The Mistress of Bonaventure

by Harold Bindloss

  CHAPTER XX

  LEADEN-FOOTED JUSTICE

  I had spent a number of weary days awaiting trial, when a visitor wasannounced, and a young, smooth-shaven man shown into my quarters. Henodded to me pleasantly, seated himself on the edge of the table, andcommenced: "Your friends sent me along. I hope to see you through thistrouble, Rancher, and want you to tell me exactly how your difficultiesbegan. Think of all the little things that didn't strike you as quiteusual."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "I should rather like to manage this affair for you," he said. "Myfees!--well, from what one or two people said about you, I can, ifnecessary, 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 asyou 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 gentlemenwho offered to guarantee expenses. That is about as much as I may tellyou. You are not the only person with an interest in the future of theCrane Valley district."

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

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

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

  "Very natural! I must see him. From what you said already, he doesn'tstrike 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 noparticular reason, I felt comforted. We had several more interviewsbefore the trial began, and I can vividly remember the morning I wassummoned into court. It was packed to suffocation, and the brilliantsunshine that beat in through the long windows fell upon faces that Iknew. Their owners were mostly poor men, and I surmised had covered thelong distance on horseback, sleeping on the prairie, to encourage me.There was, indeed, when I took my stand a suppressed demonstration thatbrought a quicker throb to my pulses and a glow into my face. It wascomforting to know that I had their approbation and sympathy. If thelife I had caught brief glimpses of at Bonaventure was not for me, thesehard-handed, tireless men were my equals and friends--and I was proud ofthem.

  So it was in a clear, defiant voice I pleaded "Not guilty!" andpresently composed myself to listen while Sergeant Mackay detailed myarrest. 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 significantsilence in the body of the court. Then, with a faint twinkle in hiseyes, he answered: "There was a bit demonstration at the station in theprisoner'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 owncomments, and, though I knew that Mackay was never addicted to unfairlymaking the most of an advantage, I remembered Dixon's opinion. If hewere actuated by any ulterior motive, I had, however, no inkling of whatit might be.

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

  "I am the owner of the lands and remains of the homestead known asGaspard's Trail," he said. "I bought them at public auction when sold bythe gentleman who held the prisoner's mortgage. Twice that day thelatter threatened both of us, and his friends raised a hostiledemonstration. He told me to take care of myself and the property, forhe would live to see me sorry; but I didn't count much on that. Thoughthe was only talking when naturally a little mad. Have had cause tochange my opinions since. I turned in early on the night of the fire andslept well, I and my hired man, Wilkins, being the only people in thehouse. 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 thehouse was 'most red-hot. There wasn't much furniture in it. The prisonerhad cleared out 'most everything, whether it was in the mortgageschedule or whether it was not; but there was enough to keep me busywhile Wilkins lit out to save the horses. Wind blew the sparks right onto the stable. I went out when I'd saved what I could, and as Wilkinshad been gone a long time, concluded he'd made sure of the horses. Metthe prisoner when I was carrying tools out of a threatened shed. Askedhim 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 ofstartled at the sight of me, but was too rattled to think of much justthen. Didn't ask him anything more, but seeing the fire had taken holdgood, sat down and watched it. Yes, sir, I told somebody it wasn'tinsured.

  "By-and-by the prisoner came back with a dozen ranchers. Didn't seemfriendly, or even civil, most of them, and there was nothing I coulddo. 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 surethere were no beasts inside it, and the prisoner and the rest wentalong. They found Wilkins with some bones broken, and got him and thehorses out between them. Then, when the place was burnt out, SergeantMackay rode up. I was homeless; but none of the ranchers would take mein. Somebody said he wasn't sorry, and I'd got my deserts. Believe itwas the prisoner; but can't be certain. That's all I know except thatbefore I turned in I saw all the lamps out and fixed up the stove. Amcertain the fire didn't start from them.

  "I was hunting among the ruins with Wilkins a little while ago when Ifound a flattened coal-oil-tin under some fallen beams in the kitchen. Inever used that oil, but heard at the railroad store that the prisonerdid. Mightn't have taken the trouble to inquire, but that I found closebeside it a silver match-box. It was pretty well worn, but anyone whowill look a
t it close can read that it was given to H. Ormesby.Considering the prisoner must have dropped it there, I handed both tothe police."

  When Niven mentioned the match-box I started as though struck by abullet. It was mine, undoubtedly, and most of my neighbors had seen it.That it was damning evidence in conjunction with the oil-tin, and hadbeen deliberately placed there for my undoing, I felt certain. There wasa half-audible murmur in the court while the judge examined thearticles, and I read traces of bewilderment and doubt in the facesturned towards me. That these men should grow suspicious roused me to asense of unbearable injury, and I sent my voice ringing through thecourt. "It is an infamous lie! I lost the match-box, or it was stolenfrom 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 verycomforting. Something resembling a subdued cheer arose from variousparts of the building.

  "Silence!" said the judge sternly. "An interruption is neitheradmissible nor seemly, prisoner. You will be called on in turn."

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

  Mackay's terse testimony was damaging, and aroused my furtherindignation. I had not expected that he would either conceal or enlargeupon anything that would tell against me; but had anticipated some traceof reluctance, or that he would wait longer for questions between hisadmissions. Instead, he stood rigidly erect, and reeled off hisinjurious testimony more like a speaking automaton than a human being.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  It cost me an effort to repress an exclamation. I had already been keptlong enough in suspense, and suspecting that Wilkins did not mean toreturn, knew that a lengthened adjournment would be almost equally asdisastrous 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 thetrooper: "Exactly what did you hear at the hotel?"

  "Very little, sir," was the answer. "He didn't tell anybody where he wasgoing, but just rode out. The hotelkeeper said he guessed Wilkins hadsomething 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 aspossible. In the meantime, I can only adjourn the case until they do,unless the prisoner's representative proceeds with the examination ofwitnesses," said the judge.

  Dixon was on his feet in a moment. "With the exception of SergeantMackay and the witness Niven, who will be further required by my legalfriend, I do not purpose to trouble the witnesses," he said. "While Ican urge no reasonable objection to the adjournment, it is necessary topoint out that it will inflict a grievous injury on one whom I haveevery hope of showing is a wholly innocent man. It is well known thatthis is the one time of the year when the prairie rancher's energies aretaxed to the utmost, and the loss of even a few days now may entail theloss of the harvest or the ruin of the stock. My client has alsosuffered considerably from being brought here to answer what I cannothelp describing as an unwarranted charge, and it is only reasonable thatbail 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 aman rose up; while I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw it wasBoone. In spite of the slight change in his appearance, he must havebeen aware that he was running a serious risk, for his former holdinglay almost within a day's journey. I could also see that some of thespectators started as they recognized him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I had grown used to the crushing disappointment which followsshort-lived hope; but the shock was hard to meet. It seemed only tooprobable that Lane or his emissaries had spirited Wilkins away, andwould 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 tomy quarters with the best air of stolidity I could assume.

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

  "You needn't worry about that," was the cheerful answer. "Things aregoing just about as well as they could. There'll be a secondadjournment, 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, itis precious poor humor," I broke in.

  Dixon laughed. "I am not jesting in the least. You seem to be one ofthose people, Ormesby, who believe everything will go to ruin unlessthey hold control themselves. Now, it would not surprise me, if, on yourreturn, you found your crops and cattle flourishing. Further, theprosecution hold a poor case, and I expect, when my turn comes, to seeit collapse. There isn't so much as you might fancy in the ma
tch-boxincident. The men who burn down places don't generally leave such thingsabout. I have had a talk with the sergeant, and, though he's closerthan 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 feeltempted 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. "Itis wisest not to prophesy until one is sure, you know. Now, I'm open, asI said, to do my best for you; but in that case you have just got to letme set about it independently. Usual or otherwise, it is my way."

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

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