The Story of the Foss River Ranch by Ridgwell Cullum

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"See here," retorted Horrocks, "I don't go about blind-folded. Neither
am I going to fling bills around without getting value for 'em. What's
your news? Can you lay hands on Retief, or tell us where the stock is
hidden?"

"Guess you're looking fer somethin' now," said the man, impudently. "Ef
I could supply that information right off some 'un 'ud hev to dip deep
in his pocket fur it. I ken put you on to a good even trail, an' fifty
dollars 'ud be small pay for the trouble an' the danger I'm put to. Wot
say? Fifty o' the best greenbacks?"

"Mr. Lablache can pay you if he chooses, but until I know that your
information's worth it I don't part with fifty cents. Now then, we've
had dealings before, Gautier--dealings which have not always been to
your credit. You can trust me to part liberally if you've anything
worth telling, but mind this, you don't get anything beforehand, and if
you don't tell us all you know, in you go to Calford and a diet of
skilly'll be your lot for some time to come."

The man's face lowered considerably at this. He knew Horrocks well, and
was perfectly aware that he would be as good as his word. There was
nothing to be gained by holding out. Therefore he accepted the
inevitable with as bad a grace as possible. Lablache kept silence, but
he was reading the Breed as he would a book.

"See hyar, sergeant," said Gautier, sulkily, "you're mighty hard on the
Breeds, an' you know it. It'll come back on you, sure, one o' these
days. Guess I'm going to play the game square. It ain't fur me to bluff
men o' your kidney, only I like to know that you're going to treat me
right. Well, this is what I've got to say, an' it's worth fifty as
you'll 'low."

Horrocks propped himself upon the corner of the money-lender's desk and
prepared to listen. Lablache's lashless eyes were fixed with a steady,
unblinking stare upon the half-breed's face. Not a muscle of his own
pasty, cruel face moved. Gautier was talking to, at least, one man who
was more cunning and devilish than himself.

The dusky ruffian gave a preliminary cough and then launched upon his
story with all the flowery embellishments of which his inventive fancy
was capable. What he had to tell was practically the same as Horrocks
had overheard. There were a few items of importance which came fresh to
the police-officer's ears. It stuck Lablache that the man spoke in the
manner of a lesson well learned, and, in consequence, his keen interest
soon relaxed. Horrocks, however, judged differently, and saw in the
man's story a sound corroboration of his own information. As the story
progressed his interest deepened, and at its conclusion he questioned
the half-breed closely.

"This pusky. I suppose it will be the usual drunken orgie?"

"I guess," was the laconic rejoinder.

"Any of the Breeds from the other settlements coming over?"

"Can't say, boss. Like enough, I take it."

"And what is Retief's object in defraying all expenses--in giving the
treat, when he knows that the white men are after him red-hot?"

"Mebbe it's bluff--cheek. Peter's a bold man. He snaps his fingers at
the police," replied Gautier, illustrating his words with much
appreciation. He felt he was getting a smack at the sergeant.

"Then Peter's a fool."

"Guess you're wrong thar. Peter's the slickest 'bad man' I've heerd tell
of."

"We'll see. Now what about the keg? Of course the cattle have crossed
it. A secret path?"

"Yup."

"Who knows the secret of it?"

"Peter."

"Only?"

The Breed hesitated. His furtive eyes shifted from one face to the other
of his auditors. Then encountering the fixed stare of both men he
glanced away towards the window. He seemed uncomfortable under the mute
inquiry. Then he went on doubtfully.

"I guess thar's others. It's an old secret among the Breeds. An' I've
heerd tell as some whites knows it."

A swift exchange of meaning glances passed between the two listeners.

"Who?"

"Can't say."

"Won't--you mean?"

"No, boss. Ef I knew it 'ud pay me well to tell. Guess I don't know.
I've tried to find out."

"Now look you. Retief has always been supposed to have been drowned in
the keg. Where's he been all the time?"

The half-breed grinned. Then his face became suddenly serious. He began
to think the cross-questioning was becoming too hot He decided to draw
on his imagination.

"Peter was no more drowned than I was. He tricked you--us all--into that
belief. Gee!--but he's slick. Peter went to Montana. When the States got
too sultry fur 'im he jest came right back hyar. He's been at the camp
fur two weeks an' more."

Horrocks was silent after this. Then he turned to Lablache.

"Anything you'd like to ask him?"

The money-lender shook his head and Horrocks turned back to his man.

"I guess that's all. Here's your fifty," he went on, taking a roll of
bills from his pocket and counting out the coveted greenbacks. "See and
don't get mad drunk and get to shooting. Off you go. If you learn
anything more I'm ready to pay for it."

Gautier took the bills and hastily crammed them into his pocket as if he
feared he might be called upon to return them. Then he made for the
door. He hesitated before he passed out.

"Say, sergeant, you ain't goin' fur to try an' take 'im at the pusky?"
he asked, with an appearance of anxiety.

"That's my business. Why?"

The Breed shrugged.

"Ye'll feed the coyotes, sure as--kingdom come. Say they'll jest flay
the pelt off yer."

"Git!"

The rascal "got" without further delay or evil prophecy. He knew
Horrocks.

When the door closed, and the officer had assured himself of the man's
departure, he turned to his host.

"Well?"

"Well?" retorted Lablache.

"What do you make of it?"

"An excellent waste of fifty dollars."

Lablache's face was expressive of indifference mixed with incredulity.

"He told you what you already knew," he pursued, "and drew on his
imagination for the rest. I'll swear that Retief has not been seen at
the Breed camp for the last fortnight. Moreover, that man was reciting a
carefully-thought-out tale. I fancy you have something yet to learn in
your business, Horrocks. You have not the gift of reading men."

The police-officer's face was a study. As he listened to the masterful
tone of his companion his color came and went. His dark skin flushed and
then rapidly paled. A blaze of anger leapt into his keen, flashing eyes.
Lablache had flicked him sorely. He struggled to keep cool.

"Unfortunately my position will not allow me to fall out with you," he
said, with scarcely-suppressed heat, "otherwise I should call you
sharply to account for your insulting remarks. For the moment we will
pass them over. In the meantime, Mr. Lablache, let me tell you, my
experience leads me to trust largely to the story of that man. Gautier
has sold me a good deal of excellent information in the past, and I am
convinced that what I have now heard is not the least of his efforts in
the law's behalf. Rascal--scoundrel--as he is, he would not dare to set
me on a false scent--"

"Not if backed by a man like Retief--and all the half-breed camp? You
surprise me."

Horrocks gritted his teeth but spoke sharply. Lablache's supercilious
tone of mockery drove him to the verge of madness.

"Not even under these circumstances. I shall attend that pusky and
effect the arrest. I understand these people better than you give me
credit for. I presume your discretion will not permit you to be present
at the capture?"

It was Horrocks's turn to sneer now. Lablache remained unmoved. He
merely permitted the ghost of a smile.

"My discretion will not permit me to be present at the pusky. There will
be no capture, I fear."

"Then I'll bid you good-night. There is no need to further intrude upon
your time."

"None whatever."

The money-lender did not attempt to show the policeman any
consideration. He had decided that Horrocks was a fool, and when
Lablache formed such an opinion of a man he rarely attempted to conceal
it, especially when the man stood in a subordinate position.

After seeing the officer off the premises, Lablache moved heavily back
to his desk. The alarm clock indicated ten minutes to nine. He stood for
some moments gazing with introspective eyes at the timepiece. He was
thinking hard. He was convinced that what he had just heard was a mere
fabrication, invented to cover some ulterior motive. That motive puzzled
him. He had no fear for Horrocks's life. Horrocks wore the uniform of
the Government. Lawless and all as the Breeds were, he knew they would
not resist the police--unless, of course, Retief were there. Having
decided in his mind that Retief would not be there he had no misgivings.
He failed to fathom the trend of affairs at all. In spite of his outward
calm he felt uneasy, and he started as though he had been shot when he
heard a loud knocking at his private door.

The money-lender's hand dropped on to the revolver lying upon the desk,
and he carried the weapon with him when he went to answer the summons.
His alarm was needless. His late visitor was "Poker" John.

The old rancher came in sheepishly enough. There was no mistaking the
meaning of his peculiar crouching gait, the leering upward glance of his
bloodshot eyes. To any one who did not know him, his appearance might
have been that of a drink-soaked tramp, so dishevelled and bleared he
looked. Lablache took in the old man's condition in one swift glance
from his pouched and fishy eyes. His greeting was cordial--too cordial.
Any other but the good-hearted, simple old man would have been
suspicious of it. Cordiality was not Lablache's nature.

"Ah, John, better late than never," he exclaimed gutturally. "Come in
and have a smoke."

"Yes, I thought I'd just come right down and--see if you'd got any
news."

"None--none, old friend. Nothing at all. Horrocks is a fool, I'm
thinking. Take that chair," pointing to the basket chair. "You're not
looking up to the mark. Have a nip of Glenlivet."

He passed the white-labeled bottle over to his companion, and watched
the rancher curiously as he shakily helped himself to a liberal "four
fingers." "Poker" John was rapidly breaking up. Lablache fully realized
this.

"No news--no news," murmured John, as he smacked his lips over his "tot"
of whisky. "It's bad, man, very bad. We're not safe in this place whilst
that man's about. Dear, dear, dear."

The senility of the rancher was painfully apparent. Doubtless it was the
result of his recent libations and excesses. The money-lender was quite
aware that John had not come to him to discuss the "hustler." He had
come to suggest a game of cards, but for reasons of his own the former
wished to postpone the request. He had not expected that "Poker" John
would have come this evening; therefore, certain plans of his were not
to have been put into execution until the following day. Now, however,
it was different. John's coming, and his condition, offered him a chance
which was too good to be missed, and Lablache was never a man to miss
opportunities.

CHAPTER XVII

THE NIGHT OF THE PUSKY

Presently the old man drew himself up a little. The spirit had a bracing
effect upon him. The dull leering eyes assumed a momentary brightness,
and he almost grew cheerful. The change was not lost upon Lablache. It
was a veritable game of the cat and the mouse.

"This is the first time your stock has been touched," said John,
meaninglessly. His thoughts were running upon the game of cards he had
promised himself. An unaccountable lack of something like moral courage
prevented him talking of it. Possibly it was the iron influence of his
companion which forbade the suggestion of cards. "Poker" John was
inwardly chafing at his own weakness.

"Yes," responded the other, "I have not been touched before." Then,
suddenly, he leant forward, and, for the moment, the money-lender's face
lit up with something akin to kindliness. It was an unusual sight, and
one not to be relied upon. "How many years is it, John, that we have
struggled side by side in this benighted land?"

The rancher looked at the other, then his eyes dropped. He scarcely
comprehended. He was startled at the expression of that leathery, puffed
face. He shifted uneasily with the curious weakly restlessness of a
shattered nerve.

"More years, I guess, than I care to think of," he murmured at last.

"Yes, yes, you're right, John--quite right. It doesn't do to look back
too far. We're getting on. But we're not old men yet. We're rich, John,
rich in land and experience. No, not so old. We can still give the
youngsters points, John. Ha, ha!"

Lablache laughed hollowly at his own pleasantry. His companion joined
in the laugh, but without mirth. Poker--he could think of nothing but
poker. The money-lender insinuatingly pushed the whisky bottle closer to
the senile rancher. Almost unconsciously the old man helped himself.

"I wonder what it would be like living a private, idle life?" Lablache
went on, as though speaking to himself. Then directly to his companion,
"Do you know, old friend, I'm seriously thinking of selling out all my
interests and retiring. I've worked very hard--very hard. I'm getting
tired of it all. Sometimes I feel that rest would be good. I have
amassed a very large fortune, John--as you know."

The confidences of the money-lender were so unusual that "Poker" John,
in a dazed way, mildly wondered. The whisky had roused him a good deal
now, and he felt that it was good to talk like this. He felt that the
money-lender was a good fellow, and much better than he had thought. He
even experienced compunction for the opinions which, at times, he had
expressed of this old companion. Drink plays strange pranks with one's
better judgment at times. Lablache noted the effect of his words
carefully.

"Yes," said John, "you have worked hard--we have both worked hard. Our
lives have not been altogether without pleasure. The occasional game of
cards we have had together has always helped to relieve monotony, eh,
Lablache? Yes--yes. No one can say we have not earned rest. But
there--yes, you have been more fortunate than I. I could not retire."

Lablache raised his sparse eyebrows. Then he helped himself to some
whisky and pushed the bottle over to the other. When John had again
replenished his glass the money-lender solemnly raised his and waved it
towards the gray-headed old man. John responded unsteadily.

"How!"

"How!" replied the rancher.

Both men drank the old Indian toast. Simple honesty was in one heart,
while duplicity and low cunning filled the other.

"You could not retire?" said Lablache, when they had set their empty
glasses upon the desk.

"No--no," answered the other, shaking his head with ludicrous
mournfulness, "not retire; I have responsibilities--debts. You should
know. I must pay them off. I must leave Jacky provided for."

"Yes, of course. You must pay them off. Jacky should be your first
consideration."

Lablache pursed his sensual lips. His expression was one of deep
concern. Then he apparently fell into a reverie, during which John was
wondering how best to propose the longed-for game of cards. The other
roused himself before the desired means suggested itself to the old
gambler. And his efforts were cut short abruptly.

"Jacky ought to marry," Lablache said without preamble. "One never knows
what may happen. A good husband--a man with money and business capacity,
would be a great help to you, and would assure her future."

Lablache had touched upon the one strong point which remained in John
Allandale's character. His love for Jacky rivaled his passion for poker,
and in its pure honesty was perhaps nearly as strong as that feverish
zest. The gambler suddenly became electrified into a different being.
The signs of decay--the atmosphere of drink, as it were, fell from him
in the flashing of a second, and the old vigorous rancher, like the last
dying flame of a fire, shot up into being.

"Jacky shall marry when she chooses, and whatever man she prefers. I
will never profit by that dear child's matrimonial affairs," he said
simply.

Lablache bit his lips. He had been slightly premature. He acquiesced
with a heavy nod of the head and poured himself out some more whisky.
The example was natural and his companion followed it.

"You are quite right, John. I merely spoke from a worldly point of
view. But your decision affects me closely."

The other looked curiously at the money-lender, who thus found himself
forced to proceed. Hitherto he had chosen his own gait. Now he felt
himself being drawn. The process was new to him, but it suited his
purpose.

"How?"

Lablache sighed. It was like the breathing of an adipose pig.

"I have known that niece of yours, John, ever since she came into this
world. I have watched her grow. I understand her nature as well as you
do yourself. She is a clever, bright, winsome girl. But she needs the
guiding hand of a good husband."

"Just so. You are right. I am too old to take proper care of her. When
she chooses she shall marry."

John's tone was decisive. His words were non-committing and open to no
argument. Lablache went on.

"Supposing now a rich man, a very rich man, proposed marriage for her.
Presuming he was a man against whom there was no doubtful record--who,
from a worldly point of view, there could be no objection to--should you
object to him as a husband for Jacky?"

The rancher was still unsuspecting.

"What I have stated should answer your question. If Jacky were willing I
should have no objection."

"Supposing," the money-lender went on, "she were unwilling, but was
content to abide by your decision. What then?"

There was a passing gleam of angry protest in the rancher's eyes as he
answered.

"What I have said still holds good," he retorted a little hotly. "I will
not influence the child."

"I am sorry. I wish to marry your girl."

There was an impressive silence after this announcement. "Poker" John
stared in blank wonderment at his companion. The expectation of such a
contingency could not have been farther from his thought. Lablache--to
many his niece--it was preposterous--ludicrous. He would not take it
seriously--he could not. It was a joke--and not a nice one.

He laughed--and in his laugh there was a ring of anger.

"Of course you are joking, Lablache," he said at last. "Why, man, you
are old enough to be the girl's father."

"I was never more serious in my life. And as for age," with a shrug, "at
least you will admit my intellect is unimpaired. Her interests will be
in safe keeping."

Having recovered from his surprise the old man solemnly shook his head.
Some inner feeling made him shrink from thoughts of Lablache as a
husband for his girl. Besides, he had no intention of retreating from
the stand he had taken.

"As far as I am concerned the matter is quite impossible. If Jacky comes
to me with a request for sanction of her marriage to you, she shall have
it. But I will express no wish upon the matter. No, Lablache, I never
thought you contemplated such a thing. You must go to her. I will not
interfere. Oh, dear! oh, dear!" and the old man laughed again nervously.

Lablache remained perfectly calm. He had expected this result; although
he had hoped that it might have been otherwise. Now he felt that he had
paved the way to methods much dearer to his heart. This refusal of
John's he intended to turn to account. He would force an acceptance from
Jacky, and induce her uncle, by certain means, to give his consent.

The money-lender remained silent while he refilled his pipe. "Poker"
John seized the opportunity.

"Come, Lablache," he said jocosely, "let us forget this little matter.
Have a drink of your own whisky--I'll join you--and let us go down to
the saloon for a gentle flutter."

He helped himself to the spirit and poured out a glass for his
companion. They silently drank, and then Lablache coughed, spat and lit
his pipe. He fumbled his hat on to his head and moved to the door.

"Come on, then," he said gutturally. And John Allandale followed him
out.

The two days before the half-breed pusky passed quickly enough for some
of those who are interested, and dragged their weary lengths all too
slowly for others. At last, however, in due course the day dawned, and
with it hopes and fears matured in the hearts of not a few of the
denizens of Foss River and the surrounding neighborhood.

To all appearance the most unconcerned man was the Hon. Bunning-Ford,
who still moved about the settlement in his cheery, _debonnaire_
fashion, ever gentlemanly and always indolent. He had taken up his
residence in one of the many disused shacks which dotted round the
market-place, and there, apparently, sought to beguile the hours and eke
out the few remaining dollars which were his. For Lablache, in his
sweeping process, had still been forced to hand over some money, over
and above his due, as a result of the sale of the young rancher's
property. The trifling amount, however, was less than enough to keep
body and soul together for six months.

Lablache, too, staunch to his opinions, did not trouble himself in the
least. For the rest, all who knew of the meditated _coup_ of Horrocks
were agitated to a degree. All hoped for success, but all agreed in a
feeling of pessimism which was more or less the outcome of previous
experiences of Retief. Did not they know, only too well, of the traps
which had been laid and which had failed to ensnare the daring desperado
in days gone by? Horrocks they fondly believed to be a very smart man,
but had not some of the best in the Canadian police been sent before to
bring to justice this scourge of the district?

Amongst those who shared these pessimistic views Mrs. Abbot was one of
the most skeptical. She had learnt all the details of the intended
arrest in the way she learned everything that was going on. A few
judicious questions to the doctor and careful observations never left
her long in the dark. She had a natural gift for absorbing information.
She was a sort of social amalgam which never failed to glean the golden
particles of news which remained after the "panning up" of daily events
in Foss River. Nothing ever escaped this dear old soul, from the details
of a political crisis in a distant part of the continent down to the
number of drinks absorbed by some worthless half-breed in "old man"
Smith's saloon. She had one of those keen, active brains which refuses
to become dull and torpid in an atmosphere of humdrum monotony. Luckily
her nature never allowed her to become a mischievous busybody. She was
too kindly for that--too clever, tactful.

After duly weighing the point at issue she found Horrocks's plans
wanting, hence her unbelief, but, at the same time, her old heart
palpitated with nervous excitement as might the heart of any younger and
more hopeful of those in the know.

As for the Allandales, it would be hard to say what they thought. Jacky
went about her duties with a placidity that was almost worthy of the
great money-lender himself. She showed no outward sign, and very little
interest. Her thoughts she kept severely to herself. But she had
thoughts on the subject, thoughts which teemed through her brain night
and day. She was in reality aglow with excitement, but the Breed nature
in her allowed no sign of emotion to appear. "Poker" John was beyond a
keen interest. Whisky and cards had done for him what morphine and opium
does for the drug fiend. He had no thoughts beyond them. In lucid
intervals, as it were, he thought, perhaps, as well as his poor dulled
brain would permit him, but the result of his mental effort would
scarcely be worth recording.

And so the time drew near.

Horrocks, since his difference of opinion with Lablache, had made the
ranch his headquarters, leaving the money-lender as much as possible out
of his consultations. He had been heartily welcomed by old John and his
niece, the latter in particular being very gracious to him. Horrocks
was not a lady's man, but he appreciated comfort when he could get it,
and Jacky spared no trouble to make him comfortable now. Had he known
the smiling thought behind her beautiful face his appreciation might
have lessened.

As the summer day drew to a close signs of coming events began to show
themselves. First of all Aunt Margaret made her appearance at the
Allandales' house. She was hot and excited. She had come up for a
gossip, she said, and promptly sat down with no intention of moving
until she had heard all she wanted to know. Then came "Lord" Bill,
cheerily monosyllabic. He always considered that long speeches were a
disgusting waste of time. Following closely upon his heels came the
doctor and Pat Nabob, with another rancher from an outlying ranch. Quite
why they had come up they would have hesitated to say. Possibly it was
curiosity--possibly natural interest in affairs which nearly affected
them. Horrocks, they knew, was at the ranch. Perhaps the magnetism which
surrounds persons about to embark on hazardous undertakings had
attracted them thither.

As the hour for supper drew near the gathering in the sitting-room
became considerable, and as each newcomer presented himself, Jacky, with
thoughtful hospitality, caused another place to be set at her bountiful
table. No one was ever allowed to pass a meal hour at the ranch without
partaking of refreshment. It was one of the principal items provided for
in the prairie creed, and the greatest insult to be offered at such time
would have been to leave the house before the repast.

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