The Story of the Foss River Ranch by Ridgwell Cullum

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

The evening shadows were fast lengthening when he espied in the distance
the squalid shacks and dilapidated teepees of the Breeds. There was a
large colony of those wanderers of the West gathered together in the
Foss River camp. We have said that these places are hot-beds of crime, a
curse to the country; but that description scarcely conveys the wretched
poverty and filthiness of these motley gatherings. From a slight rising
ground Horrocks looked down on what might have, at first sight, been
taken 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 crowd
of unwashed, and, for the most part, undressed children, a hundred
fierce and half-starved dogs of the "husky" type. Imagine a stench of
dung fire cooking, and the gathering of millions of mosquitoes about a
few choyeuses and fat cattle grazing near by, and the picture as it
first presents itself is complete.

The approach to such a place makes one almost wish the undulating
prairie was not quite so fair a picture, for the contrast with man's
filthy squalor is so great that the feeling of nauseation which results
is almost overpowering. Horrocks, however, was used to such scenes. His
duty often took him into worse Breed camps than this. He treated such
places to a perfectly callous indifference, and regarded them merely as
necessary evils.

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

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

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

"Hallo there, within!" he called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ugh!" grunted Gustave, heavily, but with a decided air of relief. He
entertained a wholesome dread of Sergeant Horrocks. Now he became more
communicative. Horrocks had not come to arrest anybody. "I see," he went
on, 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 vague
direction behind him. "He's in his shack. Gautier's just hooked up with
another squaw."

"Another?" Horrocks whistled softly. "Why, that's the sixth to my
knowledge. He's very much a marrying man. How much did he pay the neche
this 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. Gautier
is smart, but he'll land himself in the penitentiary if he goes on
marrying 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. Guess
white'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's
assurance, Gustave never felt comfortable in the officer's presence.
Horrocks moved off in search of the white hut, while the Breed, with
furtive 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 out
prominently. The dogs and children now tacitly acknowledged the right of
the police-officer's presence in their camp, and allowed him to move
about apparently unnoticed. He wound his way amongst the huts and tents,
ever watchful and alert, always aiming for Gautier's hut. He knew that
in this place at night his life was not worth much. A quick aim, and a
shot from behind, and no one would ever know who had dropped him. But
the Canadian police are accustomed to take desperate chances in their
work, and think less of it than do our police patrols in the slums of
London.

He found Gautier sitting at his hut door waiting for him. Another might
have been surprised at the Breed's cognizance of the police-officer's
intentions, but Horrocks knew the habits of these people, and was fully
alive to the fact that while he had been talking to Gustave a messenger
was dispatched to warn Gautier that he was sought.

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

"That's just what I've come to ask you, Gautier. I think you can tell me
all 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 was
curious how quiet the camp became. Horrocks was not deceived, however.
He knew that a hundred pairs of eyes were watching him from the reeking
recesses of the huts.

"No talk here." Gautier was serious, and his words conveyed a lot. "It's
bad medicine your coming to-night. But there," with a return to his
cunning 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 kill
me if they suspected. Where can I see you--quiet-like? They won't lose
sight 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 eyes
twinkled with cupidity. Horrocks kept his voice down.

"Right. I shall be at Lablache's store in an hour's time. You must see
me to-night." Then aloud, for the benefit of listening ears, "You be
careful what you are doing. This promiscuous buying of wives, with
cattle which you may have difficulty in accounting for your possession
of, 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 quite
understood.

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

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

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

He had made an almost complete circuit of the camp. Accustomed as he was
to such places, the stench of it almost made him sick. He came to a
stand close beside one of the outlying teepees. He was just preparing to
fill his pipe and indulge in a sort of disinfecting smoke when he became
aware of voices talking loudly close by. The sound proceeded from the
teepees. From force of habit he listened. The tones were gruff, and
almost Indian-like in the brevity of expression. The language was the
bastard 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 plenty
he 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. It
is good. How much whisky will he buy, think you?"

Another voice chipped in at this point, and Horrocks strained his ears
to catch the words, for the voice was the voice of a female and her
utterance was indistinct.

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

Then the first speaker laughed.

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

"He does not come. He has left the money with Baptiste, who will see to
everything. 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 damned
police 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 had
changed, and he realized that he was not likely to hear more that would
help him. So, with great caution, he stole quickly away to where his
horse was tied. He mounted hastily and rode off, glad to be away from
that 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 felt
that the renowned "hustler" was already in his clutches. His spurs went
sharply into his broncho's flanks and he raced over the prairie towards
the settlement. Possibly he should have known better than to trust to
the overhearing of that conversation. His knowledge of the Breeds should
have warned him to put little faith in what he had heard. But he was
eager. His reputation was largely at stake over this affair, and that
must be the excuse for the rashness of his faith. However, the penalty
of his folly was to be his, therefore blame can well be spared.

CHAPTER XVI

GAUTIER CAUSES DISSENSION

"Sit down and let me hear the--worst."

Lablache's voice rasped harshly as he delivered his mandate. Horrocks
had just arrived at the money-lender's store after his visit to the
half-breed camp. The police-officer looked weary. And the dejected
expression on his face had drawn from his companion the hesitating
superlative.

"Have you got anything to eat?" Horrocks retorted quickly, ignoring the
other's commands. "I am famished. Had nothing since I set out from
Stormy Cloud. I can't talk on an empty stomach."

Lablache struck a table bell sharply, and one of his clerks, all of whom
were still working in the store, entered. The money-lender's clerks
always worked early and late. It was part of the great man's creed to
sweat his _employees_.

"Just go over to the saloon, Markham, and tell them to send supper for
one--something substantial," he called out after the man, who hastened
to obey with the customary precipitance of all who served the flinty
financier.

The man disappeared in a twinkling and Lablache turned to his visitor
again.

"They'll send it over at once. There's some whisky in that bottle,"
pointing to a small cabinet, through the glass door of which gleamed the
white label of "special Glenlivet." "Help yourself. It'll buck you up."

Horrocks obeyed with alacrity, and the genial spirit considerably
refreshed him. He then reseated himself opposite to his host, who had
faced round from his desk.

"My news is not the--worst, as you seem to anticipate; although,
perhaps, it might have been better," the officer began. "In fact, I am
fairly well pleased with the result of my day's work."

"Which means, I take it, that you have discovered a clew."

Lablache's heavy eyes gleamed.

"Rather more than a clew," Horrocks went on reflectively. "My
information relates more to the man than to the beasts. We shall, I
think, lay our hands on this--Retief."

"Good--good," murmured the money-lender, inclining his heavy jowled
head. "Find the man and we shall recover the cattle."

"I am not so sure of that," put in the other. "However, we shall see."

Lablache looked slightly disappointed. The capture of Retief seemed to
him synonymous with the recovery of his stock. However, he waited for
his visitor to proceed. The money-lender was essentially a man to draw
his own conclusions after hearing the facts, and no opinion of another
was likely to influence him when once those conclusions were arrived at.
Lablache was a strong man mentally and physically. And few cared to
combat his decisions or opinions.

For a moment further talk was interrupted by the entry of a man with
Horrocks's supper. When the fellow had withdrawn the police-officer
began his repast and the narration of his story at the same time.
Lablache watched and listened with an undisturbed concentration. He lost
no point, however small, in the facts as stated by the officer. He
refrained from interruption, excepting where the significance of certain
points in the story escaped him, and, at the conclusion, he was as
conversant with the situation as though he had been present at the
investigation. The great man was profoundly impressed with what he
heard. Not so much with the shrewdness of the officer as with the simple
significance of the loss of further trace of the cattle at the edge of
the muskeg. Up to this point of the story he felt assured that Horrocks
was to be perfectly relied upon, but, for the rest, he was not so sure.
He felt that though this man was the finest tracker in the country the
delicate science of deduction was not necessarily an accompaniment to
his prairie abilities. Therefore, for the moment, he concentrated his
thoughts upon the features surrounding the great keg.

"It is a curious thing," he said retrospectively, as the policeman
ceased speaking, "that in all previous raids of this Retief we have
invariably tracked the lost stock down to this point. Of course, as you
say, there is not the slightest doubt that the beasts have been herded
over the keg. Everything seems to me to hinge on the discovery of that
path. That is the problem which confronts us chiefly. How are we to find
the secret of the crossing?"

"It cannot be done," said Horrocks, simply but with decision.

"Nonsense," exclaimed the other, with a heavy gasp of breath. "Retief
knows it, and the others with him. Those cattle could not have been
herded over single-handed. Now to me it seems plain that the crossing is
a very open secret amongst the Breeds."

"And I presume you consider that we should work chiefly on that
hypothesis?"

"Exactly."

"And you do not consider the possible capture of Retief as being the
most important feature of the case?"

"Important--certainly. But, for the moment, of minor consideration. Once
we discover the means by which he secretes his stock--and the
hiding-place--we can stop his depredations and turn all our energies to
his capture. You follow me? At first I was inclined to think with you
that the capture of the man would be the best thing. But now it seems to
me that the easiest method of procedure will be the discovery of that
path."

The rasping tone in which Lablache spoke conveyed to the other his
unalterable conviction. The prairie man, however, remained unconvinced.

"Well," he replied, after a moment's deliberation, "I cannot say I agree
with you. Open secret or not, I've a notion that we'd stand a better
chance of discovering the profoundest of state secrets than elicit
information, even supposing them to possess it, of this description from
the Breeds. I expect Gautier here in a few minutes; we shall hear what
he has to say."

"I trust he _may_ have something to say."

Lablache snapped his reply out in that peculiar tone of his which spoke
volumes. It never failed to anger him to have his opinions gainsaid.
Then his manner changed slightly, and his mood seemed to become
contemplative. Horrocks observed the change and wondered what was
coming. The money-lender cleared his throat and spat into the stove.
Then he spoke with that slow deliberation which was his when thinking
deeply.

"Two years ago, when Retief did what he liked in this part of the
country, there were many stories going about as to his relationship with
a certain lady in this settlement."

"Miss Allandale--yes, I have heard."

"Just so; some said that she--er--was very partial to him. Some, that
they were distantly connected. All were of opinion that she knew a great
deal of the man if she only chose to tell. These stories were
gossip--merely. These small places are given to gossip. But I must
confess to a belief that gossip is often--always, in fact--founded on a
certain amount of fact."

There was no niceness of feeling about this mountain of obesity in
matters of business. He spoke as callously of the girl, for whom he
entertained his unholy passion, as he would speak of a stranger. He
experienced no compunction in linking her name with that of an outlaw.
His gross nature was of too low an order to hold anything sacred where
his money-bags were affected.

"Perhaps you--er--do not know," he pursued, carefully lighting his pipe
and pressing the charred tobacco down with the tip of his little finger,
"that this girl is the daughter of a Breed mother?"

"Guess I hadn't a notion."

Horrocks's keen eyes flashed with interest. He too lit his pipe as he
lounged back in his chair.

"She is a quarter-breed, and, moreover, the esteem in which she is held
by the skulking inhabitants of the camp inclines me to the belief
that--er--judicious--er--handling--"

"You mean that through her we might obtain the information we require?"

Horrocks punctuated the other's deliberate utterances with hasty
eagerness. Lablache permitted a vague smile about the corners of his
mouth, his eyes remained gleaming coldly.

"You anticipate me. The matter would need delicate handling. What Miss
Allandale has done in the past will not be easy to find out. Granting,
of course, that gossip has not wronged her," he went on doubtfully. "On
second thoughts, perhaps you had better leave that source of information
to me."

He relapsed apparently into deep thought. His pensive deliberation was
full of guile. He had a purpose to achieve which necessitated the
suggestion which he had made to this representative of the law. He
wished to impress upon his companion a certain connivance on the part
of, at least, one member of the house of Allandale with the doings of
the raider. He merely wished to establish a suspicion in the mind of the
officer. Time and necessity might develop it, if it suited Lablache's
schemes that such should occur. In the meantime he knew he could direct
this man's actions as he chose.

The calm superiority of the money-lender was not lost upon his
companion. Horrocks was nettled, and showed it.

"But you'll pardon me, Mr. Lablache. You have offered me a source of
information which, as a police-officer, it is my duty to sound. As you
yourself admit, the old stories of a secret love affair may have some
foundation in fact. Accept that and what possibilities are not opened
up? Had I been employed on the affairs of Retief, during his previous
raids, I should certainly have worked upon so important a clew."

"Tut, tut, man," retorted the other, sharply. "I understood you to be a
keen man at your business. A single ill-timed move in the direction we
are discussing and the fat will be in the fire. The girl is as smart as
paint; at the first inkling of your purpose she'll curl up--shut up like
a rat trap. The Breeds will be warned and we shall be further off
success than ever. No, no, when it comes to handling Jacky Allandale you
leave it to me--Ah!"

Lablache's ejaculation was the result of the sudden apparition of a dark
face peering in at his window. He swung round with lightning rapidity,
and before Horrocks could realize what he was doing his fat hand was
grasping the butt of a revolver. Then, with a grunt of annoyance, he
turned back to his guest.

"That's your Breed, I take it. For the moment I thought it was some one
else; it's always best in these parts to shoot first and inquire
afterwards. I occasionally get some strange visitors."

The policeman laughed as he went to the door. His irritation at the
money-lender's manner was forgotten. The strangeness of the sight of
Lablache's twenty stone of flesh moving with lightning rapidity
astonished him beyond measure. Had he not seen it nothing would have
convinced him of the man's marvelous agility when roused by emergency.
It was something worth remembering.

Sure enough, the face on the other side of the window belonged to
Gautier, and, as Horrocks opened the door, the Breed pushed his way
stealthily in.

"It's all right, boss," said the man, with some show of anxiety, "I've
slipped 'em. I'm watched pretty closely, but--good evening, sir," he
went on, turning to Lablache with obsequious politeness. "This is bad
medicine--this business we're on."

Lablache cleared his throat and spat, but deigned no reply. He intended
to take no part in the ensuing conversation. He only wished to observe.

Horrocks at once became the officer to the subordinate. He turned
sharply on the Breed.

"Cut the cackle and come to business. Have you anything to tell us about
this Retief? Out with it sharp."

"That depends, boss," said the man, with a cunning smile. "As you sez.
Cut the cackle and come to business. Business means a deal, and a deal
means 'cash pappy.' Wot's the figger?"

There was no obsequious politeness about the fellow now. He was about as
bad a specimen of the Breed as could well be found. Hence his late
employment by the authorities. "The worse the Breed the better the spy,"
was the motto of those whose duty it was to investigate crime. Gautier
was an excellent spy, thoroughly unscruplous and rapacious. His
information was always a saleable commodity, and he generally found his
market a liberal one. But with business instincts worthy of Lablache
himself he was accustomed to bargain first and impart after.

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