly than the smartest "bad man" known, butnow he was dealing with a man of all these necessary attainments andwhose resourcefulness and cleverness were far greater than his own.Sergeant Horrocks had a harder road to travel than he anticipated.

  Lablache took his departure shortly afterwards, and "Poker" John and hisniece were left in sole possession of the office at the ranch.

  The old man looked thoroughly wearied with the mental effort theinterview had entailed upon him. And Jacky, watching him, could not helpnoticing how old her uncle looked. She had been a silent observer in theforegoing scene, her presence almost ignored by the other actors. Now,however, that they were left alone, the old man turned a look ofappealing helplessness upon her. Such was the rancher's faith in thiswild, impetuous girl that he looked for her judgment on what had passedin that room with the ready faith of one who regards her as almostinfallible, where human intellect is needed. Nor was the girl, herself,slow to respond to his mute inquiry. The swiftness of her answerenhanced the tone of her conviction.

  "Set a thief to catch a thief, Uncle John. I guess Horrocks, in spite ofhis shifty black eyes, isn't the man for the business. He might trackthe slimmest neche that ever crossed the back of a choyeuse. Lablache isthe man Retief has to fear. That uncrowned monarch of Foss River issubtle, and subtlety alone will serve. Horrocks?" with fine disdain."Say, you can't shoot snipe with a pea-shooter."

  "That's so," replied John, with weary thoughtlessness. "Do you know,child, I can't help feeling a strange satisfaction that this Retief'svictim is Lablache. But there, one never knows, when such a man isabout, who will be the next to suffer. I suppose we must take our chanceand trust to the protection of the police."

  The girl had walked to the window and now stood framed in the casementof it. She turned her face back towards the old man as he finishedspeaking, and a quiet little smile hovered round the corners of herfresh ripe lips.

  "I don't think Retief will bother us any--at least, he never did before.Somehow I don't think he's an ordinary rascal." She turned back to thewindow. "Hulloa, I guess Bill's coming right along up the avenue."

  A moment later "Lord" Bill, lazily cheerful as was his wont, stepped inthrough the open French window. The selling up of his ranch seemed tohave made little difference to his philosophical temperament. In hisappearance, perhaps, for now he no longer wore the orthodox dress of therancher. He was clad in a tweed lounging suit, and a pair ofwell-polished, brown leather boots. His headgear alone pertained to theprairie. It was a Stetson hat. He was smoking a cigarette as he came up,but he threw the insidious weed from him as he entered the room.

  "Morning, John. How are you, Jacky? I needn't ask you if you have heardthe news. I saw Sergeant Horrocks and old Shylock leaving your veranda.Hot lot--isn't it? And all Lablache's cattle, too."

  A look of deep concern was on his keen face. Lablache might have beenhis dearest friend. Jacky smiled over at him. "Poker" John lookedpained.

  "Guess you're rig
ht, Bill," said the rancher. "Hot--very hot. I pity thepoor devil if Lablache lays a hand on him. Excuse me, boy, I'm goingdown to the barn. We've got a couple of ponies we're breaking toharness."

  The old man departed. The others watched the burly figure as he passedout of the door. His whole personality seemed shrunken of late. The oldrobustness seemed a thing of the past. The last two months seemed tohave put ten years of ageing upon the kindly old man. Jacky sighed asthe door closed behind him, and there was no smile in her eyes as sheturned again to her lover. Bill's face had become serious.

  "Well?" in a tone of almost painful anxiety.

  The girl had started forward and was leaning with her two brown handsupon the back of a chair. Her face was pale beneath her tan, and hereyes were bright with excitement. For answer, Bunning-Ford stepped tothe French window and closed it, having first glanced up and down theveranda to see that it was empty. Not a soul was in sight. The tallpines, which lined the approach to the house, waved silently in thelight breeze. The clear sky was gloriously blue. On everything was thepeace of summer.

  The man swung round and came towards the girl. His eagle face was lit upby an expression of triumph. He held out his two hands, and the girlplaced her own brown ones in them. He drew her towards him and embracedher in silence. Then he moved a little away from her. His gleaming eyesindexed the activity of his mind.

  "The cattle are safe--as houses. It was a grand piece of work, dear.They would never have faced the path without your help. Say, girlie, I'man infant at handling stock compared with you. Now--what news?"

  Jacky was smiling tenderly into the strong face of the man. She couldnot help but wonder at the reckless daring of this man, who so many setdown as a lazy good-for-nothing. She knew--she had always known, shefancied--the strong character which underlay that indolent exterior. Itnever appealed to her to regret the chance that had driven him to usehis abilities in such a cause. There was too much of the wild half-breedblood in her veins to allow her to stop to consider themight-have-beens. She gloried in his daring, and something of the spiritwhich had caused her to help her half-brother now forced from her analmost worshiping adoration for her lover.

  "Horrocks is to spare no expense in tracking--Retief--down." She laughedsilently. "Lablache is to pay. They are going over the old ground again,I guess. The tracks of the cattle. Horrocks is not to be feared. We mustwatch Lablache. He will act. Horrocks will only be his puppet."

  Bill pondered before he spoke.

  "Yes," he said thoughtfully at last, "that is the best of news. The verybest. Horrocks can track. He is one of the best at that game. But I havetaken every precaution. Tracking is useless--waste of time."

  "I know that from past experience, Bill. Now that the campaign hasbegun, what is the next move?"

  The girl was all eagerness. Her beautiful dark face was no longer pale.It was aglow with the enthusiasm of her feelings. Her deep, meaning eyesburned with a consuming brilliancy. Framed in its setting of curling,raven hair, her face would have rejoiced the heart of the old masters ofthe Van Dyke school. She was wondrously beautiful. Bill gazed upon herfeatures with devouring eyes, and thoughts of the wrongs committed byLablache against her and hers teemed through his brain and set his bloodsurging through his veins in a manner that threatened to overbalance hisusual cool judgment. He forced himself to an outward calmness, however,and the lazy tones of his voice remained as easy as ever.

  "On the result of the next move much will depend," he said. "It is to bea terrific _coup_, and will entail careful planning. It is fortunatethat the people at the half-breed camp are the friends of--of--Retief."

  "Yes, and of mine," put in the girl. Then she added slowly, and asthough with painful thought, "Say, Bill, be--be careful. I guess you areall I have in the world--you and uncle. Do you know, I've kind of seento the end of this racket. Maybe there's trouble coming. Who's to belagged I can't say. There are shadows around, Bill; the place fairlyhums with 'em. Say, don't--don't give Lablache a slant at you. I can'tspare you, Bill."

  The tall thin figure of her companion stepped over towards her, and shefelt herself encircled by his long powerful arms. Then he bent down fromhis great height and kissed her passionately upon the lips.

  "Take comfort, little girl. This is a war, if necessary, to the death.Should anything happen to me, you may be sure that I leave you freedfrom the snares of old Shylock. Yes, I will be careful, Jacky. We areplaying for a heavy stake. You may trust me."