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

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XV

  AMONG THE HALF-BREEDS

  Lablache was not a man of variable moods. He was too strong; his purposein life was too strong for any vacillation of temper. His one aim--hiswhole soul--was wrapt in a craving for money-making and the inevitablepower which the accumulation of great wealth must give him. In all hisdealings he was perfectly--at least outwardly--calm, and he neverallowed access to anger to thwart his ends. An inexorable purposegoverned his actions to an extent which, while his feelings mightundergo paroxysms of acute changes, never permitted him to make a falsemove or to show his hand prematurely. But this latest reverse had upsethim more than he had ever been upset in his life, and all the greatlatent force of his character had suddenly, as it were, beenprecipitated into a torrent of ungovernable fury. He had been woundeddeeply in the most vulnerable spot in his composition. Thirty-fivethousands of his precious dollars ruthlessly torn from his capacious andretentive money-bags. Truly it was a cruel blow, and one well calculatedto disturb the even tenor of his complacency.

  Thought was very busy within that massive head as he lumped heavilyalong from John Allandale's house in the direction of his own store.Some slight satisfaction was his at the reflection of the promptassistance he had obtained from the police. It was the satisfaction of aman who lived by the assistance of the law, of a man who, in his owninordinate arrogance, considered that the law was made for such as he,to the detriment of those who attempt to thwart the rich man's purpose.He knew Horrocks to be capable, and although he did not place too muchreliance on that astute prairie-man's judgment--he always believed inhis own judgment first--still, he knew that he could not have obtainedbetter assistance, and was therefore as content as circumstances wouldpermit. That he was sanguine of recovering his property was doubtful.Lablache never permitted himself the luxury of optimism. He set himselfa task and worked steadily on to the required end. So he had decidednow. He did not permit himself to dwell on the desired result, or toanticipate. He would simply leave no stone unturned to bring about therecovery of his stolen property.

  He moved ponderously along over the smooth dusty road, and at lastreached the market-place. The settlement was drowsily quiet. Life of asort was apparent but it was chiefly "animal." The usual number of dogswere moving about, or peacefully basking in the sun; a few saddle horseswere standing with dejected air, hitched to various tying-posts. Abuckboard and team was standing outside his own door. The sound of thesmith's hammer falling upon the anvil sounded plaintively upon thecalmness of the sleepy village. In spite of the sensational raid of thenight before, Foss River displayed no unusual activity.

  At length the great man reached his office, and threw himself, withgreat danger to his furniture, into his capacious wicker chair. He wasin no mood for business. Instead he gazed long and thoughtfully out ofhis office window. What somber, vengeful thoughts were teeming throughhis brain would be hard to tell, his mask-like face betrayed nothing.His sphinx-like expression was a blank.

  In this way half an hour and more passed. Then his attention becamefixed upon a tall figure sauntering slowly towards the settlement fromthe direction of Allandale's ranch. In a moment Lablache had stirredhimself, and a pair of field-glasses were leveled at the unconsciouspedestrian. A moment later an exclamation of annoyance broke from themoney-lender.

  "Curse the man! Am I never to be rid of this damned Englishman?" Hestood now gazing malevolently at the tall figure of the Hon.Bunning-Ford, who was leisurely making his way towards the village. Forthe time being the channel of Lablache's thoughts had changed itsdirection. He had hoped, in foreclosing his mortgages on theEnglishman's property, to have rid Foss River of the latter's, to him,hateful presence. But since misfortune had come upon "Lord" Bill, theAllandales and he had become closer friends than ever. This effort hadbeen one of the money-lender's few failures, and failure galled him witha bitterness the recollection of which no success could eliminate. Theresult was a greater hatred for the object of his vengeance, and alasting determination to rid Foss River of the Englishman forever. Andso he remained standing and watching until, at length, the entrance ofone of his clerks, to announce that the saloon dinner-time was at hand,brought him out of his cruel reverie, and he set off in quest of theneeds of his inner man, a duty which nothing, of whatever importance,was allowed to interfere with.

  In the meantime, Horrocks, or, as he was better known amongst hiscomrades, "the Ferret," was hot upon the trail of the lost cattle.Horrocks bristled with energy at every point, and his men, working withhim, had reason to be aware of the fact. It was an old saying amongstthem that when "the Ferret" was let loose there was no chance of bitsrusting. In other words, his mileage report to his chiefs would be along one.

  As the sergeant anticipated, it was child's play to track the stolenherd. The tracks left by the fast-driven cattle was apparent to theveriest greenhorn, and Horrocks and his men were anything butgreenhorns.

  Long before evening closed in they had followed the footprints rightdown to the edge of the great muskeg, and already Horrocks anticipated asmart capture. But his task seemed easier than it really was. On thebrink of the keg the tracks became confused. With some difficulty thesleuth instincts of these accomplished trackers led them to follow themarks for a mile and a half along the edge of the mire, then, it seemed,the herd had been turned and driven with great speed back on theirtracks. But worse confusion became apparent; and "the Ferret" soonrealized that the herd had been driven up and down along the border ofthe great keg with a view to evading further pursuit. So frequently hadthis been done that it was impossible to further trace the stock, andthe sun was already sinking when Horrocks dismounted, and with him hismen were at last forced to acknowledge defeat.

  He had come to a standstill with a stretch of a mile and a half ofcattle tracks before him. There was no sign further than this of wherethe beasts had been driven. The keg itself gave no clew. It was as greenand trackless as ever, and again on the land side there was not a singlefoot-print beyond the confused marks along the quagmire's dangerousborder.

  The work of covering retreat had been carried out by a master hand, andHorrocks was not slow to acknowledge the cleverness of the raider. Withall one good prairie man's appreciation for another he detected a foemanworthy of his steel, and he warmed to the problem set out before him.The troopers waited for their superior's instructions. As "the Ferret"did not speak one of the men commented aloud.

  "Smart work, sergeant," he said quietly. "I'm not surprised that thisfellow rode roughshod over the district for so long and escaped all whowere sent to nab him. He's clever, is P. Retief, Esq."

  Horrocks was looking out across the great keg. Strangely enough they hadhalted within twenty yards of the willow bush, at which point the secretpath across the mire began. The man with the gold chevrons upon his armignored the remark of his companion, but answered with words whichoccurred in his own train of thought.

  "It's plain enough, I guess. Yonder is the direction taken by thecattle," he said, nodding his head towards the distant peaks of themountains beyond. "But who's got the nerve to follow 'em? Say," he wenton sharply, "somewhere along this bank, I mean in the mile and a half ofhoof marks, there's a path turns out, or, at least, firm ground by whichit is possible to cross this devil's keg. It must be so. Cattle can't bespirited away. Unless, of course--but no, a man don't duff cattle todrown 'em in a swamp. They've crossed this pernicious mire, boys. We maynab our friend, Retief, but we'll never clap eyes on those beasts."

  "It's the same old business over again, sergeant," said one of thetroopers. "I was on this job before, and I reckon we landed hereaboutsevery time we lit on Retief's trail. But we never got no further. Yonderkeg is a mighty hard nut to crack. I guess the half-breed's got thebulge on us. If path across the mire there is he knows it and we don't,and, as you say, who's goin' to follow him?" Having delivered himself ofthese sage remarks he stepped to the brink of the mire and put his footheavily upon its surface. His top-boot sank quickly through the yieldingcrust
, and the black subsoil rose with oily, sucking action, 'and hisfoot was immediately buried out of sight. He drew it out sharply, ashudder of horror quickening his action. Strong man and hardy as he was,the muskeg inspired him with a superstitious terror. "Guess there ain'tno following them beasties through that, sergeant. Leastways, not forme."

  Horrocks had watched his subordinate's action thoughtfully. He knew,without showing, that no man or beast could attempt to cross the mirewith any hope of success without the knowledge of some secret path. Thatsuch a path, or paths, existed he believed, for many were the stories ofhow criminals in past days escaped prairie law by such means. However,he had no knowledge of any such paths himself, and he had no intentionof sacrificing his life uselessly in an attempt to discover the keg'smost jealously guarded secret.

  He turned back to his horse and prepared to vault into the saddle.

  "It's no use, boys. We are done for to-day. You can ride back to thesettlement. I have another little matter on hand. If any of you seeLablache just tell him I shall join him in about two hours' time."

  Horrocks rode off and his four troopers headed towards the Foss River.

  Despite the fact that his horse had been under the saddle for nearlyeight hours Horrocks rode at a great pace. He was one of those men whoare always to be found on the prairie--thorough horsemen. Men who, intimes of leisure, care more for their horses than they do forthemselves; men who regard their horses as they would a comrade, butwho, when it becomes a necessity to work or travel, demand every effortthe animal can make by way of return for the care which has beenlavished upon it. Such men generally find themselves well repaid. Ahorse is something more than a creature with four legs, one at eachcorner, head out of one end, tail out of the other. There is an oldsaying in the West to the effect that a thorough horseman is worthy ofman's esteem. The opinion amongst prairie men is that a man who loveshis horse can never be wholly bad. And possibly we can accept thisdecision upon the subject without question, for their experience in men,especially in "bad men," is wide and varied.

  Horrocks avoided the settlement, leaving it well to the west, and turnedhis willing beast in the direction of the half-breed camp. There was anex-Government scout living in this camp whom he knew; a man who waswilling to sell to his late employers any information he chanced topossess. It was the officer's intention to see this man and purchase allhe had to sell, if it happened to be worth buying. Hence his visit tothe camp.

  The evening shadows were fast lengthening when he espied in the distancethe squalid shacks and dilapidated teepees of the Breeds. There was alarge colony of those wanderers of the West gathered together in theFoss River camp. We have said that these places are hot-beds of crime, acurse to the country; but that description scarcely conveys the wretchedpoverty and filthiness of these motley gatherings. From a slight risingground Horrocks looked down on what might have, at first sight, beentaken for a small village. A scattering of small tumbled-down shacks,about fifty in number, set out on the fresh green of the prairie,created the first blot of uncleanly, uncouth habitation upon the view.Add to these a proportionate number of ragged tents and teepees, a crowdof unwashed, and, for the most part, undressed children, a hundredfierce and half-starved dogs of the "husky" type. Imagine a stench ofdung fire cooking, and the gathering of millions of mosquitoes about afew choyeuses and fat cattle grazing near by, and the picture as itfirst presents itself is complete.

  The approach to such a place makes one almost wish the undulatingprairie was not quite so fair a picture, for the contrast with man'sfilthy squalor is so great that the feeling of nauseation which resultsis almost overpowering. Horrocks, however, was used to such scenes. Hisduty often took him into worse Breed camps than this. He treated suchplaces to a perfectly callous indifference, and regarded them merely asnecessary evils.

  At the first shack he drew up and instantly became the center ofattention from a pack of yelping dogs and a number of half-fearful,wide-eyed ragamuffins, grimy children nearly naked and ranging in agefrom two years up to twelve. Young as the latter were they were anevil-looking collection. The noisy greeting of the camp dogs had arousedthe elders from their indolent repose within the shacks, and Horrocksquickly became aware of a furtive spying within the darkened doorwaysand paneless windows.

  The reception was nothing unusual to the officer. The Breeds he knewalways fought shy of the police. As a rule, such a visit as the presentportended an arrest, and they were never quite sure who the victim wasto be and the possible consequences. Crime was so common amongst thesepeople that in nearly every family it was possible to find one or morelaw-breakers and, more often than not, the delinquent was liable tocapital punishment.

  Ignoring his cool reception, Horrocks hitched his horse to a tree andstepped up to the shack, regardless of the vicious snapping of the dogs.The children fled precipitately at his approach. At the door of thehouse he halted.

  "Hallo there, within!" he called.

  There was a moment's pause, and he heard a whispered debate going on inthe shadowy interior.

  "Hey!" he called again. "Get a hustle on, some of you. Get out," hesnapped sharply, as a great husky, with bristling hair, came snuffing athis legs. He aimed a kick at the dog, which, in response, sullenlyretreated to a safe distance.

  The angry tone of his second summons had its effect, and a figure movedcautiously within and finally approached the door.

  "Eh! what is it?" asked a deep, guttural voice, and a bulky form frameditself in the opening.

  The police-officer eyed the man keenly. The twilight had so far deepenedthat there was barely sufficient light to distinguish the man'sfeatures, but Horrocks's survey satisfied him as to the fellow'sidentity. He was a repulsive specimen of the Breed; the dark, loweringface had something utterly cruel in its expression. The cast was brutalin the extreme; sensual, criminal. The shifty black eyes looked anywherebut into the policeman's face.

  "That you, Gustave?" said Horrocks, pleasantly enough. He wished toinspire confidence. "I'm looking for Gautier. I've got a nice little jobfor him. Do you know where he is?"

  "Ugh!" grunted Gustave, heavily, but with a decided air of relief. Heentertained a wholesome dread of Sergeant Horrocks. Now he became morecommunicative. Horrocks had not come to arrest anybody. "I see," he wenton, gazing out across the prairie, "this is not a warrant business, eh?Guess Gautier is back there," with a jerk of a thumb in a vaguedirection behind him. "He's in his shack. Gautier's just hooked up withanother squaw."

  "Another?" Horrocks whistled softly. "Why, that's the sixth to myknowledge. He's very much a marrying man. How much did he pay the nechethis time?"

  "Two steers and a sheep," said the man, with an oily grin.

  "Ah! I wonder how he acquired 'em. Well, I'll go and find him. Gautieris smart, but he'll land himself in the penitentiary if he goes onmarrying squaws at that price. Say, which is his shack did you say?"

  "Back thar. You'll see it. He's just limed the outside of it. Guesswhite's the color his new squaw fancies most. S'long."

  The man was glad to be rid of his visitor. In spite of the sergeant'sassurance, Gustave never felt comfortable in the officer's presence.Horrocks moved off in search of the white hut, while the Breed, withfurtive eyes, watched his progress.

  There was no difficulty in locating the shack in that colony of grime.Even in the darkness the gleaming white of the ex-spy's abode stood outprominently. The dogs and children now tacitly acknowledged the right ofthe police-officer's presence in their camp, and allowed him to moveabout apparently unnoticed. He wound his way amongst the huts and tents,ever watchful and alert, always aiming for Gautier's hut. He knew thatin this place at night his life was not worth much. A quick aim, and ashot from behind, and no one would ever know who had dropped him. Butthe Canadian police are accustomed to take desperate chances in theirwork, and think less of it than do our police patrols in the slums ofLondon.

  He found Gautier sitting at his hut door waiting for him. Another mighthave been surprised at the B
reed's cognizance of the police-officer'sintentions, but Horrocks knew the habits of these people, and was fullyalive to the fact that while he had been talking to Gustave a messengerwas dispatched to warn Gautier that he was sought.

  "Well, sergeant, what's your best news?" Gautier asked civilly. He was abright, intelligent-looking, dusky man, of perhaps forty years. His facewas less brutal than that of the other Breed, but it was none the lesscunning. He was short and massively built.

  "That's just what I've come to ask you, Gautier. I think you can tell meall I want to know--if you've a notion to. Say," with a keen look round,"can we talk here?"

  There was not a soul visible but an occasional playing child. It wascurious how quiet the camp became. Horrocks was not deceived, however.He knew that a hundred pairs of eyes were watching him from the reekingrecesses of the huts.

  "No talk here." Gautier was serious, and his words conveyed a lot. "It'sbad medicine your coming to-night. But there," with a return to hiscunning look, "I don't know that I've got anything to tell."

  Horrocks laughed softly.

  "Yes--yes, I know. You needn't be afraid." Then lowering his voice:"I've got a roll of bills in my pocket."

  "Ah, then don't stay here talking. There's lots to tell, but they'd killme if they suspected. Where can I see you--quiet-like? They won't losesight of me if they can help it, but I reckon I'm good for the best of'em."

  The man's attempt to look sincere was almost ludicrous. His cunning eyestwinkled with cupidity. Horrocks kept his voice down.

  "Right. I shall be at Lablache's store in an hour's time. You must seeme to-night." Then aloud, for the benefit of listening ears, "You becareful what you are doing. This promiscuous buying of wives, withcattle which you may have difficulty in accounting for your possessionof, will lead you into trouble. Mind, I've warned you. Just look to it."

  His last sentences were called out as he moved away, and Gautier quiteunderstood.

  Horrocks did not return the way he had come, but took a circuitousroute through the camp. He was a man who never lost a chance in hiswork, and now, while he was in the midst of that criminal haunt, hethought it as well to take a look round. He hardly knew what he expectedto find out--if anything. But he required information of Retief, and hewas fully alive to the fact that all that individual's movements wouldbe known here. He trusted to luck to help him to discover something.

  The smartest of men have to work against overwhelming odds in thedetection of crime. Many and devious are the ways of men whose hand isagainst the law. Surely is the best detective a mere babe in the handsof a clever criminal. In this instance the very thing that Horrocks wasin search of was about to be forced upon him. For underlying thatinformation was a deep-laid scheme.

  Never can reliance be placed in a true half-breed. The heathen Chinee isthe ideal of truth and honesty when his wiles are compared with the darkways of the Breed. Horrocks, with all his experience, was no match forthe dusky-visaged outcast of the plains. Gautier had been deputied toconvey certain information to Lablache by the patriarchs of the camp.And with his native cunning he had decided, on the appearance ofSergeant Horrocks, to extort a price for that which it was his duty totell. Besides this, as matters had turned out, Horrocks was to receivegratis that for which he would shortly pay Gautier.

  He had made an almost complete circuit of the camp. Accustomed as he wasto such places, the stench of it almost made him sick. He came to astand close beside one of the outlying teepees. He was just preparing tofill his pipe and indulge in a sort of disinfecting smoke when he becameaware of voices talking loudly close by. The sound proceeded from theteepees. From force of habit he listened. The tones were gruff, andalmost Indian-like in the brevity of expression. The language was thebastard jargon of the French half-breed. For a moment he was doubtful.Then his attention became riveted.

  "Yes," said one voice, "he is a good man, is Peter. When he has plentyhe spends it. He does not rob the poor Breed. Only the gross white man.Peter is clever. Very."

  Then another voice, deep-toned and full, took up the eulogy.

  "Peter knows how to spend his money. He spends it among his friends. Itis good. How much whisky will he buy, think you?"

  Another voice chipped in at this point, and Horrocks strained his earsto catch the words, for the voice was the voice of a female and herutterance was indistinct.

  "He said he would pay for everything--all we could eat and drink--andthat the pusky should be held the night after to-morrow. He will comehimself and dance the Red River jig. Peter is a great dancer and willdance all others down."

  Then the first speaker laughed.

  "Peter must have a long stocking if he would pay for all. A barrel ofrye would not go far, and as for food, he must bring several of thesteers which he took from old Lablache if he would feed us. But Peter isalways as good as his word. He said he would pay. And he will pay. Whendoes he come to prepare?"

  "He does not come. He has left the money with Baptiste, who will see toeverything. Peter will not give 'the Ferret' a chance."

  "But how? The dance will be a danger to him," said the woman's voice."What if 'the Ferret' hears?"

  "He will not hear, and, besides, Peter will be prepared if the damnedpolice come. Have no fear for Peter. He is bold."

  The voices ceased and Horrocks waited a little longer. But presently,when the voices again became audible, the subject of conversation hadchanged, and he realized that he was not likely to hear more that wouldhelp him. So, with great caution, he stole quickly away to where hishorse was tied. He mounted hastily and rode off, glad to be away fromthat reeking camp, and greatly elated with the success of the visit.

  He had learned a lot. And he was to hear more yet from Gautier. He feltthat the renowned "hustler" was already in his clutches. His spurs wentsharply into his broncho's flanks and he raced over the prairie towardsthe settlement. Possibly he should have known better than to trust tothe overhearing of that conversation. His knowledge of the Breeds shouldhave warned him to put little faith in what he had heard. But he waseager. His reputation was largely at stake over this affair, and thatmust be the excuse for the rashness of his faith. However, the penaltyof his folly was to be his, therefore blame can well be spared.