Back Aa

Northwest!

<h2 class="newchapter">XIV A SHOT IN THE DARK</h2> Jimmy imagined he did for a few minutes go to sleep, because he did not know when the noise began. Branches cracked as if a deer pushed through the brush a short distance off. Jimmy was not excited; in fact, he was cold and dull, and he used some effort to wake up. The noise stopped and then began again. It now looked as if a large animal plunged across the clearing. Jimmy did not think a deer went through the brush like that, but for a moment he saw a luminous spot in the dark. Something reflected the beam from his candle and he threw the rifle to his shoulder. His hand shook and he tried to steady the barrel. He felt a jerk and was dully conscious of the report. As a rule, when one concentrates on a moving target one does not hear the gun; the strange thing was Jimmy imagined he heard his a second before the trigger yielded. The deer did not stop and he pumped in another cartridge. He heard nothing, but red sparks leaped from the rifle and then all was dark. A heavy object rolled in the young willows and somebody shouted. Lights tossed and it looked as if people ran about. Jimmy shouted to warn the others and left the stump. When he jumped across the ditch his candle went out, and on the other side his foot struck something soft. Stooping down, he felt about and then got up and gasped. His heart beat, for he knew the object he had touched was not a deer. After a moment or two Stannard joined him and took a miner's lamp from his hat. Jimmy shivered, for the light touched a man who lay in the willows. His arms were thrown out, and as much of his face as Jimmy saw was very white. The other side was buried in the wet grass. "Is he dead?" Jimmy gasped. "Not yet, I think," said Stannard, and Deering, running up, pushed him back and got on his knees. Using some effort, he lifted the man's head and partly turned him over. The others saw a few drops of blood about a very small hole in the breast of his deerskin jacket. "A blamed awkward spot!" Deering remarked and gave Jimmy a sympathetic glance. "Your luck's surely bad, but get hold. We must carry him to the house." Stannard got down; he was cooler than Jimmy, but they heard an angry shout, and Deering jumped for the lamp. When he ran forward the others saw a young police-trooper crawl from the ditch. Stopping on the bank, he looked down into the mud, and Bob, a few yards off, studied him with a grim smile. Jimmy remarked that Okanagan had not a rifle. "If you try to get your blasted gun, I'll sock my knife to you," said Bob. "Shove on in front and stop where the light is." The trooper advanced awkwardly. His Stetson hat was gone and his head was cut. When he saw the man on the ground he stopped. "You've killed him," he said. "Put up your hands! You're my prisoners!" Bob laughed. "Cut it out! That talk may go at Regina; we've no use for it in the bush." "An order from the Royal North-West goes everywhere. Quit fooling with that knife. My duty is—" "Oh, shucks!" said Bob, and turned to the others. "The kid fell on his head and is rattled bad." "He's hurt; give him a drink, Stannard," said Deering. "We must help the other fellow. Lift his feet; I'll watch out for his head. Get hold, Bob." They carried the man to the house. When they put him down he did not move, but Jimmy thought he breathed. Deering pushed a folded coat under his neck and held Stannard's flask to his mouth. His lips were tight and the liquor ran down his skin. "A bad job!" said Deering, who opened the man's jacket. "All the same, his heart has not stopped." The packers from the barn were now pushing about the door and he beckoned one. "Take the best horse and start for the hotel. Get the clerk to wire for a doctor and bring him along as quick as you can make it." The packer went off and Deering asked the policeman: "Who's your pal?" "He's Douglas, the game-warden. Looks as if you'd killed him." "He's not dead yet," Deering rejoined, and pulled out some cigarettes. "He may die. I don't know, but we'll give him all the chances we can. In the meantime, take a smoke and tell us what you were doing at the clearing." The trooper lighted a cigarette and leaned against the wall. Somebody had fixed two candles on the logs and the light touched the faces of the group. All were quiet but Deering, and Jimmy noted with surprise that Stannard let him take control. Stannard's look was very thoughtful; Bob's was keen and grim. The trooper had obviously got a nasty knock. At the door the packers were half seen in the gloom, but Jimmy felt the unconscious man on the boards, so to speak, dominated the picture. Although Jimmy himself was highly strung he was cool. "My officer sent me to help the warden round you up for poaching on the reserve," said the trooper. "When we hit the clearing we saw you were out with the pit-light and Douglas reckoned we'd get Okanagan first; the rest of you were tourists and wouldn't bother us. Douglas calculated Okanagan knew the best stand for a shot and would go right there. His plan was to steal up and get him. I was to watch out and butt in when I was wanted." "It didn't go like that!" Bob remarked. "When you saw me by the ditch had I a gun?" "So far as I could see you had not. You began to pull your knife." Stannard motioned Bob to be quiet and the other resumed: "I heard Douglas shout and I got on a move. In the dark, I ran up against a stump, pitched over, and went into the ditch. I heard a shot—" "You heard one shot?" said Deering. "I don't know—I'd hit my head and was trying to find my rifle. Well, I guess that's all!" "I shot twice," said Jimmy, in a quiet voice. "I don't think Bob used a gun. All the same, when I pulled the trigger I imagined I heard another report; but perhaps it was my rifle. I really don't know." "The number of shots is important," Stannard observed. Deering looked up sharply. "To find out is the police's job. Ours is not to help." "We ought to help," Jimmy rejoined. "I thought a deer was coming; I had no object for shooting the warden, but if my bullet hit him, the police must not blame Bob." He turned to the others. "How many shots did you hear?" Perhaps it was strange, but nobody knew. A packer thought he heard three shots, although he admitted he might have been cheated because the reports echoed in the woods. After a few moments they let it go and Deering glanced at the man on the floor. "Maybe he knows. I doubt if he will tell!" The trooper advanced awkwardly. "Give me a light. I'm going across the clearing; I want to see your stands." For the most part, the others went with him. Their curiosity was keen and it looked as if nobody reflected that the lad was their antagonist. In fact, since they carried in the warden, all antagonism had vanished. Jimmy, however, remained behind. He was on the floor and did not want to get up. After the strain, he was bothered by a dull reaction and felt slack. By and by Stannard returned and sat down on the boards. "Well?" said Jimmy. "Have you found out much?" "The trooper found your two cartridges and the posts Bob gave us. You were at a big stump, Bob a short distance on your left, although he declares he had not a gun. My stand was on your other side. The warden's track across the brush was plain. He was going nearly straight for the stump and the bullet mark is at the middle of his chest." "It looks as if I shot him," Jimmy said and shivered. "Then you must brace up and think about the consequences!" "Somehow I don't want to bother about this yet. Besides, it's plain I thought I aimed at a deer." "I doubt," Stannard remarked, with some dryness. "For one thing, the police know we killed the big-horn on the reserve, and since we took Bob again, to state he cheated us would not help. The fellow's a notorious poacher, and when the warden arrived he found us using the pit-light, which the game laws don't allow. On the whole, I think the police have grounds to claim Douglas was not shot by accident." "But he may get better." "It's possible; I think that's all. But suppose he does get better? Do you imagine his narrative would clear you?" Jimmy pondered. Until Stannard began to argue, all he had thought about was that he had shot the warden, but now he weighed the consequences. He was young and freedom was good. Moreover, he had seen men, chained by the leg to a heavy iron ball, engaged making a road. A warden with a shot-gun superintended their labor, and Jimmy had thought the indignity horrible. He could not see himself grading roads, perhaps for all his life, with a gang like that. "What must I do about it?" he asked. "I'd put up some food and start for the rocks. Take a rifle and the Indian packer, and try to get down the east side of the range by the neck below the buttress. Then you might perhaps push across to the foothills and the plains. The police will, no doubt, reckon on your going west for the Pacific coast, and, if you tried, would stop you. As far as Revelstoke, the railroad follows the only break in the mountains, and orders will be telegraphed to watch the stations. No; I think you must steer for the Alberta plains." Jimmy knitted his brows. If he could reach the coast, he might get into the United States or on board a ship, but he must cross British Columbia and, for the most part, the province was a rugged, mountainous wilderness. The northern railroads were not yet built; the settlements were along the C. P. R. track and the lake steamboat routes. He dared not use the railroad; but when he thought about the rocks and broken mountains he must cross to reach the plains he shrank. "I could not carry the food I'd need," he said. "You have a rifle, and must take the packer. So long as deer and grouse are in the woods, an Indian will not starve," Stannard replied and gave Jimmy his wallet. "Offer the fellow a large sum and he'll see you out. But you must start!" "Thank you; I'll risk it," said Jimmy, and giving Stannard his hand, went off. Not long afterwards the others returned and Deering looked about the room. "Where's Jimmy?" he asked. "He went out a few minutes since," Stannard replied in a careless voice and Deering turned to the trooper. "Somebody must watch Douglas, but you're knocked out and Mr. Stannard and I will undertake the job until sun-up. It's obvious our interest is to keep him alive." The lad agreed. His head was cut and he had not found his rifle. To imagine he could control a party of athletic men was ridiculous, and since they were friendly he must be resigned. Not long before daybreak Deering woke up and looked about. Bob's pit-lamp, hanging from a beam, gave a dim light. "Hello! Jimmy's not back!" Stannard looked at the others and thought them asleep. Motioning to Deering to follow, he went to the door. He had pulled off his boots and Deering trod like a cat. "Jimmy will not come back. He started for the plains, across the neck." "You sent the kid across the hardest country in Alberta?" "I don't know that I did send him; but we'll let it go. Jimmy's a mountaineer and he took the Indian." "Shucks!" said Deering. "The Indian's a coast Siwash and not much use on the rocks. Jimmy's an English tenderfoot and has no Chinook. He can't talk to the Indian. I doubt if he's got a compass or a map." "He has my map and I imagine an Indian does not need a compass," Stannard rejoined. "At all events, I didn't see another plan." Deering looked at him hard. "Well, perhaps Jimmy's lucky because I was born and raised in the bush. Fix up a plausible tale for the policeman. When he wakes I'll be hitting Jimmy's trail." He turned and his bulky figure melted in the dark. Stannard knew he was going to the barn to get food, and for a few moments knitted his brows. Then he shrugged philosophically and went back to the house. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.