<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER IX</h2>
<p class="pch">THE HUSKS OF THE PRODIGAL</p>
<p class="drop-cap03"><span class="beg">WHEN</span> Roger Bracknell came to himself,
he had a splitting head, and no exact
recollection of recent events. His head
ached so much that he felt moved to press his temples
with his hands, but found that it was impossible
to do so, owing to his arms being bound to his
side. On making that discovery, he lay quite still,
with his eyes closed, thinking over the situation.
Little by little memory came back to him, and he
remembered what had befallen, but his remembrance
of events ceased with the moment when his cousin’s
pistol had cracked for the third time. Had the
bullet struck him? He did not know, but at that
moment through the drums throbbing in his head,
a voice sounded in his ears, a voice that had external
reality, and the tones of which he recognized.</p>
<p>“Do you think he’s dead, Joe? He lies still
enough.”</p>
<p>A guttural voice grunted some reply, and there
was a sound of movement near him. He opened
his eyes, to find himself looking into a dark, frost-scarred
face, from which a single eye gleamed
malevolently. As that eye encountered his, the
dark face was lifted and turned from him, and he
caught the reply given over the speaker’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Him eyes open. He alright!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“That’s good hearing. I don’t want him to die
on our hands, at least not until I have had a little
more conversation with him.”</p>
<p>The man Joe gave a careless reply, and moved
away. Corporal Bracknell craned his neck a little
and looked round.</p>
<p>The slush lamp was still burning, but through the
parchment window the grey light of the Northland
day penetrated, from which fact he deduced that
he had lain where he was many hours. In front of
the stove, the man of the evil face, whom he had
seen on opening his eyes, was busy preparing a
meal, and the odour of frying moose-steak and bacon
filled the cabin. In the bunk, propped up
among the furs, with his left arm in an improvised
sling, he descried his cousin, puffing at a pipe, and
regarding him with thoughtful gaze. Their eyes
met, and Dick Bracknell smiled.</p>
<p>“Morning, Cousin Roger. I hope that head of
yours is not very bad.”</p>
<p>“It is only middling,” answered the corporal
truthfully.</p>
<p>“Um! I suspected so! Joe there,” he indicated
the Indian bending over the stove, “doesn’t
know his strength, and he’s a holy terror with a
whipstock. You should see him tackle a big wolf
dog that’s turned savage. It’s a sight for gods and
men!”</p>
<p>Roger Bracknell did not reply. He had not been
aware of the Indian’s entrance on the previous
night, but in a flash he divined what had happened
to him, and why his head ached so intolerably. His
cousin continued with mocking affability.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“He hit you rather hard, I am afraid, but we
Bracknells are all a little thick in the skull, and I
hope no real harm will follow on Joe’s forceful
intervention. In any case you must own that his
arrival was a most opportune one.”</p>
<p>“I can well believe you found it so,” answered
the corporal.</p>
<p>“I did, Roger my boy, I did. You surprised me
last night. I didn’t think you would have gone for
a wounded and disabled man. It was scarcely
chivalrous, you know.”</p>
<p>“You were armed,” was the reply. “I wasn’t.”</p>
<p>Dick Bracknell waved his pipe airily. “We will
let it pass. What is done is done, and the past is
always to be reckoned as irrevocable, as I know
better than most of the parsons. The present and
the future are my immediate concern, and the question
is what am I to do with you?”</p>
<p>“That,” answered the corporal quietly, “is
scarcely for me to decide.”</p>
<p>“No,” replied his cousin with a little laugh, “but
it is a question in which you should be interested.”</p>
<p>Roger Bracknell was interested, intensely interested,
but he strove his best to appear unconcerned,
and after a moment his cousin continued—</p>
<p>“Joe there has a very simply solution. He suggests
another knock on the head, and sepulchre in
the river through an ice-hole. It is a course that
would be advantageous to me, since your body
would not be found before the ice breaks up in the
spring, if then, and in the interval we should have
time to clear out of the Territories.”</p>
<p>The corporal knew that what he said was true,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</SPAN></span>
and shivered a little as he contemplated the suggested
way of getting rid of him, but his voice was
firm as he asked casually, “Why don’t you accept
that solution?”</p>
<p>“Why don’t I accept—” began the other, and
then broke off, glowering at the man who though
in his power was apparently undismayed. Then a
sneer came on his face. “Blood is thicker than
water,” he remarked. “Though you’re willing to
forget that we are cousins, and regardless of family
ties are prepared to follow your d—d sense of
duty, I can’t forget it; and I’m inclined to spare
you, and even to cut those bonds of yours on conditions.”</p>
<p>“On conditions! What are they?” asked the
corporal.</p>
<p>“That you give me your word of honour that you
will not attempt to escape or to attack Joe or myself
whilst you are with us.”</p>
<p>The corporal wondered what was in his cousin’s
mind and what was behind the offer, but he was
careful not to probe into the matter openly.</p>
<p>“You will accept my word of honour?” he asked
with a faint touch of surprise in his voice.</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered his cousin sneeringly. “You
see, I know you of old. The Bracknell strain runs
true in you, whilst it has a twist in me. I know
you won’t break your parole—if you give it. And
of course, you will give it. It’s your word or your
life. Ha! Ha! Quite a Dick Turpin touch there,
hey?”</p>
<p>Roger Bracknell considered the matter swiftly.
So far as he could see there was nothing to gain by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</SPAN></span>
rejecting the offer, since he was completely in the
other’s hands, and though his cousin sneered he was
clearly quite in earnest.</p>
<p>“I might be disposed to give my word, if—”</p>
<p>“Man,” broke in the other savagely, “you had
better. There are no ifs and buts about it. Look
at Joe there. He doesn’t strike you as one who will
be over delicate, does he? If I let him loose you’ll
be running down the Elkhorn under the ice inside
ten minutes. You’d better agree—and quickly.
No!” he lifted his pipe to check the words on the
corporal’s lips. “Hear me out. There’s another
condition yet, and it is this. As soon as I am able
to travel you will accompany me without demur for
four days. On the fifth day, I’ll release you and
you can do your worst.”</p>
<p>The corporal hesitated. There was something
here that he did not understand, and again he
wondered what lay behind the proposal. His
cousin watched him, and as he did not speak, addressed
him again.</p>
<p>“I may remind you what the situation is. You
are in my power. If you can’t give me your word,
if I don’t fall in with Joe’s more primitive suggestion,
I can keep you tied up here, and I can leave
you tied up when we move on; or I can lash you on
to a sledge, and, willy nilly, take you along with us.
That must be quite plain to you. But I prefer an
amicable arrangement.... You will give me your
word?”</p>
<p>Corporal Bracknell recognized the truth of his
cousin’s utterances. There was little choice in the
matter, and after a little more reflection he agreed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Yes, Dick, I give you my word of honour.”</p>
<p>“I thought you would!” Dick Bracknell laughed
shortly as he spoke, and then turned to his Indian
companion. “Just take your knife, Joe, and cut
those thongs.”</p>
<p>The Indian turned from the stove and growled
something in a dialect which the corporal did not
understand. He guessed, however, that the Indian
was demurring, and with mingled feelings waited
to see what would happen. His cousin spoke again,
and this time there was a peremptory note in his
voice.</p>
<p>“Cut those thongs, I tell you; and don’t stand
there growling at things you don’t understand.”</p>
<p>He added something in his native tongue, and
watching the Indian’s scowling face, the corporal
saw the frown lift, and a flicker of evil laughter leap
into the single eye. A moment later the Indian
stepped up to him, and with a hunting knife cut
the hide thongs which bound him, and then returned
to the stove.</p>
<p>The corporal stretched his arms, then his whole
body, and after that rose slowly to his feet. His
cousin watched him with eyes that smiled inscrutably.</p>
<p>“Feels better, hey? You’re a sensible man,
Cousin Roger, and now I guess we shall get along
famously. A pity, though, that I shan’t be able to
sit down to breakfast with you.”</p>
<p>“What I can’t understand is how you come to be
here at all,” blurted the corporal.</p>
<p>“Oh,” laughed the other, “that’s as simple as
you please. When I was plugged down by North<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</SPAN></span>
Star, I must have lapsed into unconsciousness—for
the first time on any stage. Whilst I was lying
there in the snow—”</p>
<p>“I examined you,” broke in the corporal. “I
thought that you were dead!”</p>
<p>“But as you see I wasn’t,” replied the other,
“and whilst I was lying there in the snow; Joe,
who was waiting with the dogs, having heard the
shots came to look for me. He carried me to the
sled, took me to the woods on the other side of the
river, made a fire, and having doctored me brought
me along here. He’s a good sort is Joe, though his
looks are against him.”</p>
<p>The corporal did not reply. From the trails he
had found in the snow, he had already guessed part
of the story which he had just heard and was not
surprised at it. The wounded man laughed shortly.</p>
<p>“Joe is attached to me. I once did him a service,
and if I told him to do it he’d run amuck
through Regina barracks without demur. He
doesn’t love the mounted police, as he owes his
lost eye to one of them, so you will see, cousin,
that only my family affection saves you.”</p>
<p>The Indian turned his scarred face from the stove,
and laid the table in primitive fashion. Then
having attended to his master, he placed a tin plate
with moose meat and beans before the corporal,
filled a mug with steaming coffee, and with a grunt
invited him to eat. The officer did so readily
enough. He had eaten nothing for fourteen hours
and was feeling hungry.</p>
<p>“Plain fare,” commented his cousin, “but
wholesome, and if one brings to it the sauce of
hunger, it’s at least as good as anything we had at<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</SPAN></span>
Harrow Fell.... And that reminds me, cousin.
How is the governor?”</p>
<p>The corporal remembered the dignified Sir James
Bracknell as he had last seen him, and although he
had had his own quarrel with him, felt resentment
at the tone in which the question was asked.</p>
<p>“He was very well when last I saw him,” he
answered stiffly.</p>
<p>“How long ago is that?”</p>
<p>“Two years.”</p>
<p>“Um! that’s a goodish time. May I inquire if
he knows your whereabouts?”</p>
<p>“I think not. I didn’t tell him of my intentions
when I came here. We—er—had a difference of
opinion.”</p>
<p>Dick Bracknell laughed. “I don’t blame you
for that. He’s a starchy old buffer is the governor,
and a regular perambulating pepper pot.” He was
silent for a moment, and then he inquired jerkily,
“How—a—did he take—that—a—a—little affair
of mine?”</p>
<p>“You mean the selling of the plans of the Travis
gun?”</p>
<p>“There’s no need for you to be brutal!” was the
sharp reply. “I’ve paid pretty heavily for that
piece of madness. You’ve to remember that I’m
the heir of Harrow Fell, and that if I show my nose
in England I shall probably get five years at Portland
or Dartmoor.”</p>
<p>The corporal knew that this was true, and was
conscious of a little compunction. Without alluding
to it he answered the question. “Sir James
took that very badly. It was hushed up, of course,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</SPAN></span>
but when you disappeared, and your name was
gazetted among the broken, he pressed for an
explanation, and got it. As you can guess, proud
old man as he is, it wasn’t a nice thing for him to
hear.”</p>
<p>“No.... Poor old governor!”</p>
<p>A strained silence followed, and a full two
minutes passed without any one speaking. Then
the corporal glanced at his cousin. The latter was
sitting in his bunk, staring straight before him, with
a troubled look in his eyes. He moved as the
corporal looked at him, and as their eyes met, he
laughed in a grating way.</p>
<p>“The husks are not good eating,” he commented,
“and I’ve been feeding on them ever since the day
I skipped from Alcombe.”</p>
<p>The corporal was still silent, a little amazed at
his cousin’s mood, and the other spoke again.
“Don’t you go thinking I never regret things, Roger
my boy. There never was a prodigal yet who
didn’t lie awake o’ nights thinking what a fool he’d
been. And for some of us there’s no going back
to scoop the ring and the robe and to feast on the
fatted veal.... There are times when I think of
the Fell, and hear the pheasants clucking in the
spinney. And I never sight at a ptarmigan but I
think of the grouse driving down the wind on
Harrow Moor. Man—it’s Hell, undiluted.”</p>
<p>The corporal pushed the tin plate from him.
He felt strangely moved. He had thought of his
cousin as wholly bad, and now he found good
mingled with the evil. He turned round.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Dick, old man,” he said in an unsteady voice,
“you might make good yet, if you tried.”</p>
<p>His cousin laughed harshly. “Not me, you
know better. What were you after me for?
Whisky-running? Yes! I thought so. That’s
bad enough for a man of—a—my antecedents.
But there are worse things credited to Koona Dick,
as you’ll learn. I’ve got too far. What is it that
fellow Kipling says? ‘Damned from here to
Eternity’? That’s me, and I know it.”</p>
<p>“You can pull up!” urged the other. “You can
make reparation.”</p>
<p>“Reparation!” exclaimed the other. “Ah! you
are thinking of—Joy—my wife, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered the corporal simply.</p>
<p>Dick Bracknell’s mood changed swiftly.
“What’s Joy to you?” he demanded hoarsely.
“You know her, you’ve talked with her, consoled
her, I don’t doubt. What’s she to you?”</p>
<p>As he spoke his tones became violent, and he half
threw himself out of the bunk, as if he would attack
his cousin. The Indian started to his feet, and his
one eye glared at the officer malevolently. The
corporal did not move. As his cousin shouted the
question the blood flushed his face, and in his heart
he knew that he could not answer the question with
the directness demanded.</p>
<p>“Don’t be a fool, Dick,” he replied quietly. “I
never saw Joy Gargrave till four days ago, and if I
talk of reparation, well, you’ll own it is due to her.”</p>
<p>Dick Bracknell’s jealous passion died down as
suddenly as it had flamed. He threw himself back
in the bunk and laughed shakily.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, “but it is one of
the things that can’t be done.”</p>
<p>“You could let her divorce you!” blurted out the
corporal. “It would be the decent thing to do.”</p>
<p>“When did I ever do the decent thing,” retorted
his cousin sneeringly. “No, Joy’s my wife—and
I’ll keep her. It is something to know that there
are millions I can dip my hands in some day, and a
warm breast I can flee to—”</p>
<p>“Not now at any rate,” broke in the corporal
sharply, only by an effort restraining himself.
“Joy has started for England.”</p>
<p>“For England—when?” Dick Bracknell’s face
and tones expressed amazement, but his next words
were burdened with suspicion. “You’re not lying
to me?”</p>
<p>“No, it is the truth. Joy started for England
yesterday morning. I saw her start.”</p>
<p>“And I can’t follow,” commented the prodigal
bitterly. “That’s part of the price I pay.”</p>
<p>He did not speak again for a long time, and the
corporal charged his pipe, lit it, and sat smoking,
staring into the stove, and reflecting on the mess his
cousin had made of his life.</p>
<p>At the end of half an hour the Indian went out,
and then Dick Bracknell broke the silence.</p>
<p>“I wonder what Joy thinks of me? Did she tell
you?”</p>
<p>“She knows how she was trapped—you are
aware of that, of course? I think she will never
forgive you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not surprised,” was the reply, “and yet,
Roger, I think the world of her. When I married<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</SPAN></span>
her I loved her—and I wasn’t thinking of her
money overmuch. It was Lady Alcombe who put
that rotten scheme in my head. If I’d only been
patient, and run straight, and not been tempted by
that agent to sell the secret of the Travis gun—but
there’s a whole regiment of ‘if’s’ so what’s the use
of gassing? Anyway, Joy’s mine—and no man else
can get her while I live.”</p>
<p>It was the last word he said upon the subject,
and nearly three weeks later, having recovered
sufficiently to travel, he journeyed with his cousin
and the Indian up the Elkhorn. On the fourth
morning of that journey Roger Bracknell woke, to
find that preparations were already well advanced
for departure. One team was already harnessed
with a larger complement of dogs than usual, whilst
his own sled, with three dogs standing by, was still
unharnessed. His cousin indicated it with a jerk of
his head.</p>
<p>“We part company today, Roger. I’m sorry to
rob your dog team, but Joe insists as he’s afraid
you’ll get down to the police-post too soon for us,
if we leave you your full team. Besides, we’re
tackling a stiff journey and we shall need dogs
before we’re through. We’re starting immediately,
and you’ll have to breakfast alone, and by the time
you’re through with it your parole is off. You
understand?”</p>
<p>The corporal nodded, and his cousin continued,
“With only three dogs you won’t be such a fool as
to try and trail us, and we’ve left you enough grub
to get you down to North Star comfortably. Your
rifle’s there on the top of your sled, and I trust you<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</SPAN></span>
not to try and use it on us till you’ve eaten your
breakfast.... So long, old man.”</p>
<p>He turned lightly away, without waiting for his
cousin to speak, and the corporal heard him humming
an old chanson of the Voyageurs—</p>
<p class="ppq8 p1">“Ah, ah, Babette,<br/>
We go away;<br/>
But we will come<br/>
Again, Babette—<br/>
Again back home,<br/>
On—”</p>
<p class="p1">The song failed suddenly, and as Joe the Indian
cracked his whip to the waiting dogs, Dick Bracknell
looked back over his shoulder. His face was white
and twisted as if with pain, and there was anguish
in his eyes. The corporal took a hasty step towards
him, but was waved back, and the team
moved forward, the runners singing on the windswept
ice. For ten minutes the officer stood watching,
until the cavalcade passed out of sight behind a
tree-clad island, but Dick Bracknell did not look
back once. The corporal turned to the fire with a
musing look upon his face, and whilst he prepared
breakfast, his mind was with the man travelling up
the river. The interrupted chanson haunted him
and he found himself searching for the unsung fragment.
For a time it eluded him, but presently he
found it and hummed to himself—</p>
<p class="ppq8 p1">“—On Easter Day—<br/>
Back home to play<br/>
On Easter day,<br/>
Babette! Babette!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="pn1">and as he found it he understood to the full the look
of pain upon his cousin’s face. Again he looked up
the river. Beyond the island a line of black dots
appeared, and by them marched two larger dots.</p>
<p>“Poor devil!” he murmured as he turned again to
the fire.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />