Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 by Harold Bindloss (chrome ebook reader .TXT) 📕

It Looked As If He Had Made For The Wrong End Of The Building, And He

Retraced His Steps Toward A Barn That Stood Near Its Opposite

Extremity.  Running Around It, He Saw Nobody, Nor Any Footprints That

Seemed To Have Been Recently Made; And While He Stood Wondering What He

Should Do Next, Grierson Appeared Between Him And The House.

"Were You In The Stables A Minute Or Two Ago?" George Called To Him,

"No," Said The Other Approaching.  "I'd Just Come Out For Some Wood

When I Saw You Run Round The Barn."

George Gave Him A Brief Explanation, And The Man Looked About.

"Perhaps We'd Better Search The Buildings; If There Was Any Stranger

Prowling Round, He Might Have Dodged You In The Shadow.  It's Hardly

Likely He'd Make For The Prairie; The First Clump Of Brush Big Enough

To Hide A Man Is A Quarter Of A Mile Off."

They Set About The Search, But Found Nobody, And George Stopped Outside

The Last Building With A Puzzled Frown On His Face.

"It's Very Strange," He Said.  "I Left The Door Shut; I Couldn't Be

Mistaken."

"Look!" Cried Grierson, Clutching His Arm.  "There's No Mistaking About

That!"

Turning Sharply, George Saw A Dim Mounted Figure Cross The Crest Of A

Low Rise Some Distance Away And Vanish Beyond It.

"The Fellow Must Have Run Straight For The Poplar Scrub, Keeping The

House Between You And Him," Grierson Explained.  "He'd Have Left His

Horse Among The Brush."

"I Suppose That Was It," George Said Angrily.  "As There's No Chance Of

Overtaking Him, We'll Have A Look At The Horses, With A Light, And Then

Let Flett Know."

There Was Nothing Wrong In The Stable, Where They Found The Lantern

George Had Looked For Flung Down In The Empty Stall, And In A Very

Short Space Of Time After They Had Called Him Flett Appeared.  He

Walked Round The Buildings And Examined Some Of The Footprints With A

Light, And Then He Turned To George.

"Looks Like An Indian By His Stride," He Said.  "Guess I'll Have To

Saddle Up And Start."

"You Could Hardly Come Up With The Fellow; He'll Have Struck Into One

Of The Beaten Trails, So As To Leave No Tracks," Edgar Pointed Out.

"That's So," Said Flett.  "I Don't Want To Come Up With Him.  It

Wouldn't Be Any Use When Your Partner And Grierson Couldn't Swear To

The Man."

"What Could Have Been His Object?" George Asked.  "He Seems To Have

Done No Harm."

"He Wanted To See If My Gray Was Still In The Stable," Flett Said

Dryly.  "His Friends Have Some Business They'd Sooner I Didn't Butt

Into Fixed Up Somewhere Else."

"But You Have No Idea Where?"

"I Haven't; That's The Trouble.  There Are Three Or Four Different

Trails I'd Like To Watch, And I Quite Expect To Strike The Wrong One.

Then, If The Man Knows You Saw Him, He Might Take His Friends Warning

To Change Their Plans.  All The Same, I'll Get Off."

He Rode Away Shortly Afterward, And As The Others Went Back Toward The

House Edgar Laughed.

"I Don't Think Being A Police Trooper Has Many Attractions In Winter,"

He Remarked.  "Hiding In A Bluff For Several Hours With The Temperature

Forty Degrees Below, On The Lookout For Fellows Who Have Probably Gone

Another Way, Strikes Me As A Very Unpleasant Occupation."

Flett Spent A Bitter Night, Keeping An Unavailing Watch Among The

Willows Where A Lonely Trail Dipped Into A Ravine.  Not A Sound Broke

The Stillness Of The White Prairie, And Realizing That The Men He

Wished To Surprise Had Taken Another Path, He Left His Hiding-Place

Shortly Before Daylight.  He Was Almost Too Cold And Stiff To Mount;

But As His Hands And Feet Tingled Painfully, It Was Evident That They

Had Escaped Frostbite, And That Was Something To Be Thankful For.

Reaching An Outlying Farm, He Breakfasted And Rested A While, After

Which He Rode On To The Indian Reservation, Where He Found Signs Of

Recent Trouble.  A Man To Whom He Was At First Refused Access Lay With

A Badly Battered Face In A Shack Which Stood Beside A Few Acres Of

Roughly Broken Land; Another Man Suffering From What Looked Like An Ax

Wound Sat Huddled In Dirty Blankets In A Teepee.  It Was Obvious That A

Fight, Which Flett Suspected Was The Result Of A Drunken Orgy, Had Been

In Progress Not Long Before; But He Could Find No Liquor Nor Any Man

Actually Under Its Influence, Though The Appearance Of Several

Suggested That They Were Recovering From A Debauch.  He Discovered,

However, In A Poplar Thicket The Hide Of A Steer, From Which A Recent

Breeze Had Swept Its Covering Of Snow.  This Was A Serious Matter, And

Though The Brand Had Been Removed, Flett Identified The Skin As Having

Belonged To An Animal Reported To Him As Missing.

He Had Now, When Dusk Was Approaching, Two Charges Of Assault And One

Of Cattle-Killing To Make, And It Would Not Be Prudent To Remain Upon

The Reservation During The Night With Anybody He Arrested.  The Indians

Were In A Sullen, Threatening Mood; It Was Difficult To Extract Any

Information, And Flett Was Alone.  He Was, However, Not To Be Daunted

By Angry Looks Or Ominous Mutterings, And By Persistently Questioning

The Injured Men He Learned Enough To Warrant His Making Two Arrests;

Though He Decided That The Matter Of The Hide Must Be Dropped For The

Present.

It Was In A State Of Nervous Tension That He Mounted And Drove His

Prisoners On A Few Paces In Front Of Him.  If He Could Get Them Into

The Open, He Thought He Would Be Safe, But The Reservation Was, For The

Most Part, A Tract Of Brush And Bluff, Pierced By Ravines, Among Which

He Half Expected An Attempt Would Be Made To Facilitate Their Escape.

For All That, He Was, So Far As Appearances Went, Very Calm And Grim

When He Set Out, And His Prisoners, Being Ahead, Did Not Notice That He

Searched Each Taller Patch Of Brush They Entered With Apprehensive

Glances.  Nor Did They See His Hand Drop To His Pistol-Butt When

Something Moved In The Bushes As They Went Down The Side Of A Dark

Declivity.

There Was, However, No Interference, And He Felt More Confident When He

Rode Out Into The Moonlight Which Flooded The Glittering Prairie.  Here

He Could Deal With Any Unfavorable Developments; But It Was Several

Leagues To The Nearest Shelter, And The Indians Did Not Seem Inclined

To Travel Fast.  The Half-Frozen Constable Would Gladly Have Walked,

Only That He Felt More Master Of The Situation Upon His Horse.  Mile

After Mile, They Crossed The Vast White Waste, Without A Word Being

Spoken, Except When The Shivering Man Sternly Bade His Prisoners, "Get

On!"

Hand-Cuffed As They Were, He Dare Not Relax His Vigilance Nor Let Them

Fall Back Too Near Him; And He Had Spent The Previous Night In The

Bitter Frost.  At Times He Felt Painfully Drowsy, But He Had Learned To

Overcome Most Bodily Weaknesses, And His Eyes Only Left The Dark,

Plodding Figures In Front Of Him When He Swept A Searching Glance

Across The Plain.  Nothing Moved On It, And Only The Soft Crunch Of

Snow Broke The Dreary Silence.  At Last, A Cluster Of Low Buildings

Rose Out Of The Waste, And Soon Afterward Flett Got Down With

Difficulty And Demanded Shelter.  The Rudely Awakened Farmer Gave Him

The Use Of His Kitchen, In Which A Stove Was Burning; And While The

Indians Went To Sleep On The Floor, Flett, Choosing An Uncomfortable

Upright Chair, Lighted His Pipe And Sat Down To Keep Another Vigil.

When Dawn Broke, His Eyes Were Still Open, Though His Face Was A Little

Haggard And Very Weary.

He Obtained A Conviction For Assault; But, As The Charges Of

Cattle-Killing And Being In Possession Of Liquor Had To Be Dropped,

This Was Small Consolation.  It Left The Men He Considered Responsible

Absolutely Untouched.

Afterward, He Played A Part In Other Somewhat Similar Affairs, For

Offenses Were Rapidly Becoming More Numerous Among Both Indians And

Mean Whites; But In Spite Of His Efforts The Gang He Suspected Managed

To Evade The Grip Of The Law.  Flett, However, Was Far From Despairing;

He Waited His Time And Watched.

While He Did So, Spring Came, Unusually Early.  A Warm West Wind Swept

The Snow Away And For A Week Or Two The Softened Prairie Was Almost

Impassable To Vehicles.  Then The Wind Veered To The Northwest With

Bright Sunshine, The Soil Began To Dry, And George Set Out On A Visit

To Brandon Where He Had Some Business To Transact.

Reaching Sage Butte In The Afternoon, He Found It Suffering From The

Effects Of The Thaw.  A Swollen Creek Had Converted The Ground On One

Side Of The Track Into A Shallow Lake; The Front Street Resembled A

Muskeg, Furrowed Deep By Sinking Wheels.  The Vehicles Outside The

Hotels Were Covered With Sticky Mire; The High, Plank Sidewalks Were

Slippery With It, And Foot Passengers When Forced To Leave Them Sank

Far Up Their Long Boots; One Or Two Of The Stores Were Almost Cut Off

By The Pools.  It Rained Between Gleams Of Sunshine, And Masses Of Dark

Cloud Rolled By Above The Dripping Town And Wet Prairie, Which Had

Turned A Dingy Gray.

As He Was Proceeding Along One Sidewalk, George Met Hardie, And It

Struck Him That The Man Was