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Title: The Broken Trail
Date of first publication: 1926
Author: Harold Edward Bindloss (1866-1945)
Date first posted: August 6 2012
Date last updated: August 6 2012
Faded Page eBook #20120811

This eBook was produced by: David T. Jones, Mary Meehan, Al Haines
& the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net





                            THE BROKEN TRAIL

                           BY HAROLD BINDLOSS



    NEW YORK
    FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
    MCMXXVI

    _Copyright, 1926, by_
    FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

    PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND UNDER THE TITLE
    "SOUR GRAPES"

    _All Rights Reserved_

    _Printed in the United States of America_




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER                               PAGE

        I. SHADOW LAKE                       1
       II. HARDEN GOES FISHING              14
      III. WALTHEW'S RESPONSIBILITY         23
       IV. FRIENDSHIP'S CALL                32
        V. ANNE HARDEN                      41
       VI. MOONLIGHT AND SHADOW             51
      VII. THE SIGNAL                       60
     VIII. EMERSON TAKES A PLUNGE           69
       IX. THE STRANGE PATH                 81
        X. EMERSON DRIVES ON                90
       XI. HARDEN'S DOUBLE                 100
      XII. EMERSON TAKES COVER             110
     XIII. SOLWAY SANDS                    120
      XIV. ANNE'S INSPIRATION              129
       XV. REBEL YOUTH                     138
      XVI. THE SEARCH PARTY                147
     XVII. GARNET MOVES ON                 157
    XVIII. ANNE TAKES CONTROL              166
      XIX. GARNET TRIES PERSUASION         176
       XX. HARDEN CAPITULATES              186
      XXI. HARDEN LOOKS IN FRONT           195
     XXII. KEITH COMES HOME                206
    XXIII. CONTACT                         216
     XXIV. THE WATERSHED                   224
      XXV. THE VALLEY ROAD                 233
     XXVI. WHITRIGG FLOW                   240
    XXVII. KEITH GETS BUSY                 251
   XXVIII. CHERRY GARTH                    259
     XXIX. GARNET DELIVERS THE BONDS       267
      XXX. GARNET SHUTS THE GATE           277
     XXXI. A TRUE BILL                     286
    XXXII. KEITH PLAYS OUT HIS PART        296
   XXXIII. HOMEWARD BOUND                  306




THE BROKEN TRAIL




I

SHADOW LAKE


A puff of wind touched the dark pines and the branches gently shook.
Blue ripples trailed across the water; and then all was quiet and the
lake shone like glass. Where the trees rolled down the bank the broken
reflections joined, and one saw, as in a mirror, straight trunks, rigid
branches, and worn, round-backed rocks. For long only the Indians and
_Metis_ trappers knew Shadow Lake, but since the railroad pierced the
woods, tourists and fishing-parties paddled up its lonely reaches and
pitched their camp in the Ontario wilds.

The sun was low, supper was over, and a noisy group occupied the flat in
front of the big double tent. For the most part they were young, but two
or three whose youth was past had left their stores and offices at the
little town near the lake's end to share the campers' holiday. Three or
four young men and women were from Winnipeg offices, but where they were
not relations all were friends. In summer the quiet woods called, and by
Shadow Lake the tangled pines rolled across the rocks as they had done
from the beginning.

A little apart from the noisy group, two young men, lying in the warm
gravel, smoked and talked with languid satisfaction. Keith Harden was
soon to be married, and in a few days Garnet Emerson would start for the
Old Country on the first holiday he had taken since he was a boy. Their
friendship had begun some time since in the far Northwest. Harden now
was agent for an important Montreal bank; Emerson was a contractor, and
had prospered when the wooden settlement at Miscana Forks grew to a
small town.

"I wrote my folks that you would look them up, and they hope you'll stop
for some time," Harden remarked. "I believe you don't know the Old
Country?"

Emerson smiled. He was tall and thin, and although he carried himself
like a soldier, his poise and the firmness of his shoulders indicated
that he had used the ax. His skin was brown and his laugh was frank, but
he was not a boy. When he was quiet, one remarked his steady thoughtful
look and the lines on his face. Garnet Emerson had known hardship and
adventure.

"For all our independence and commercialism, we're a sentimental lot,
and England's yet the Old Country. My father was an American and my
mother emigrated when she was a girl. She married in Dakota, and is long
since dead. All the same, now I can take a holiday, I feel I'm _going
back_."

"It is queer," Harden agreed. "Although we are frankly North American,
and Washington, D.C., is rather our model than Westminster, Britain's
home. Well, it's not important, and I have some grounds to be satisfied
where I am----But do you remember your people?"

"The picture's indistinct. I think the old man was a typical pioneer:
quiet, pretty grim, and, in a sense, indomitable. Anyhow, I seem to
remember his laboring fourteen hours a day on the barren preëmpted farm.
Sometimes I see my mother: a thin, tired woman, but gentler than our
roughneck neighbors' wives. Well, I think the hard job and the bad years
broke them, and when they were gone their creditors seized the farm. A
queer old fellow from St. Louis, a bit of a crank and something of a
scholar, took me to his home. His farming was not high grade, but he
gave me books I would not have got at a settlement school----However,
since I'm going to stop with them, I want to know about your folks."

Harden thoughtfully filled his pipe. A phrase of Garnet's stuck--his
mother was gentler than her neighbors. Perhaps it accounted for
something; perhaps the St. Louis crank, who was also a scholar, had
influenced the boy. Anyhow, Garnet Emerson was not the rude plainsman
type. Although he had known poverty, one remarked a touch of cultivation
and a sort of fastidiousness. His driving force and shrewdness was
perhaps his father's legacy; Garnet's inheritance, so to speak, was
mixed. It persuaded Harden to a frankness he had not altogether thought
to use.

"Oh, well," he said, "until the sun is lower, there's not much use in
fishing, and I don't want to leave camp before the launch arrives.
Besides, now I'm soon to be married, I sometimes look back and try to
recapture my boyhood and picture the relations I haven't seen for long.
At all events, I'll risk your getting bored----

"My folks are Borderers, and Copshope's in the bleak hills where
Scotland and England join. In a way, perhaps, it's important, because
the Scottish Borderer inherits two rather conflicting veins. His
ancestors were swashbuckling cattle-thieves; and grim Covenanters, not
unlike the New England Puritans about whom Hawthorne wrote. Afterwards
they were hard-drinking, reckless sportsmen and poachers; and sober,
parsimonious supporters of the Presbyterian kirk. You see, the jarring
veins survive, and sometimes the Borderer doesn't know for which type he
stands. My mother was sternly religious and she declared the old warning
stood: _The fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are
on edge_.

"Copshope is old, but the Hardens are not properly lairds; the house is
small and the estate is but a strip of barren moor. We were merchants,
stockbrokers, and so forth. All the same, we held Copshope for longer
than we know; when a Harden prospered _he went home_. As a rule, the
bogs absorbed his fortune and his son or nephew returned to the
exchange. For the most part, our interest and speculations were
Canadian; one or two of us were officers of the Hudson's Bay Company."

"Until Riel's rebellion, the Hudson's Bay ruled the Northwest and their
chiefs were Scots," Emerson remarked. "But go on. I'm not at all
bored."

"My father was a Glasgow merchant," Harden resumed. "When my grandfather
died he was able to take Copshope, but I don't think he's rich. I never
knew him rash or extravagant; he's just and kind, and as a rule marked
by traditional Scottish calm. In fact, he's a pretty good example of the
old-fashioned kirk elder----"

He stopped to get a light and smiled when he went on: "All the same, I
doubt if the old man was always like that; his brothers certainly are
not, and I've known his eyes sparkle at their jokes about some youthful
exploit. In fact, sometimes one vaguely senses the old moss-trooper
vein. Anyhow, you'll like him. For my sake, he'll give you a Borderer's
welcome, and he'll urge you to stop, for your own sake.

"Perhaps the portrait's not very accurate, for I was not at Copshope
much. As soon as I was old enough, they sent me to Loretto--a Scottish
public school--and then I went to Montreal. I rather think my stepmother
could account for it, but I was willing, and our Canadian interest got
me a post at the bank."

"I had hoped _your_ mother would be my host," Emerson remarked. "For one
thing, I haven't yet met a lady of Mrs. Harden's sort. But what is she
like?"

Harden's look got reflective; Emerson thought he frowned.

"To draw my stepmother is hard. On the whole, she was kind, and when
Anne and I were boy and girl she indulged us. I hardly knew my mother,
and for a time I was Madam's champion. You see, my father soon
remarried; I think when Anne was but twelve months old."

"Then Anne is your own sister? Mr. Harden maybe felt that to bring up a
girl was a woman's job."

"His sister was keen to take us both," Harden replied, and Emerson saw
his frown was distinct. Keith perhaps had felt the old man was, in a
sense, not loyal to his first wife.

"We'll let it go," Harden resumed. "The second Mrs. Harden has some
useful qualities, and Copshope has prospered by her firm rule. In fact,
I admit she's all a good Scottish housewife ought to be. She's a loyal
supporter of the established church; her friends are sober,
locally-important folk. You feel she'd have nothing to do with the other
sort. Although Mrs. Harden likes to be the laird's lady, she uses the
proper rules. I'm not ironical."

"It looks as if you tried to be just," Emerson rejoined.

"Oh, well," said Harden, "I feel Mrs. Harden is not altogether my
mother's type, and sometimes when I was back for holidays, I sensed a
sort of antagonism; jealousy is perhaps the proper word. Yet I could not
bother her, and she was kind to Anne, whom she had perhaps some ground
to think an obstacle, because the old man is not at all the sort to
indulge his fresh wife at his daughter's expense. Anyhow, it's done
with, and when my house is fixed Anne is coming out to stay with me."

He put up his pipe, and by and by a strange wild call like mocking
laughter pierced the creeping shadow. Emerson turned his head and saw a
ripple trail behind a small dark object in a quiet bay. For a moment or
two the ripple stopped; and then a splash broke the surface and the bird
was gone.

"A loon!" said Harden. "Something scared the bird. I thought a branch
shook by the point."

"I did not. Besides, if a branch did shake, I doubt if you could see."

"It's queer, but when I was at Pierced Rock in the morning I thought
somebody lurked about in the underbrush. In fact, I crept round through
the trees, but saw no marks. Then, two days since, I found a pretty good
new pipe on the rocks behind our tent. None of our friends claim the
pipe."

Emerson thought it strange. Keith was not the man to imagine somebody
had stolen after him when he went fishing. Anyhow, he had not imagined
he found the pipe. But there was no use in bothering about it, and
another party was camped by the lake.

"If somebody meant to rob you, he'd watch out for you in town," he said.
"A bank manager does not carry his keys and wallet about the woods."

"That is so," Harden agreed. "Besides, now I've built my house, I'm
nearly broke. Well, the sun will soon be off the water and the trout
ought to feed, but I mustn't start until the launch arrives. You see,
unless Walthew is satisfied he can carry on, I must pull out in the
morning. We expect to put across a big transaction for the Brockenhurst
Company."

Walthew was his cashier, and the Brockenhurst Company was the main
support of the little town. Their wood-working mills down the river were
large, but they were planning to build a new factory, and Emerson, to
some extent by Harden's help, had secured a valuable contract.

"There's the launch!" he said.

An engine throbbed behind the trees and a boat swung round a point. Foam
curled about her bows, and where, but a few years since, only the
half-breeds' paddles disturbed the shadows, her propeller churned a long
white wake. She stopped near the camp, and the party by the tent climbed
across the rocks.

"A box of groceries, and a letter for Mr. Harden; that's all tonight,"
said a young fellow on board, and started his engine.

Harden tore the envelope. "All's right and I have got two more days.
Looks as if Walthew is glad for me to stay. The boy's ambitious, and
when I am not about he likes to take control. Anyhow, I'm off up the
lake. The trout are rising and I haven't yet got a good fish."

"Won't you wait and try at sun-up, Keith?" said a girl. "Bob is going to
play the banjo and we want you to sing."

Harden hesitated. He was going to marry Margaret Forbes, but he was a
fisherman and his luck had not been good.

"I'll be back in an hour, and we don't start our concerts until it's
dark. So far, Bob and Jake have got the laugh on me, but I mean to beat
them both."

"Then you have got some job!" said a young man. "Where are you going?"

Harden laughed. "I'm sure an angler, Tom. When I'm not broke, my wallet
is my friend's, and if he wants my canoe, it's his; but I will not put
him wise where the big trout feed. Your job's to help me pack the fish
up the beach, and I'll soon be back with a load."

He pushed a canoe into the water and with a long, easy stroke drove her
across the lake. For a few minutes his braced figure and the swift canoe
cut the sunset, and then they melted in the shadows by the rocks. Harden
was singing a song of the old French _voyageurs_, and when the words and
the paddle's measured splash died away Emerson and Miss Forbes sat down
among the stones. Emerson acknowledged Margaret Forbes' charm. He liked
her modern frankness and touch of humor, and he knew she was not a fool.

"Keith is as keen as a boy for fishing, and Walthew's note has made him
happy," she remarked.

"Perhaps it's not strange," said Emerson: "He gets two more days in
camp, but I expect the chance to go fishing does not account for all."

Margaret gave him a smile, but the smile vanished and she knitted her
brows.

"I like him to be happy. At the bank he's sternly sober and stays with
his job. For all that, I'd sooner he hadn't gone."

Emerson said nothing. Miss Forbes was not the sort to be jealous of her
lover's amusements, and after a few moments she looked up with a
twinkle.

"I believe I'm a good Presbyterian and in some respects I am up to date;
but, after all, my name is Forbes and the Highlanders are a
superstitious lot. Keith's boyish joyousness is not usual. In Scotland
they might think him _fey_."

"My history is not first-class; but I imagine the old-time Presbyterians
believed in witchcraft and burned the witches," Emerson remarked.
"Anyhow, you are a modern Canadian and have nothing to do with spooks
and spells."

"I wonder----" said Margaret. "My grandfather was a Highland man. When
the Red River half-breeds rebelled he joined Wolseley's force and died
on the westward march. Before the lists were sent back, my grandmother
knew. However, the fey superstition is not altogether Scotch; it was
known long since in Greece and Rome."

"For example?" said Emerson. "I'm a roughneck plainsman and I don't know
the word."

Margaret gave him a quiet glance. He certainly was not a roughneck, and
although he was the plainsman type--hard, brown-skinned, and
athletic--his Western accent was not marked. Moreover, he had qualities
she approved, and her lover trusted him.

"Oh, well," she said, "I expect it implies a sort of instinctive feeling
that man's part is to sweat and labor, and for him to be extravagantly
happy is a challenge to the unseen powers. The old gods are jealous,
and when all looks as if it went well they strike. However, one mustn't
be ridiculous and we have a nobler philosophy."

"Man yet must sweat?" said Emerson. "Sometimes he must fight----"

A banjo began to tinkle, somebody got a light, and the big tent
glimmered like a Chinese lantern in the trees. The shadows had crept
across the lake and the rocky islands got indistinct. Emerson rolled a
cigarette and mused.

He had fought for all he got, but now things went well for him, and
Harden was going to marry the finest girl Garnet knew. At an important
bank one did not progress fast, but Keith had built up a large business
for the company in the wooden town. His pay had gone up, and he reckoned
by and by to get a good post at Montreal. Emerson himself had taken a
profitable contract for the Brockenhurst factory.

Then Miss Forbes turned to him.

"Sometimes one meets Pearls and Rubies, but Garnet is perhaps not a
common name."

Emerson laughed. "I don't claim to sparkle much and am not in the jewel
class. The fact is, I was called for a settlement where your
grandfather's commander once pitched his camp. You see, had not Colonel
Garnet Wolseley hustled West, Manitoba might now be a half-breeds'
republic."

"It might have been Red River _state_," said Margaret. "I think you
first met Keith in the Northwest?"

"In the Alberta foothills. He had taken a mountaineering holiday late in
the fall. I was on a R.N.W.P. patrol."

"Then you were a Royal Northwest trooper?"

"A mounted police constable," Emerson agreed, smiling. "When I hit
Keith's camp, however, I was on foot, and I and Cartwright hauled an
empty sled. The snow had come soon and Keith had fallen down a rock. His
guide had gone a hundred miles for help."

"Ah," said Margaret, "I knew he hurt his leg in the mountains and he
will always carry the mark. But go on, please. You saw him to the
settlements?"

"The trip was a sort of mutual accommodation," Emerson replied. "Keith
could not use his leg; Cartwright and I had nothing to eat. To shove
through the foothills timber was awkward, but at length we made a
ranch."

Margaret noted his modesty: Keith had talked about the march through the
snowy tangled woods, but she supposed she had forgotten the leader's
name.

"You left the police. What did you do afterwards?"

"When we broke a raw cayuse I took a nasty kick, and when I got out of
the hospital the doctor reckoned I might ask for my discharge. Well, I
thought I'd had enough, and I was ambitious. I quit, and graded a road
to a little mine; then I took a contract to cut telephone poles, and so
forth. Sometimes I was nearly broke, and sometimes I owned four or five
hundred dollars. Then Keith was sent to Miscana and wrote me that the
town might boom. I put up my shingle and he helped me make good."

"But Keith does not give contracts. He could not help you much."

Emerson smiled. "My capital was a thousand dollars, and a bank manager
is a useful friend. When I got jobs I couldn't finance, he saw me out,
and I reckon he took chances the Montreal directors would not approve.
Keith Harden is a first-class pal."

Margaret agreed. She knew his remark sincere, but she said: "Now you
feel justified to take an expensive holiday?"

"That is so," Emerson replied modestly. "Until I start on the
Brockenhurst job not much is doing, and my new partner is an engineering
college kid. He reckons he can hold the fort, and when he joined me his
father put up a useful sum. Anyhow, I'm going to England and I expect to
have a bully time."

A loon called across the dark lake, and somehow the high, hoarse note
was disturbing. It sounded as if somebody laughed. Margaret shivered and
got up.

"Perhaps your luck was good, but I expect one's luck depends upon one's
temperament."

"Keith's luck was better," Emerson remarked.

"You play up and you're really rather nice," said Margaret. "Well, one
mustn't be superstitious, but I wish he was back."




II

HARDEN GOES FISHING


The tents by the beach got indistinct, the trembling reflections lost
their sharpness, and Harden's paddle slowed. The water was smooth as
glass, and an easy stroke sent the light canoe along. Now he thought
about it, he was persuaded a branch by the point did shake, and when he
was fishing at Pierced Rock somebody lurked about the spot. It looked as
if his movements interested the fellow, but Harden could not account for
his curiosity. He was not remarkably important, and to see the
stranger's object for following him was hard.

Harden resolved he would not bother about it, and he mused happily about
his approaching marriage. Margaret was altogether the proper wife for
him. She was kind and stanch; _leal_ was the good Scottish word. He
loved her quiet humor and her thoughtful calm. Then he knew her pluck;
if forced, she would front trouble nobly, and he knew she loved him,
although she was not a sentimentalist. Well, he himself was a sober Scot
and had not much use for hectic romance. In some of his relations the
reckless vein a Borderer now and then inherited was rather marked, but
Keith imagined he, so to speak, was his staid Presbyterian mother's
son.

Margaret, however, had ordered him not to stay long, and since he wanted
to catch a big trout, he resumed his paddling. Across the quiet reach, a
river the lake fed plunged down a valley, and when the swift current
hurried the canoe along Harden glanced ahead. The light was going, and
vague, crossed branches and dim, straight trunks bordered the high bank.
In the background, white foam glimmered and angry water throbbed. Keith
knew he must not go down the rapid. When the water was low, rocks broke
the channel and savage whirlpools revolved.

The stream went faster, and when Harden saw the head of a rocky island
he backed his paddle and got his breath. He dared not take the west
fork, down which the greater part of the water plunged, and the other
was awkward, but he was a good river man, and when he was level with the
first pines on the island he let the canoe go. She leaped ahead like a
toboggan; rocks and trees sped by; and then a swift stroke carried her
to an eddy running back the other way. Harden had marked the landing,
and a few more strokes drove her bow on to a gravel bank. Keith thought
he had made it neatly, but the exploit was not really hard. If one
studied the slacks, and hit the backwash at the proper spot, one might,
perhaps, swim across. The light, however, was nearly gone, and seizing
his rod he pushed through the brushwood under the trees.

On the other side of the island, the current was deflected by a ledge,
and, swinging across, revolved about a dark, foam-streaked pool. Where
the ripples marked the edge of deep water one ought to find a good
trout, and Harden got to work. For some time, however, the large,
light-colored fly floated undisturbed across the slack, and Keith
frowned and lighted his pipe. The mosquitoes had got busy, and where the
pests were numerous one could not concentrate. He thought he knew where
the trout were, but one must steer the fly, as if the current carried
it, to the proper spot. Nothing but the ripples broke the surface and he
turned his head.

Small slanted pines grew in the rocks, and one, broken by a storm, was
in the water. He could see for a few yards across the island; and then
the dark, tangled branches cut his view. In the gloom downstream, where
the forking channels reunited, the main rapid crashed on the ledges; and
one heard mosquitoes----

The rod jerked. Things happened like that; when one watched one's line
the trout did not rise. Then Harden thrilled. The trout was not gone,
and he knew it was large. The reel clicked, and, holding down the rod's
butt, he let the fish run. Until it was beaten, he could not use the
net, and to get down to the water was awkward.

The tense line sped across the pool; and then Harden began to wind. The
trout was turning and the trace must not get slack. He ought to pull the
fish downstream, but he could not scramble along the precipitous bank,
and not far off the broken pine was in the water. He must not risk an
entanglement. After all, he might use the net; the trout was going
upstream and would soon be at his feet. For a moment he looked about. A
branch dropped to the pool, and a crack in the smooth slabs would
support his foot. If he used some caution, he might reach a mossy
shelf----

The rod quivered and he knew the line had stopped. It was under the
broken tree, and it all at once went slack. The jar had cut the trace,
and the trout was gone. Harden swore, and then, reeling up the line,
savagely rubbed his face and neck. Had the blamed mosquitoes left him
alone, he might not have lost the trout! Now there was no use in
fishing. Dark had fallen, and when the venomous insects swarmed about
one's head one could not steer the line. Besides, he had stayed longer
than he ought and Margaret waited for him at the camp.

Keith put up his rod, crossed the island, and when he stopped at the
other side clenched his fist. The landing was two or three yards below
him; he knew where he had climbed the rocks, but the canoe was not
about. Moreover, there was no use in his searching the bank: when she
floated off the gravel the eddy had swept her into the main stream and
she had gone down the rapid. Harden experimented with a dead branch he
broke. Where the branch went the canoe had gone; his supposition was
accurate.

Sitting on the stones, he reloaded his pipe. To smoke might drive off
the mosquitoes and help him see a plan. It certainly was awkward! If
Margaret were not disturbed, she had, at all events, some grounds to be
annoyed, and the others did not know where he had meant to fish. There
was the trouble, since the lake was large and the woods along its shore
were thick. In fact, Harden wondered whether he ought not to swim
across.

Keith's nerve was good, but his habit was to weigh things, and he
pondered. In order to get across, one must watch for the slacks and
backwash, and use all one's strength at exactly the proper spot. So long
as one could see, the turmoil was perhaps not dangerous; in the dark,
however, to plunge into the angry flood might be very rash. There was
another thing: when he fell down the rocks in Alberta he hurt his leg.
The injury did not bother him much, but when he walked fast his step was
slightly uneven, and the muscles would not bear a violent strain.

In the circumstances, Keith resolved to wait for morning. Day broke
about three o'clock, and although he must for some distance push through
tangled forest and stumble along stony beaches where the driftwood was
piled, he ought to reach camp for breakfast. In the meantime, the
mosquitoes swarmed about his face, and he must make a smudge fire. To
gather dead branches and throw green twigs on the snapping flame was
some relief. The pungent smoke drove back the pests, the night was not
cold, and Harden on a mossy shelf rested his back comfortably against a
trunk. After a time, however, he got restless and put up his pipe.

A flame pierced the smoke, and for a few moments flickering light
touched the stiff branches and smooth-topped rocks; then the beam faded
and the gloom crept back. But for the river's turmoil and the snapping
fire, all was very quiet. Harden frowned. Margaret certainly would be
disturbed; perhaps it was strange, but somehow he felt she wanted him to
risk the crossing, and he wanted to go. In fact, to conquer the rash
impulse was hard. He was young, and but for his leg, athletic. In some
respects, to take the plunge was easier than to wait.

All the same, Keith refused to allow his imagination to carry him away.
Moreover, to think Margaret would like him to risk it was ridiculous;
her pluck was good, but it was not the pluck that fronts a hazard
carelessly. Harden argued like a logical Scot and thought his reasoning
sound.

A fresh noise pierced the turmoil, and far off across the woods, he
thought he heard a train. The train would make Miscana in half an hour,
and had Keith not got Walthew's note, he might have stopped her at the
flag station down the lake. He began to wonder whether he ought to have
taken the two extra days. Walthew was young, and the Brockenhurst
Company was the bank's chief customer. The new factory would cost a
large sum, and the treasurer had engaged to send across some valuable
stock certificates, on which the bank would negotiate a loan. The
documents must go to Montreal, and when they arrived Harden would sooner
be at the office. All the same, it was not important; the bank's safe
was good and Walthew would express the packet by the first train.

Harden speculated about the canoe. He had thought he pulled her bow up
the bank, but the sand-flies bothered him and he was keen to start
fishing. Perhaps he had not used proper caution, and if the current
swung her stern against the stones, the jar might help her slide back
into the pool. As a rule, he was not careless, and his slackness puzzled
him, but he must have been slack. To imagine somebody had swum the rapid
in order to steal an old canoe was absurd. He stretched his legs and
rested his back farther down the trunk. His chin sank to his chest, the
curling smoke got indistinct, and he was asleep.

When he looked up the smoke was gone and feathery ashes marked the spot
the fire had occupied. Day was breaking and the morning was cold. Harden
shivered, but he jumped up and pulled off his coat. Since he must follow
rough beaches and smash through underbrush, he would need his thick
hiking boots. His summer clothes ought not to embarrass him much, and
pulling his belt tight, he scrambled down the bank. Now his trying to
cross was justified, he did not loiter.

For a few moments the cold cut his breath and the eddy, running
upstream, carried him along. It looked as if the dark rocks sped the
other way, but Harden fixed his glance in front. Seven or eight yards
off, the eddy joined the main current, and a savage turmoil marked the
confluence. Keith swam slowly and got his breath.

He was pulled under, as if somebody had seized his legs. When he came up
he went downstream horribly fast, and angry white waves broke against
his head. He, however, had reckoned on something like that and had
marked a big rock in the channel. The rock sped by, and using his
fastest stroke, he plunged into a swirling, foaming belt. His weak leg
hurt, his side hurt, his head was covered, and he could not breathe or
see. Then the confused tumult stopped and he was in the slack behind the
rock. With something of an effort, he reached the mass and rested his
arms on a shelf. He had covered half the distance and he imagined the
other half looked worse than it was.

The channel in front was deep; a long, smooth slide of water, running
ominously fast to the spray that leaped about the rapid's top. All,
however, did not reach the daunting spot, for a backwash, marked by
revolving eddies, broke the main stream and followed the hollow bank. If
one could reach the junction, to land ought not to be difficult; but one
must not be carried past.

Keith pushed off and was swept downstream like a cork, although he
headed obliquely the other way. Speed was now indicated, and he used all
the strength he had; his head for the most part under water and his arms
beating the flood. He dared not for a moment ease his stroke in order to
look about. When he reached the slack he would know, but if he were
carried past, his strongest swimming would not help him much.

A wave flung him sideways. He went down and was violently tossed about;
and then he was on the surface and going the other way. Two or three
yards off, he saw steep, smooth rocks, and he got his breath and swam
easily. Not far in front, a broken pine had fallen across the stones,
and when the stream swept him by he seized a branch.

Crawling along the trunk, he reached the bank and stopped for a minute
or two to rub his leg. The effort he had used had hurt the strained
muscles, and when he started for the camp he limped. The stiffness,
however, wore off, and when a bright sunbeam pierced the woods his speed
was good. On the whole, to cross the rapid was easier than he had
thought, but he was glad he had not tried it in the dark. Yet he
admitted he came near to going. Now the sun shone and the morning was
fresh, he knew the queer romantic impulse was ridiculous. One must be
logical, and Harden smiled. The boys would banter him about the trout he
did not catch, and after breakfast he must take Bob's canoe and go back
for his coat and fishing-rod.




III

WALTHEW'S RESPONSIBILITY


Supper was over, and Stephen Walthew, bank clerk, smoked a cigarette on
the veranda of the Miscana hotel. He occupied a good room on the wooden
building's first floor, but tonight he was going to use Harden's at the
office across the street. He had planned to go fishing when the bank was
shut, but he had telephoned his friend, rather importantly, that he was
putting across a big deal for a customer and must stay with his job.
Walthew reckoned he played a good billiard game, but since he got his
post at Miscana he left the cue alone. The pool-room was not the spot
for an aspiring bank clerk to haunt. Anyhow, after a scorching day, the
evening was cool, and Walthew was satisfied to smoke on the hotel
veranda, which commanded the bank office.

Although Miscana as yet was small, it was a thriving town, and pleasant
shade-trees bordered the wide street. Behind the trees, on one side,
were unfenced garden lots, and automatic sprinklers threw sparkling
showers across the thirsty grass. On the stoops of the frame-houses
friendly groups engaged in cheerful talk. Walthew heard a piano and one
or two gramophones. In the background, the river throbbed, and sometimes
the deep-toned hum of the turbines at the Brockenhurst power-house
stole across the woods. One smelt locomotive smoke, creosoted railroad
ties, and resinous pines.

Walthew reflected that Western Canada was a land of contrasts. One used
up-to-date inventions in the primeval wilds. A mile from the steel road
and telephone poles, civilization stopped, and the tangled woods rolled
back to the Arctic barrens, as they had done since the world was young.

On the whole, Walthew liked his job. He had recently graduated at
Toronto, and now he had got a post at a famous bank, he meant to make
good. In fact, he thought he made some progress, and he was willing for
Harden to leave him at the office. When Keith got back he must admit
that the business Walthew had transacted was properly carried out. In
particular, he had got the securities on which the Brockenhurst Company
wanted the bank to negotiate a loan. The treasurer himself had brought
the packet, and when he took a receipt commented on Walthew's accuracy
and his acquaintance with the rules about negotiating the different
sorts of documents. Stephen was flattered; he liked to feel he deserved
Harden's confidence.

The Brockenhurst people were using their reserve fund to build the new
factory, and Walthew approved the way in which the fund was invested.
The bank would hold some securities against a loan; others would be sold
by Montreal stockbrokers, and Walthew thought some would be offered on
the exchanges in London and Paris. Part must be formally transferred
and could not be stolen, except, perhaps, by a clever forger; but a sum
was in foreign bearer bonds, which could be used in Europe like dollar
bills.

Walthew had carefully registered the documents and the sealed packet was
in the safe. He would sooner it was on its way to Montreal, but the
Atlantic express did not arrive until morning and he was going to the
bank for the night. The locks were good and only he and Harden knew the
combination, but he admitted he would be happier when he got the express
clerk's receipt.

Dusk began to fall and Walthew got up. For the most part, the hotel
boarders were at a club meeting; there was nobody to whom he could talk,
and he thought he would go to the station and see the local train
arrive. At a small Western town one likes to know all that is doing.

On one side, dark pine forest bordered the track, but by and by a
fan-shaped beam pierced the gloom and a locomotive and two cars rolled
into the station. Two or three commercial travelers, and a group of
young men and women, got down. Their baskets and fishing-rods indicated
that they were from the lake and Walthew knew them, but when he was
going to ask if they had met Harden, a customer of the bank's came up
and began to talk. The bell tolled, the cars rolled away, and Walthew
thought he would walk along the street before he went to bed.

He passed the bank. The small frame-house was dark, for Harden took his
meals at the hotel, and a woman cleaned his rooms in the morning. A
little farther on, the board sidewalk ended and the row of houses was
broken by unoccupied lots where willows and small pines grew. The road
was soft; thick dust covered the gravel, and in some places the branches
spread across. People had begun to go to bed, for the lights in the
scattered houses burned behind the upper windows and some were dark.

Walthew thought he heard steps in front, but an automobile advanced
noisily. The reflections from the headlamps touched the road and trees
with silver light, and Walthew looked up in surprise. A man's dark
figure cut the strong illumination and he thought it was Harden. The man
went fast, but if Keith had arrived by the train, he would have stopped
at the bank, and the road went only to a small sawmill in the woods.
Then the big lamps dazzled Walthew and he jumped aside. A wave of hot
dust rolled about him and the car sped by. When the dust subsided he
frowned. Although he certainly had seen a man in front, nobody was
about.

Fifty yards farther on, three or four houses stood beside a short side
road, but when Walthew reached the corner the windows were dark and he
did not hear a door open. The occupants, moreover, were not friends of
Harden's. Walthew turned, and going back uptown, stopped at a house. The
fishing-party he had seen at the station was yet on the porch.

"Did you see my boss at the lake?" he asked.

"Now you talk about it, I did think I saw Harden at the depot," one
replied. "The train was pulling out and he ran along by the wheels. In
fact, I waved to him, but it looked as if he didn't know me and he
jumped on the next car. Since I did not see him get down, maybe it was
somebody else."

"Keith hates to run," said another. "When he hurries he goes with a sort
of limp."

"The fellow I saw did not limp," the first rejoined.

Walthew was nearly persuaded that the man in the road was Harden, but,
now he reflected, although the other went fast, his step was even.

"Oh, well, Keith reckoned to stop for another day or two," he said. "I
expect you spotted somebody like him."

"Who is like Keith Harden?" a girl inquired.

After pondering for a moment, Walthew admitted he did not know, and he
started for the bank. Finding nobody there, he went to the station, but
the agent had not seen Harden. When the train arrived, however, he was
called to the baggage-car and did not notice who got down.

Walthew returned to the bank. Opening the safe, he saw the packet of
securities was on a shelf, and he went upstairs to bed. The combination
that worked the lock was intricate, the house was small, and a noise
carried well. If a thief tried to break the safe, he must first knock
out Walthew, and Harden's automatic pistol was in the bureau. At twenty
yards, Walthew could hit a fruit-can, almost every time.

He got to bed, but daybreak was about three o'clock and he resolved he
would not go to sleep. Although he had not much grounds to be anxious,
now all was quiet, his responsibility weighed, and he went for Harden's
reading-lamp. He had brought across a book about banking and a classical
poet's famous epic. His choice, perhaps, was strange. Stephen was a
muscular young fellow and could handle a canoe in a rapid and throw a
trout-fly, but his main ambition was not to have a bully time. In order
to make progress, he must know all about his job, and when he got where
he wanted he must be able to talk like a cultivated gentleman. With
youthful optimism he believed that if one labored honestly one got one's
reward.

Propping up the banking book, he began to study a chapter about the
creation of credits. The argument, however, was intricate, and by and by
he admitted that he was puzzled; besides, he was getting drowsy. He
glanced at his watch and opened the other book.

Somehow the throb of the Brockenhurst turbines and the rapid's measured
clamor harmonized with the famous epic; Walthew read it in the original.
The old Greeks were virile, red-blooded folk, willing to fight and wise
to plan. Well, vigor of brain and muscle, was the quality one needed in
modern Canada. The rivers that pierced the trackless wilds must drive
factories; man must carry the Rockies' snow across the dry Western
plains. The job was a job for resolute men who could look ahead, but the
great banks must supply the capital. In the meantime, Walthew's
particular business was to keep awake until dawn, and to do so got
hard.

An automobile, firing explosively, rattled up the street and stopped at
a garage and livery-stable near the hotel. Somebody beat on the big
door, but the noisy engine continued to run. Walthew thought it strange,
for cars were not yet numerous at Miscana. The dirt roads, so to speak,
went nowhere and petered out in rough bush tracks. To go thirty miles
east was something of an adventure, and then Walthew imagined one must
use an ax. However, to see what the fellow wanted would help him keep
awake, and he went to the window.

By and by the garage man came down and it looked as if he were annoyed,
because he ordered the automobilist to stop his blasted machine and
state the trouble. When the other did so they disputed, and the garage
man called his assistant, who supported his argument. Another
automobilist joined, and advancing a fresh explanation, restarted the
engine. Then one went for tools, and when they got noisily to work the
landlord threw up a window at the hotel. As a rule, an angry Canadian is
not polite, and the altercation nearly drowned the crash of the hammer
somebody used. In fact, it began to look as if all were bent on making
as much noise as possible, and by and by a disturbed citizen swore
impartially at the group. Walthew, however, was philosophical. The car
was not his, and the disturbance banished his drowsiness.

He imagined the men were occupied for half an hour; and then the engine
rattled and the car rolled up the street. Walthew doubted if it was much
quieter, but it was gone, and the rapid's hoarse uproar stole across the
woods. The light wind was keen, he smelt sweet resinous scents, and
noticed that the black pines behind the roofs began to get distinct. Day
was breaking; his watch was over, and he went back to bed and was soon
asleep.

In the morning he saw the bulky packet was where it ought to be; but
when he opened the office three or four customers arrived and kept him
until the eastbound train was nearly due. Then he seized the packet,
locked the door, and ran for the station. The express was not on time
and after he got his breath he examined the packet. The bank kept a
stock of strong cloth-lined covers, one of which he had taken from a
shelf, and the seal was the office seal, but when Stephen glanced at the
address his mouth went tight. The hand was something like his, but that
was all.

Walthew leaned against a baggage-truck. His heart beat and his fingers
were not steady. To get his knife was awkward, but he cut the wrapping
and pulled out two Montreal newspapers. The bonds had vanished, and it
looked as if the thieves had thought him duller than he was; they had
not reckoned on his reëxamining the parcel. Their plan was obvious.
While one or two noisily mended the car, an accomplice stole into the
office and opened the safe. He perhaps was occupied for the time the
others stopped; and Walthew was at the window in the room above. Stephen
frankly did not expect the Montreal directors to think it a plausible
tale.

Then there was the difficulty about the combination, which he and Harden
knew, and although his innocence might be admitted, he certainly could
not claim an heroic part. When he was awake and watching out, somebody
under the thin floor had opened the safe, abstracted the documents, and
made up a fresh parcel.

Walthew's dreams of promotion vanished, but with something of an effort
he pulled himself together. The thieves were yet in the woods and might
try to get on board the train at a station farther along the line.
Walthew heard the locomotive whistle, and he ran for the telegraph
office.




IV

FRIENDSHIP'S CALL


The bank house, at the block corner, fronted Main Street, but at one
side a small garden lot bordered a short avenue, and Emerson, arriving
after the office was shut, saw Harden and Miss Forbes on a bench under a
shade-tree. Although the avenue was quiet and led only to the woods, her
light-colored summer clothes were conspicuous, and since Margaret Forbes
was not at all a fool, Emerson imagined she knew her being there might
excite some remark. In fact, he wondered whether it was not a sort of
challenge to all who might be interested.

Margaret, so to speak, declared herself her lover's champion, and
Emerson had grounds to imagine Keith needed some support. When he
hesitated in the path she got up. Her color came and went; Harden's look
was fixed.

"I am going, but Keith would like you to stop," she said. "You are his
pal and I dare say you can guess what we talked about. Keith is rather
noble. He sticks to conventions that I suppose were used in the Old
Country, some time since."

"In the circumstances, I took the proper line," Harden rejoined with a
touch of embarrassment.

"He wanted to break our engagement, and although I refused, I doubt if
he is quite resigned," Margaret resumed. "Keith certainly is not
selfish, but I expect scruples like his are an awkward load. However,
your coming along was lucky. I want all his friends to know the
engagement stands."

Emerson smiled. Margaret Forbes, moved by mixed emotions, was remarkably
attractive. Her eyes sparkled, she carried herself finely, and her look
was proud. Garnet thought an artist might use her for a model of
fearless youth.

"Something of the sort was obvious, and I like your grit," he replied.
"I suppose the implication is, the bank has no more use for Keith. Well,
it's not very important and promotion's slow. He will soon get a better
post."

Margaret colored. "Then, you don't yet know----Keith, of course, dared
not resign. He's sentenced to polite imprisonment at the directors'
pleasure."

Emerson's look was puzzled, and she resumed: "He must take a routine job
at the Winnipeg office, where he will have no responsibility and, I
suppose, he can be watched. The directors do not mean to run another
risk. Besides, if they find out something fresh to implicate him, they
will know where he is; but Keith will give you particulars. If I were
rich and influential, I'd spend all I had and would not rest until I
broke their bank. Well, I'm not rich, and there's not much use in
storming. Sometimes one must be practical and, if you like, you may go
with me to the post-office."

Harden signed Emerson and he went, but at the corner of the block
Margaret stopped.

"Keith needs all his friends, and now is the time for them to prove how
much their friendship's worth."

"He can reckon on mine," Emerson replied. "All the same, it's perhaps
not valuable, and I had fixed to start for the Old Country in a few
days. Do you think I ought to stop?"

"Not at all. You are going to visit with Keith's relations and he is
horribly sensitive. To feel that some might doubt him is not the least
of his trouble."

"But he ought not to need a champion at home. His father and sister know
he had nothing to do with the robbery."

"I was thinking about his stepmother," Margaret rejoined. "She has no
son, and it's possible she is jealous----"

Emerson reflected that Harden had said something like that, but Margaret
went on: "Since I have not met Mrs. Harden, I may be unjust, but to
study her might be useful. At all events, Keith imagines your firm
conviction that he is innocent will be some comfort to his father.
There's your line; you're the leading witness for the defense. Then it's
possible the thieves will try to negotiate some of the foreign bonds in
London or Paris. The robbery was cleverly planned, and the crooks might
have accomplices in Europe. Well, you will be in the Old Country."

"I am not a banker," Emerson remarked. "The chance of my finding a clue
is small."

"I suppose that is so," Margaret agreed. "However, to be willing is the
important thing, and sometimes one's luck is better than one thinks.
Well, you do not boast, but Keith trusts you, and if you can help, we
know you will."

She let him go, and Emerson turned back thoughtfully. The girl's
passionate indignation, and perhaps her trust, moved him; he had not
thought to see Miss Forbes carried away. After all, to know people
properly was hard. For example, Keith was a first-class sort; but
Emerson had not thought him the man to inspire a girl, whose calm
reserve was known, to romantic ardor. When he reached the bench Harden
gave him a cigarette.

"Margaret is generous and stanch as steel," he said in a quiet voice, as
if he apologized for allowing her to persuade him. "However, I see you
are puzzled. You don't get things yet?"

"The bank suspects you! Are your Montreal bosses dippy?"

"Oh, well, their doubts are not very strange. To begin with, the safe
was not broken, and only I and Walthew could work the lock. Steve is
young, and clever crooks would hesitate to use a raw lad. Then, you see,
I asked for the extra two days. I was away from camp all night, and when
I started I refused to state where I was going. In the morning I told
the boys a romantic tale. All know I'm a pretty good river-Jack, and
only a beginner leaves his canoe where she might drift away. In fact, I
don't yet see how she did float off the bank."

"It certainly is awkward," Emerson agreed.

"I'm arguing like a bank president, and I want you to weigh the evidence
as if you did not know me. Since the securities were stolen I have tried
to do so and I'm not much encouraged. Had I paddled hard down the lake,
I might have got the local train for Miscana, and Walthew thought he saw
me in town; then Marshall declares somebody very like me stole on board
the cars. You see, if I'd driven an automobile over the old bush trail
and swum the river, I might have made camp for breakfast. A strange car
was in town, and when I got back I had rather obviously been in the
water."

"But I imagine the bank's inspector knows you are soon to be married and
have built an expensive house. It does not look as if you had meant to
light out."

"When I built the house I did not know I might handle a very large sum,
part of which was in bonds that a crook with foreign confederates might
negotiate," Harden rejoined. "So far, my employers have good grounds for
suspicion, and although that's all, suspicion is fatal to a man who
handles others' cash. Well, unless the directors are forced, I don't
suppose they will allow the police to get after me; a bank hates to
admit it could be robbed by its servants. They will keep me in Winnipeg
for perhaps twelve months; and then, if nothing fresh transpires,
politely indicate that I ought to look for another job. When I went I
would, of course, be done for. And I'm engaged to marry Margaret, who
will not let me go."

Emerson frowned. Keith's argument was logical, and nothing was to be
gained by pretending it did not carry weight.

"Very well. Our plan's to spot the thief, and I allow it's hard----"
said Garnet, and stopping for a moment, as if he saw a light, resumed:
"I guess I've got it! You thought somebody lurked about the camp.
Suppose he studied up all you did and got to know you were not going
back to the office on the day you fixed? Then he might arrange for a
confederate to be seen in town when the safe was opened. One could copy
your clothes. The obstacle is, I haven't yet met anybody folks might
think was you."

"All the same, I have done so," said Harden, and knitted his brows.
"When I took my holiday in the West, I stopped for a week at Vancouver,
and an American and I one evening thought we'd look about Chinatown and
the red-light district. You see, we were tourists, and the hotel clerk
declared we ought to go----"

"Exactly!" said Emerson, smiling. "You don't boast about the excursion,
but we know your soberness and you can shove ahead."

"We stopped for about ten minutes at a shabby gambling-joint and paid a
long price for two or three poisonous drinks. Then, in order to carry
out the tourist's program, my partner chipped in at a card-game and
staked a few small bills. By and by he touched me, and I saw the banker
looked at me hard. I thought it strange, but the fellow was like me."

"The likeness was marked?"

For a moment or two Harden tried to reconstruct the picture. He saw the
stained, dirty floor, the cracked boards, and the big kerosene lamps.
One was just above his head and the light was good. The fellow who
stacked the shining cards fronted him and his surprise was obvious.

"Well, no----" he replied in a thoughtful voice. "The likeness was a
sort of _family_ likeness; I feel it's the proper word. One knows one's
relations, each has individuality and you note the difference; but
another might take John for James, although he knew he was a Jardine.
There's the queer thing, because I have no brother or cousin, and the
fellow was a common tinhorn. For all that, he was puzzled, and the
American was intrigued. Well, nothing was said, the gambler cut a fresh
deck of cards, and when my friend lost his money we pulled out for a
safer spot."

Emerson nodded. A red-light district is a modern Alsatia which the
police, as a rule, leave alone. The lights are conspicuous and warn
sober citizens to go the other way.

"A tinhorn is generally a crook. Do you think he inquired about you and
afterwards used the likeness to help him rob the bank?"

Harden thought not. Vancouver was two thousand miles off, and he had not
met the gambler since. Anyhow, there was no use in trying to find a
fellow like that, and the theft was probably the work of an expert
gang.

"Their solving the combination is the awkward thing," Garnet agreed. "In
the meantime, what about the stolen securities?"

"Some might be sold in New York, if the gang got there soon, but I
expect a number will go to Europe. The bank, of course, would telegraph
its American agent. I cannot state if they got much news. To negotiate
stolen bonds is, however, not as difficult as some people think, and
expert crooks work on international lines. They have, no doubt, agents
at London, Paris, and Brussels, and to copy stamps and forge transfers
might not bother them. Besides, a number of the bonds are bearer bonds."

"I shall be in London," Emerson remarked.

Harden smiled. "You are a good sort, Garnet, but, talking like a banker
I'd value your chance of helping at about ten cents----" He stopped and
his smile vanished when he resumed: "It looks as if I must pay for my
carelessness, and your part is to see my folks and as much as possible
soften the jar. The old man and my sister have got a nasty knock----"

He brooded quietly, and after a minute or two Emerson got up.

"I can't help at Miscana, and if I pull out in the morning, I might get
the _Turanian_. There's not much use in talking, Keith; but if by some
lucky chance I do hit a clue, you can reckon on my not letting go. That
is all, I guess."

Harden gave him his hand, and when Emerson went down the path his look
was rather grim. He was not remarkably hopeful, but his habit was to
trust his luck. Besides, he was not long since a police trooper, and
when the Royal North-West undertook an awkward job they held on
stubbornly.




V

ANNE HARDEN


Cool shadows trembled on the sunny grass in a checkered pattern of gold
and green. The turf at Copshope was old and very smooth. Bees haunted
the massed flowers at the bottom of the terrace wall, and their tranquil
humming harmonized with the splash of a burn. In the background, behind
the shining beech-wood, the Border hills were serenely blue. Emerson, in
a big basket-chair, felt that all struck a note of deep, and rather
strange, tranquillity.

Canada was not tranquil. One was forced to hustle, and where cultivation
went one remarked a sort of utilitarian harshness. Boisterous winds
swept the plains, and in summer thunderstorms rolled across the woods.
Angry rivers throbbed in the tangled pines. Nature, so to speak, was
dynamic, and she and man were locked in stubborn conflict. Axes crashed
in the woods, and along the rapids clanging turbines revolved. Where one
got one's food--anyhow at the restaurants Garnet used--electric organs
blared. As a rule, the North American frankly likes a noise.

At Copshope one obviously did not, and sitting under a spreading beech,
Garnet sensed the spot's calm beauty and felt himself exotic. When he
looked out from the shady corner, he thought the sunshine lovingly
touched the old house's front. Copshope was rather small and not at all
ambitious. The soft stone was checkered brown and yellow, and the main
lines were horizontal. A sort of weathered cornice went along the top,
and a broken molding about half-way up. The casement windows were low
and wide. Behind the beech wood, light clouds floated horizontally. The
level lines and soft color were soothing. In Canada the clouds were
round; they rolled across the sky. On the plains the grass rippled; in
the woods the dark pines tossed.

In a sense, perhaps, Emerson was exotic, although he was not at all
remarkable and his type is common in springing Western towns. His
clothes were good, his tall figure was rather firmly than strongly
built, and his glance was quick. One sensed alertness and driving force.
He might not keep the path cautious people used; one felt his habit was
to shove ahead. Moreover, he had not cultivated the superficial
carelessness that sometimes masks British energy. At the Scottish
country house he was not altogether raw, but his rather obvious
sincerity and keen interest marked him a stranger. He had arrived an
hour or two since, and now the formalities of his welcome were over, he
studied his hosts.

Harden's hair was white and his face was lined. Keith had said he was
for some time a Glasgow merchant, but Emerson felt the old house and the
blue hills were his proper background. Garnet remarked his rather
formal, old-fashioned politeness and queer touch of dignity. His talk
was quiet, as if he weighed words and hated to exaggerate. Sometimes he
used a Scottish idiom that was like an epigram. Emerson thought him
shrewd and kind, and he was rather a handsome old fellow. His step was
not quick, but he carried himself well.

Garnet did not know about Mrs. Harden. Her clothes were fashionable and
one felt her important; Mrs. Harden was rather obviously the laird's
lady. Her figure was short, and as round as fashion allowed; her color
was yet white and pink, and Emerson imagined at one time her physical
charm was marked. He did not know much about Old Country ladies, but
somehow he felt her languidness was cultivated. Harden's queer judicial
calm was not. Yet she was a polite hostess and he felt he interested
her. In a way, perhaps, his doing so was strange.

For a time their talk was careless, but Emerson imagined the others
waited for him to satisfy their curiosity, and at length Mrs. Harden
inquired for Keith.

"We got his letter, but it was not long. He stated you would soon arrive
and give us full particulars," she said.

Emerson began to narrate Keith's fishing excursion; but after a few
minutes a small car sped across a break in the trees and a girl crossed
the lawn. Her white clothes seemed to indicate that she had been playing
tennis, and her lines were boyishly straight, but a filmy motor veil
flowed about her slender figure in an attractive curve. Emerson got an
impression of lightness and grace, but when he was presented to Anne
Harden he noted that her glance was searching and her mouth was firm.
Although Mrs. Harden gave her a meaning look, she smiled.

"You were talking about Keith," she said. "Well, I'm interested and I am
going to stop."

Emerson was rather embarrassed. Harden was entitled to know all he knew,
but his narrative might puzzle the girl and she perhaps did not yet
realize her brother's misfortune. He, however, went on as if he did not
know she was about, and somehow he thought she approved. The others were
very quiet, but when he stopped Harden looked up.

"You imply that somebody _personated_ my son. To cheat his friends and
his clerk would be difficult."

"Although the summer night was clear, they saw him in the dark," Emerson
replied. "Then sometimes one does meet a man strangely like another whom
one knows. For example, Keith himself----"

He began to talk about Keith's meeting the gambler, and Harden's chair
cracked, as if he had suddenly moved. Emerson thought Mrs. Harden's
mouth was tight. She glanced at her husband, who looked straight in
front. Garnet got a hint of disturbed surprise, but the incident he
narrated was perhaps remarkable. All the same, he thought her relations'
disturbance puzzled Anne.

"The fellow was banker at a red-light saloon card-table?" said Harden in
a quiet voice.

"Keith thought him a tinhorn, sir. A common adventurer whose play is not
always straight."

"But why was Keith at a place like that?" Mrs. Harden inquired.

"It is not important; he no doubt indulged his tourist's curiosity,"
Harden replied. "I have known your friends boast about adventures of the
sort at Paris and Cairo; but on the Pacific Slope the performance is not
staged for excursionists. Did Keith think the likeness distinct, Mr.
Emerson?"

"His companion, the gambler himself, and one or two more noticed it. I
believe he said there were differences, but a stranger might take the
fellow for his relation."

Mrs. Harden said nothing; Harden smiled.

"Oh, well, sometimes one remarks a puzzling resemblance, as if Nature
had used the same mold more than once. But go on. Do you think the
tinhorn afterwards used the queer similarity in order to rob the bank?"

"It's possible, sir; I feel that is all. Vancouver is a long distance
from Miscana and some years had gone."

Emerson thought his reply satisfied his hosts and he resumed his tale.
When he stopped, Harden gave him a grateful look.

"Thank you, Mr. Emerson! I like your loyalty, and I think my son has got
a trusty friend."

"All Keith's friends are loyal. Nobody who knows him imagines he was in
any way accountable for the bonds' vanishing. The thing is altogether
ridiculous."

"Very well; we must wait for some fresh light. In the meantime, the
suspense is hard to bear and you may find us dull. We would like you to
be happy at Copshope, and Anne, no doubt, can fix for a few tennis
matches and picnics at romantic spots. Now I dare say she will show you
the gardens and all that might interest you in the house."

Anne got up and they went off across the grass. Emerson imagined his
hosts would sooner be alone, and so long as Anne was content to be his
guide he was willing to indulge them. He saw roses and massed tall
delphiniums, tinting the changing blue of the sky, and water-lilies
floating in rock-pools; but he knew Anne's object was not altogether to
show him the flowers. Although her talk, so far, was careless, he felt
as if she weighed him.

By and by they went to the house and up the stairs at the side of the
big square hall to a gallery at the top. Two or three crossed lances, a
battered steel cap, and a few pictures occupied the paneled wall, and
Anne, sitting down on a carved oak bench, signed Emerson to an old chair
opposite. Her clothes were white and creamy yellow; her slender figure
and delicately tinted skin were distinct against the dark wood. She was
light and finely drawn, and somehow thoroughbred, but Emerson got a
sense of nervous strength. He imagined Anne's eyes sometimes sparkled
and the red blood stained her skin.

"You can smoke. I myself do not, but I'd sooner you did, because we must
talk," she said. "Perhaps I'm not grammatical, and you needn't bother to
be polite. Since you mean to stick to Keith and I'm his sister, the main
thing is to be frank."

Emerson imagined Anne did not always talk like that. Her object perhaps
was to help him out, but he did not know----He rather thought Anne would
not use a plan that he might see.

"All who properly know your brother mean to stick to him----" he said,
and stopped, for Anne smiled.

"I wonder," she remarked. "Well, modesty is attractive, but you said
something like that before, and you mustn't exaggerate. You see, Keith's
friends are at Miscana, but you're at Copshope----In the Old Country we
are not rashly trustful; we reserve our judgment. Well, my father is a
Scot and tries to hide his hurt, although he has got a cruel knock. Your
believing in Keith is some comfort, particularly since one knows you are
sincere."

Emerson said nothing, but he was flattered. He thought Anne's trust was
not careless; Miss Harden was keen. After a moment or two she resumed:

"Perhaps you felt a remark of Madam's jarred? At all events, you noted
my father's impatience?"

"Mrs. Harden's remark? Now I recollect, Keith called her _Madam_."

"Mrs. Harden is rather formal, but she is not our mother, and the title
is an acknowledgement of her authority. The Borderers are a clannish
lot and she belongs to us."

It looked as if Miss Harden's loyalty sometimes was strained; but she
went on: "When you talked about Keith's visiting the red-light saloon I,
at all events, did not wonder why he went. Father's explanation, so to
speak, was superfluous."

Emerson looked up. His movement was mechanical, and when he met Anne's
rather amused glance he stopped. He had not reckoned on her admitting
she knew what the red lights implied.

"You see, I know Keith's soberness," she said, and indicated a portrait
on the wall. "His mother and mine! Her people were for long stern
supporters of the Scottish kirk, and we believe she sprang from
Cameronian stock. The Cameronians were the Covenanters' fanatical left
wing."

Studying the picture, Emerson thought it possible. The first Mrs. Harden
was a handsome woman. Her brow was wide and her eyes were calm, but
their calm was austere and her mouth was thin. One could not doubt her
sincerity; one felt she must be just. All the same, her justice might be
merciless. In fact, Mrs. Harden was the sort of woman one would rather
respect than love.

"Keith is hardly his mother's stamp and I think you are not at all," he
said.

"One inherits inherited qualities," Anne remarked, and getting up
stopped in front of another picture. "I am a Harden, and although
father's doubtful, we like to believe the old fellow on the wall was an
ancestor of ours."

The picture interested Emerson. A moss-trooper on a shaggy pony held up
a hooped wooden cup. His steel cap shone, as if in torchlight, and red
reflections touched his lined face and slanted lance. His look was
grimly humorous.

"I like him!" said Emerson. "His blood was red; you feel he could take
hard knocks and use his long spear, but I think he loved a joke. Well,
it looks as if there were two sorts of Scots."

Anne laughed, a frank, musical laugh.

"I begin to think you keen; but he's rather theatrical, and I expect he
was not our relation. Perhaps all he really stands for is the spirit of
his time. We were merchant adventurers and mended our fortunes on the
exchanges at London and Montreal. Since I think none got very rich, the
queer thing is, there was always a Harden at Copshope----"

She hesitated, and then went on as if she resolved to give Emerson her
confidence:

"Well, I mustn't bore you. At one time, we were freebooters, and perhaps
the virile, lawless strain is not yet run out. When father got Keith's
letter he was strangely disturbed and I almost think he doubted----Then,
of course, the bleak suspicion went; he knew Keith, in a sense, was our
mother's son. Now there is but one thing to be said: you are my
brother's champion, and if you see a useful plan, all the help I'm able
to give is yours."

She gave Emerson a smile that moved him, and began to talk about
something else; but soon afterwards a bell called them to tea in the
shade on the lawn.




VI

MOONLIGHT AND SHADOW


Pale-yellow reflections lingered in the west, where the plain ran to the
sea. The east was dusky blue, and the half-moon rose behind a sharp
black hill. Soft darkness crept down the curving glen, but in some
places a faint silver beam pierced the Scots firs' branches and touched
the hazel thickets by the stony path. Emerson smelt honeysuckle, and a
burn splashed in the gloom.

The glen was famous long since, when the moss-troopers followed the burn
across the waste to raid Northumberland; but Emerson was not thinking
about historical romance. After dinner Anne and he had crossed the hill
and he was satisfied to be with her in the summer dusk. Although he had
but recently arrived, and her cultivation was higher than his, Anne and
he were friends. She was frank and up-to-date, and he imagined her
brother's trusting him was something of a bond.

Anne's speculations, when she did speculate about Emerson, were mixed.
He was athletic and carried himself like a soldier. Then he was a fresh
type and stood for independence and effort. The young men she knew were
mainly occupied by sport, and rather laboriously copied their jazzing
friends in town. In fact, all, so to speak, used one model. The Canadian
modestly but firmly asserted his individuality. Moreover, in the bleak
hills, young men were not numerous. Anne knew she was attractive, and
rather liked to use her charm.

Where a gate broke a dry-stone wall she stopped. A Scots fir spread its
branches across the mossy stones and the spot commanded a noble view.
The deep river valley was blurred and indistinct, but where it opened to
the plain the moon was on the marshes, and the Solway pierced the misty
levels like a shining blade.

"All is very calm and perhaps you are lucky, because on the Border it is
not often like that," said Anne. "Our hills are torn by storms, and
floods carve deep gullies in the moors. Well, I suppose storm is
bracing, and at all events, a Solway gale breaks the sort of narcotic
quiet that rules at Copshope."

Emerson saw the old house's lights glimmer in the trees. An owl called
behind the beech wood and light mist floated about the fields. He felt
the spot was marked by a soothing, homelike charm.

"I'd begun to think it was always summer at Copshope," he said. "But
don't you like quiet?"

"One can have enough," Anne replied, and laughed. "A month at Edinburgh,
and sometimes two or three weeks in town, is all the change I get, and
it makes me long for more. One is very quiet when one is doped. However,
I mustn't grumble, and I don't suppose you know much about being
bored."

"Well, I've loafed for three weeks, and I feel I want to keep it up. You
see, I have not taken a holiday before. Once or twice I tried, but I got
up against obstacles that forced me back to work. Now I think about it,
the thing was queer."

"I wonder----" said Anne, with a smile. "Something, of course, depends
upon one's seeing the obstacles, and to picture your loafing is hard."

"Then, if you're interested, you can watch me," Emerson rejoined. "At
length, nothing's doing and my partner holds the fort. The Old Country's
a bully country, and I mean to take a rest----"

Anne turned her head, and signing him to be quiet, stepped back into the
gloom. Stones rattled on the path, as if somebody came down the glen.
Emerson imagined it looked as if they were lovers and Anne would sooner
not attract the stranger's notice. The supposition was humorous, but he
admitted the joke had some charm.

The stranger went fast. His step was not a plowman's step and his boots
were not the boots the dalesfolk used. Emerson noted things like that.
When the other crossed a spot where the moonbeams pierced the trees he
thought he knew somebody whose figure and carriage resembled the
fellow's. The man passed the spot, and stopping about fifty yards
farther on, looked about. Anne touched Emerson, and for a few moments
they were very quiet. Then the fellow began to push through a broken
hedge, and when he plunged down the bank on the other side he swore.

Emerson started. Since the dalesfolk mended hedges with barbed wire, the
fellow's swearing was perhaps not remarkable. The strange thing was, his
accent and expletives were Western.

"Has one of your neighbors spent some time in Canada or the United
States?" he asked.

"I think not; besides, the man is not a neighbor," Anne replied.

She moved back from the wall, and when her face was in the moonlight
Emerson saw she cogitated.

"All the same, I thought I knew his walk," she resumed in a hesitating
voice.

"Somehow I imagined I had seen him before," said Emerson. "He's steering
across the field. Where do you think he'll go?"

"A path to the house runs along the other side, and a lane behind the
garden joins the valley road," said Anne; and then, as if she obeyed an
impulse, pushed Emerson. "Follow him!"

Emerson shoved through the broken hedge and kept the gloom of another
across the field. His steps were nearly noiseless and light mist floated
about. Moreover, he was at one time a mounted policeman, and the Royal
North-West are first-class scouts. To some extent, however, the mist was
a drawback. The man he followed was but a minute in front, and if he
stopped, Emerson might run up against him, and an explanation would be
awkward. Anyhow, the other would know he was watched, and Emerson wanted
to find out why he took the field path to the house. Anne did not know
him, and Emerson was satisfied he was not a countryman.

Where the path went round a clump of larches he halted. A burn splashed
behind the trees, and he thought the noise would drown the other's
steps; so far as he could see, nobody was about. Two hundred yards off,
the Copshope windows shone; the lights were on the ground floor and some
were dim, as if the shades obscured the glass.

Then a gate creaked, and Emerson crossed a plank that spanned the burn.
The path he took curved along by the beeches at one side of the lawn,
and under the spreading branches all was dark. Garnet heard nothing,
although he knew the gravel was freshly raked. Yet he thought somebody
was in front and, like himself, kept the grass border in order to go
noiselessly.

Stopping behind the last trunk, he got his breath and looked about. The
moon was higher and the dewy lawn sparkled in silver light. A trail of
mist shimmered about the bushes on the other side. The front of the
house was yet in gloom, but after a few moments a dark object crossed an
illuminated window. Although the terrace was flagged, Emerson heard
nothing. The dark object vanished like a ghost.

A minute or two afterwards he stole up the shallow terrace steps. Nobody
was on the flagged walk, and had the door opened, he would have seen the
reflection from the hall. Garnet knitted his brows. The fellow was not
Harden's servant; Anne did not know him, and a servant would not steal
into the house. To steer for the corner where he vanished would occupy
some moments and Garnet's boots might jar on the flags. Emerson resolved
to go the other way, round the house, and meet the fellow.

He started. But for the kitchen and the housekeeper's room, the windows
at the back were dark. Emerson crept round the garage and stable and the
gardener's potting sheds, but all was quiet. Yet somebody had gone round
the corner. In fact, he rather thought the fellow was still lurking by
the wall. Anyhow, Emerson was satisfied the other had not heard him. He
had hunted the shy prairie antelope, and where silence is indicated the
Royal North-West troopers do not make much noise. Then his foot struck a
bucket and the iron rang like a bell. Garnet frowned and clenched his
fist. The noise would carry; there was now no use in his waiting in the
courtyard, particularly since the outbuildings cut his view. Since he
had, no doubt, alarmed the other, he ought perhaps to watch the lane
that joined the road.

The lane followed the edge of a beech wood, and Emerson waited under a
tree. He was on the grassy border and knew himself indistinguishable a
yard or two off. On the other side the hedge was low, and the sky behind
it was clear. Garnet thought he had fixed on the proper spot.

By and by somebody came along the lane and he felt he ought to know the
step. The other was going briskly, but not very fast, as if he did not
want his speed to excite curiosity. Then a tall figure cut the sky
behind the hedge and Garnet knew the sharp, dark outline. The man who
had passed him in the glen was making for the road.

Emerson had no grounds to stop him, and since he did not mean to do so,
he would sooner the fellow did not imagine he was watched. To some
extent his caution was mechanical; he took the line he would have taken
were he a police trooper.

The indistinct figure melted, the quick steps died away, and Emerson
started for the house. He calculated it was about ten minutes since he
climbed the terrace steps. The stranger had not gone to the hall door
and certainly was not in the courtyard at the back. Emerson wondered
where he was while the ten minutes went.

Anne met him on the terrace. The moonlight had reached the house and he
thought she looked bothered.

"Well?" she said.

Emerson narrated his search and she nodded.

"You were not justified to meddle and I am glad you did not. Perhaps I
ought not to have sent you--but I thought him like Keith."

"He was like Keith," Emerson agreed.

"But Keith's at Winnipeg, and if somebody copied his walk and clothes in
order to rob the bank, he would not come to Scotland and lurk about our
house."

"It's strange. In a way, to suspect the fellow Keith met at Vancouver
would be ridiculous. There's another thing: when Keith goes fast, his
step is rather uneven. The other's was not."

"He did not go to the kitchen; I know our neighbors' servants and
gamekeepers. You are satisfied he was not about the yard?"

"That is so," said Emerson, smiling. "One mustn't boast, and when I
crept along the wall I knocked over a bucket; but I was a mounted
policeman."

Anne looked up with surprise. She had remarked that he carried himself
like a soldier and moved with a sort of rhythmical precision, but she
had not pictured him a constable.

"The Royal North-West, I suppose?" she said. "Cowboy frontier cavalry?"

"I reckon not," Emerson replied with a twinkle. "The force is drilled
and disciplined like a regiment of British line. Then the boys are not
swashbuckling ruffians. On the whole, they're steady, resolute young
fellows who try to carry out an awkward job. In the back blocks the
R.N.W.M.P. stand for right and law. However, the important thing is,
they taught me still-hunting."

Anne played up. He did not want to talk about his adventures, and
somehow she would sooner they did not talk about the man who passed them
in the glen.

"Oh, well, we have been out for some time. Perhaps you ought to say
nothing to my father. We haven't much to go upon and mustn't be
romantic. Besides, I think Keith's misfortune hurts him more than he is
willing for us to know."

They went to the house. Mrs. Harden had recently gone to bed: a sudden
neuralgic headache, Harden thought. Anne went off, and Harden took
Emerson to the smoking-room. For some time he talked with old-fashioned
politeness, but Emerson imagined it cost him an effort, and at length he
said:

"Brooding will not help, but I am anxious for my son. Keith has pluck,
but he has got a nasty knock, and when one is young to wait is hard.
Yet, until the directors admit he had nothing to do with the robbery, he
must stop at the bank."

"Keith certainly had nothing to do with it," Emerson remarked.

"For Keith to steal is unthinkable," Harden agreed. "He is, of course,
my son, but if he were not, I'd still be satisfied the directors'
suspecting him was altogether extravagant."

He went off soon afterwards, but Emerson smoked out his pipe. When he
pondered his host's remarks, it looked as if Harden had grounds for his
confidence that Garnet did not know.




VII

THE SIGNAL


A shower rolled up the valley, and Emerson, plowing through drenched
meadowsweet, steered for a broken wall under the trees by the quiet
road. The afternoon was sultry, and thunder rumbled in the hills.
Emerson's long fishing-stockings and nailed brogues embarrassed him, and
although he had floundered about the stony river since lunch he had
caught but two or three small trout.

In the meantime, he had had enough. Under the spreading beech the ground
was clear of undergrowth and the wall was dry. Resting his back against
the stones, he lighted his pipe and looked about. Behind the tangled
grass and meadowsweet, swallows skimmed a calm river-pool. Overhead big
drops splashed on trembling leaves, and where the thick branches opened
he saw the moor's broken, purple ridge. Although the flies were
numerous, Garnet was content to smoke and muse.

He had thought to start for Edinburgh and he must do so soon, but in
summer Copshope was a charming spot, and Anne Harden was a remarkably
attractive girl. Perhaps for her brother's sake, she was kind; in
Scotland the word carried a significance it did not in Canada. To some
extent, Anne was frankly modern, but Emerson sensed a touch of the old
Borderers' fire and pride. In fact, he imagined Anne Harden's blood was
red. All the same, for him to dwell upon her charm was foolish.

Mrs. Harden puzzled him. He thought her talents were domestic and she
was satisfied to rule her husband's house. Her rule was firm; the
servants were model servants, and on Sundays were sent off to the
Established Church, although it entailed a frugal lunch and cold dinner.
Mrs. Harden was a stanch Presbyterian and used the capitals. Her friends
were sober and locally important; Emerson thought some dull. Perhaps it
was strange, but he felt her conventional propriety was rather
exaggerated. Somehow he wondered whether Mrs. Harden was always like
that.

There was another queer thing: Harden indulged his wife and it looked as
if she got all she wanted, but Emerson did not think her happy. A sort
of nervous moodiness seemed to imply that she bore some strain, and
since Emerson thought Anne was puzzled, it looked as if the strain were
recent. He did not imagine she bothered about Keith. Keith had stated he
was not much at Copshope, and after all he was not her son. Well, it had
nothing to do with Garnet, and he would soon be gone.

He turned his head. The rain had not stopped and a walking tourist came
along the road. Copshope was not on the beaten track, but in summer
holiday-makers invaded the lonely hills. The fellow was young, and
obviously a city man, for his skin was white and his knickerbockers and
shooting-coat were new. Emerson thought him much like other British
excursionists who sometimes disturbed his fishing. Pulling off his
rucksack, the stranger sat down on the wall and lighted a cigarette.

"The showers are heavy and the afternoon is hot," he said. "However,
when I left King's Cross the fug in town was worse."

Emerson had not heard the word before and he said nothing. The other
gave him a careless glance and resumed: "Perhaps you don't know London;
but sometimes Montreal is pretty hot."

"That is so," Emerson agreed, and studied the other.

The fellow was not a Canadian, and Garnet meditated about his surmising
that he knew Montreal. His fishing-stockings were Harden's and his
clothes were made by a Glasgow tailor.

"Were you at Montreal?" he inquired.

"For two or three days, in August, and I had enough. Then I joined a
Canadian friend on the Taminisqua. A noble trout river, but when we were
out we got more mosquito bites than fish."

Emerson remarked that the fellow shifted the accent from the proper
syllable, which, if he had camped by the river, was perhaps strange.

"I believe the Taminisqua trout are good," he said, placing the accent
where the tourist placed it.

"Big yellow fish, two or three pounds weight. Perhaps you know my pal,
Johnny Oakshot? _Taminisqua_ Johnny! He boasts about his river."

As a rule, a Canadian talks about gray trout: in Scotland, yellow
implies the red-spotted, freshwater kind. The tourist was not a Scot,
and it looked as if he had an object for using the river's name. Emerson
imagined he rather stressed the word, and although he did not know
Oakshot, his curiosity was excited and he was willing to give him a
lead.

"On our side, he's Taminisqua _Jake_."

"Why, of course," said the tourist carelessly. "I suppose you are
stopping at the house across the fields?"

Emerson thought it rather obvious. One saw Copshope in the trees, and he
was fishing where strangers dared not fish; a notice by the road warned
off trespassers. When one wears wading-stockings and thick brogues one
does not walk far. Yet he saw the other wanted to know.

"Yes," he said. "I am at Copshope. I may not stop for long."

The tourist got up. The shower was passing, but for a few moments he
hesitated.

"Well, I must shove on for Greensyke Inn. If you'd like to see Johnny
Oakshot, he might be at Hexham. I'm Tom Basset, and I've got a room at
the inn for a day or two."

Emerson let him go and lighted a fresh pipe. He did not want to see
Oakshot, but he pondered.

It looked as if the fellow's talking about Oakshot and the Taminisqua
was an experiment, perhaps a signal. But if that were so, who did Basset
think he was? Keith was at Winnipeg, and if the men who robbed the bank
had sent across a confederate, he would not fix the rendezvous in the
Border hills. For all that, Basset had stated he would be at the
Greensyke Inn for a few days, and it looked as if he meant to indicate
that Emerson would find him there if he were wanted. On the whole, his
doing so implied that Keith was, after all, the gang's accomplice, and
although the supposition was ridiculous, Emerson resolved he would say
nothing to Harden. After a time he admitted that he was baffled. Basset
was perhaps but a tourist who wanted to boast about his fishing in
Canada, and Garnet put up his rod and took a field path to Copshope.

Harden was on the terrace, and Emerson, joining him, presently inquired:

"What is a _fug_, sir?"

"Close heat; perhaps stuffiness is the colloquial word," Harden replied,
smiling. "The term is not Scottish, but when an English public schoolboy
warmed up his study I believe he talked about a fug. In some circles, to
use the slang of our famous schools is rather fashionable."

"Then if one did not know the word, it would indicate that one had not
gone to a first-class English school? In fact, it might indicate that
one was a foreigner?"

"On the whole, I think it might do so," Harden agreed.

Soon afterwards a shower drove them from the terrace and Garnet found
Anne in a corner of the library. She signed him to stop and indicated a
big leather chair. Rain beat the windows, the house was drearily quiet,
and Garnet saw she was willing to talk. He knew her keenness and
imagined that one could trust her pluck. Moreover, in a sense she was
his confederate and he did not want to bother Harden. The old fellow
already had enough trouble.

"When you came in you frowned," she said.

"I was trying to weigh something and found the proposition tough. Maybe
you can help."

"Then you think I may solve a puzzle that baffles you?"

"It's possible," Garnet agreed with a laugh, and narrated his meeting
the tourist.

For a few moments Anne said nothing. When she smiled her smile was
attractive, but Emerson liked to see her knit her brows and concentrate.
Her glance got fixed and her eyes shone softly, as a river-pool shines
in the shade; her mouth got firm and her pressed lips curved in a
charming bow. Although she was young and keen, her habit was to ponder,
but when she saw her line Emerson imagined she would not stop for
obstacles.

"I think Basset's talking about the river and his friend _was_ a
signal," she remarked. "You see, he had experimented and found out you
were Canadian."

"But why did he signal?"

"The bank thieves have perhaps confederates in this country. Did not
Keith think some of the bonds might be negotiated at London and in
France? If they meant to risk it, somebody must carry the documents
across."

"Suppose somebody did so? The gang would not reckon on the messenger's
going to Copshope. They would fix it to meet him at Southampton or
Liverpool. Besides, he'd have come across some time since."

Anne looked up, rather sharply, as if she were disturbed.

"It is very strange, and I am glad Father does not know. You see, if
Keith had taken the bonds----"

"We know, and Mr. Harden knows, he did not!" Garnet rejoined. "Then had
Keith undertaken a job like that, he certainly would not have stopped at
your house. He is not the sort to entangle his relations and he dared
not have faced you. But there's no use in talking. The thing's absurd!"

"All the same, you must say nothing to Father and Madam. He is
embarrassed and anxious, and I think she is ill. At all events, when he
is not about she is nervous and moody. Well, if I thought I could help
Keith, I would not stop for old-fashioned scruples. Suppose we take it
for granted Basset did signal you? He would feel he must use some
caution; and you did not play up. It's possible he'll wait and try
another time. If he does so, what are you going to do about it?"

Emerson smiled and looked about. He saw old massive oak and rows of
books about sport and agriculture. The big leather chairs were
comfortable; the dark table-top was marked, as if it had some time
carried glasses of hot liquor. Old sporting prints occupied one wall.
The spacious room was not at all austere; one felt it was rather used by
country sportsmen than by scholars. In fact, all at Copshope struck a
note of tranquil and rather conventional calm.

"I expect we're romantic," Emerson replied. "Somehow one feels that
nothing strange and disturbing ought to touch a house like yours. At
Copshope one cannot be theatrical."

"But we are disturbed," said Anne, and gave him a searching glance.
"Keith is not romantic, but he might have gone to jail. In the
circumstances, your soberness is perhaps an embarrassment."

"For example?"

"If Basset looks you up again, it might indicate he's satisfied you are
the man he thought to meet. At all events, it would imply he's willing
to run some risk and, so to speak, to bet on the chance. Are you
willing?"

Garnet colored and his eyes sparkled.

"You are pretty frank, Miss Harden, but I guess you ought to know. If I
see a plan to vindicate my pal, why I'll bet all I've got."

"Ah," said Anne, "now you are very nice, and you mustn't be afraid I'll
think you theatrical. Perhaps some Scots are cautious, but the Borderers
are another sort. However, let's be practical. Suppose Basset leaves you
alone?"

"Then I guess I'll wait. If he reckons he's mistaken, he'll pull out.
When I plunge ahead, I like to see where I go."

Anne laughed, a frank, girlish laugh. Emerson's look was alert and
ominously resolute. When she gave the signal, she imagined he would
front the plunge.

"You stick to your rules, but when you do start I expect your progress
will be fast," she said. "But perhaps we are extravagant and Basset is,
after all, a tourist. In a day or two I think we'll find out. Let's talk
about something else."




VIII

EMERSON TAKES A PLUNGE


Although the road was narrow and stony, Anne's small car sped down the
hill. At the bottom of the steep bank, four or five yards off, an angry
burn, stained purple-red like claret, brawled in the rocks, and the
alders' shadows checkered foaming water and wet, shining moss. On the
other side, dark gullies broke the moor's steep front. Silver sand and
gravel marked the spots where floods had swept the road.

Emerson was happily satisfied to study Anne at the wheel, and sometimes
when she took an awkward curve she gave him a smile. Anne, in her white
tennis clothes, steering the speeding car, was an attractive picture and
Garnet admitted that he had spent a glorious afternoon. The old house
behind the oak trees in the folded hills was marked by a tranquil charm,
and he had not yet seen grass like the smooth tennis greens. He supposed
the turf was mown, by scythes, when the stately oaks were young.

Then the young men and women he met were sports; Garnet was almost
persuaded they did not remark his awkwardness, and when he was lucky his
antagonists applauded. They certainly could play tennis, and he
admitted he could not, but Anne had claimed him for her partner and
nobly saw him out. He knew before the game began she would not let him
down.

Now speed and the wind that swept the moors had brought the blood to her
skin. Her eyes sparkled and her slender figure was alertly posed.
Emerson pictured her running like a prairie antelope and leaping for a
ball. Although she was swift, she was graceful and somehow resolute.
Anne had meant to win, and but for him she might have done so. Yet, when
they were beaten she laughed and her remarks were generous. Where
victory was impossible, Anne knew how to front defeat. In fact, Garnet
acknowledged her all a charming young woman ought to be.

He liked Copshope and the one or two houses at which he had visited.
Although not large and ambitious, they were beautiful; one sensed old
cultivation and, by contrast with Canada, a sort of ancient calm. Except
when one played tennis, nobody hustled, and it looked as if nothing ever
jarred. Garnet unconsciously frowned. Harden and Anne had got a jar,
although their pride helped them hide their hurt. Moreover, the serenity
he had begun to like was not for him. Soon he must pull out for
Edinburgh, and in the meantime he ought perhaps to get on Basset's
trail. He did not yet know, and he looked in front.

"Watch out for the gate!" he said. "If you slow up, I'll jump and run
ahead."

"I think not," Anne rejoined with a laugh. "You might, however, hold on
and not swing against my arm. Unless you jolt me, I expect to get
through."

Emerson doubted. The gate in the big, loose wall was but three parts
open, and where a risk was not justified he hated to be rash. Then on
one side of the road the rocky bank fell precipitously to the burn.
Anne, however, let the car go and he said nothing. In the meantime, his
business was to see he did not touch her steering arm.

They sped through the gate. Garnet thought the guards hardly cleared the
post; and then a sheep behind the wall leaped into the road. Anne's
color melted; her face was white but her look was fixed and stern. The
car swerved and tilted, and wet peat tossed about the wheels. Emerson
held on grimly. So far, he must not meddle, but when the crash was
certain he meant to seize Anne and jump.

The crash, however, did not arrive. Suddenly the screen was level and
all the wheels were in the road. Anne smiled and Garnet lighted a
cigarette. The girl who steered the car past the sheep was not the girl
he had thought he knew. She was sterner stuff, but he did not like her
less.

"Although you said nothing, I expect you did not approve," she said.

"The car is yours, Miss Harden. I'm a passenger."

"Your neck is yours, and perhaps you risked it. Well, I knew I could
steer through the gate; but I did not reckon on the sheep."

"Sometimes the thing you do not reckon on makes trouble," Garnet
remarked. "To look in front before you plunge is a useful plan."

"I suppose that is so," Anne agreed. "Keith and you, no doubt, would
adopt that plan; but I am not altogether like my brother."

"When Keith is up against it, his nerve is good."

"Of course," said Anne, with a touch of haughtiness.

"All the same, he weighs things and often I do not. In fact, I think I
inherited something from the Hardens who were not stockbrokers. But we
mustn't philosophize. What about Basset?"

"He's yet at the inn, and I begin to think he really may be a messenger
from the bank thieves' British accomplices, and imagines I was sent
across by the Canadian gang. If I could persuade him that is so, I might
get on their track; but I must wait for a fresh signal."

"Yes," said Anne thoughtfully, "perhaps you ought to wait. You must not
alarm him, but if he does signal we will know our surmise is right."

She concentrated on her driving, for the curves were sharp and the hills
were steep. Emerson mused and looked about. If his supposition about
Basset were accurate, he ought to inform Harden and the police. In a
way, Anne's imagining they themselves might follow the clue was absurd.
Anne, however, thought not. She was young and romantic, but he knew her
cleverness and so long as she was resolved to meddle he must indulge
her. Then she had perhaps good grounds for thinking Harden must not be
bothered, and if Basset got to know the police inquired about him, he
would at once take flight. Well, Garnet had argued it out before----

Now they sped down from the moors, smooth pastures spread across the
valley. Yellow light touched the quiet fields, and where the hills
rolled back, Copshope stood amidst its sheltering woods. The summer
evening was serene, and the bleating of sheep harmonized with the sleepy
calm. All was peaceful, but Garnet began to think one might get
tired----

When they reached the house Harden and Mrs. Harden were in the hall.
Harden's look was grave and his wife's disturbed. When Emerson came in
she pushed back a book and he thought her movements abrupt and nervous.
For some days he had felt that Mrs. Harden was queer.

"I have some news I much dislike to give you," Harden remarked. "But you
might first read a letter that arrived soon after you went off. The
stamp is a Canadian stamp----"

Emerson had not yet sat down and he leaned against the table and tore
the envelope. For a few moments he said nothing and looked straight in
front. Anne saw he frowned, and since the letter was from Canada, she
meant to remain. She rather thought Mrs. Harden had not remarked that
she was about. Then Emerson turned to his host.

"The letter is from my partner, Cartwright, sir. Walthew, Keith's clerk,
was moved to another office, and it looks as if somebody at the bank was
indiscreet, for he found out that one of the stolen bonds was offered
for sale in London. Perhaps he risked his post, but since he did not
know where I was and Keith must not be implicated, he wrote to
Cartwright. Cartwright imagines the bank at once got busy, for the
police began to make cautious inquiries about my movements. People know
I was Keith's pal and soon after the bonds vanished I started for
England. Cartwright thought I ought to know and he urges me to come
back."

"Your partner's advice is good. Are you going?"

"On the whole, I think not," Emerson answered quietly.

Harden gave him a keen glance and Mrs. Harden looked up. Somehow her
manner indicated that she had expected the reply. Anne waited. She knew
why Emerson was not going, but he would not enlighten her father. She
had ordered him to say nothing about Basset.

"Very well," said Harden. "I'll give you my news. Two hours since a
police sergeant arrived and asked about you. He was rather apologetic,
but he stated he was informed I had a Canadian guest, and he wanted some
particulars. There was no use in trying to baffle the fellow, and I
imagine he has returned to the office at Hawick to make a report.
Although I felt that my replies were not altogether the replies he
expected, the Scottish police have obviously been ordered to watch you."

"It looks like that," Emerson agreed. "For me to stop might be
embarrassing. I think I'll start as soon as possible."

He saw Mrs. Harden was willing to let him go, but Harden knitted his
brows, as if he were puzzled.

"So long as you start for Canada, I approve. But to run away would be to
admit you dared not face an inquiry."

"I see the drawback, sir. Still, Keith had nothing to do with the
robbery, and unless I was his accomplice I could not have got the bond
somebody tried to sell. A number of people know I was at the fishing
camp when the safe was opened. Then, my business at Miscana prospers,
and the police will soon find out my record's good."

"So far, the argument is for your going back."

For a few moments Emerson was quiet, and Anne studied the group. She
could not account for Mrs. Harden's rather obvious suspense, but Madam's
moods had puzzled her. Her father's embarrassment was comprehensible;
his part was to urge his guest to go. All the same, he was not selfish;
so far as he knew, he tried to think for the other. Emerson seemed to
ponder, and then he faced his host.

"I came across for a holiday; but, if the thieves had English
accomplices, I thought I might somehow find a clue. Well, although the
thing looked extravagant I begin to see a plan. You certainly would not
approve; in fact, since the plan implies my vanishing, your objecting
would be logical. Anyhow, you mustn't be entangled, and since speed's
important, I'll shove off in half an hour."

He started for his room. Harden frowned and began to walk about.

"The young fellow is generous, but he's doing a foolish thing."

"It is possible he is implicated," Mrs. Harden remarked.

Harden turned to her sternly. "Not at all! If you assume his guilt, you
must assume my son's."

"Oh, well," said Mrs. Harden, "if you are satisfied with his grounds for
stealing off, I am not. His vague statement about a plan is not very
plausible."

She and Harden went out, but Anne stopped and cogitated. Garnet Emerson
was stanch. Since he had engaged to say nothing, he was willing to bear
his hosts' suspicions. His modest explanation certainly was not
convincing. Had Anne not known all she did know, she might have doubted
him. After a few minutes she got up.

Emerson, throwing his clothes into a bag, heard somebody call, and when
he went to the door saw Anne in the passage. She signed and he followed
her to the library.

"Nobody is about," she said. "Can you stop for two or three minutes?"

"If you are willing, I'll stop for an hour. I've been happy at Copshope,
and now I must pull out I don't want to go."

"Ah," said Anne, "I ought to urge you to consider, but for Keith's sake
I'm selfish! You see, if you vanish, the police will be justified in
thinking you brought across the bonds."

"It's possible, Miss Harden; but the police have not found me yet, and
if Basset is the man we think, I expect he'll cover our trail. If he's a
tourist, I'll start for Liverpool and try to get on board a Canadian
boat; but I admit I'd be sorry."

"Your pluck is good, Mr. Emerson, but my friends call me Anne. The
strange thing is, you hesitated not long since."

"Oh, well, I'm a cautious fellow, and I wanted to wait for Basset's next
move. Now, of course, I cannot wait; but I feel I've got a clue, and if
I let it go I'd be shabby."

Anne smiled. "To picture your taking a shabby line is hard. Then, when
one thinks about it coolly, perhaps our meddling _is_ rash. After all,
to follow the clue is the police's business."

"We resolved we would meddle," Emerson rejoined. "Anyhow, if we did put
the police wise, my tale might not carry much weight: a tourist joined
me for a smoke and talked about a Canadian river! Besides, when the
police get busy they won't find the fellow. Before the sergeant was at
Copshope I guess he was at the inn, and Basset will quit. Then, since I
was a boy I've played a lone hand. One gets independent, and I'd hate to
feel I let another undertake my job."

"Your argument's rather labored," Anne remarked, but her voice struck an
emotional note. "If you think you must apologize for your adventure,
you are very modest. It really looks as if you did not know your pluck
was splendid."

Emerson thrilled. Nobody was about and the light had begun to go. Anne
was but a yard off, and he fought an extravagant impulse to take her in
his arms. In a few minutes he must start, and when he had left her he
would be lonely; in fact, he felt he would be lonely always afterwards.
The impulse, however, was absurd, and he pictured Anne's horrified
surprise.

"But I must know where you are and all you do," she resumed. "You will
write----"

"Ought I, Anne? I mustn't entangle you."

"You said something like that to Father. I'd sooner you were selfish.
Don't you want to write to me?"

"If I did all I wanted, I'd stop at Copshope."

Anne smiled, but pale color, like the wild rose's delicate pink, touched
her face. Although she had not known Garnet Emerson for long, he was the
sort one trusted, and to feel she could reckon on his support was some
comfort. Perhaps he was rather slow to start on a strange path; her
thoughts were swifter and more adventurous than his, but when he did
start she knew he would stubbornly push ahead. In fact, he was the sort
of confederate she wanted. Anne felt she must find some grounds for her
reluctance to let him go.

"Nobody knows your hand and, as a rule, I open the post bag," she said.
"Well, I'll be keenly interested and perhaps I might help. You see, I
like to think I'm important, and I'm Keith's sister--Besides, I
acknowledged myself your friend."

Emerson got up. Although control was getting hard, he must not be
carried away.

"Thank you, Anne! However, I must look up Basset and I ought to get
going. I don't know where I'll stop, and when you haul a trunk about you
must hire porters and order cabs. You, so to speak, blaze your trail
across the country. To pack my stuff in a knapsack might be useful.
Since the hills are overrun by walking tourists, I'll be another----"

"Wait," said Anne, and went off. Although Emerson had undertaken a
romantic job, he was typically practical.

When she returned she carried a rucksack, a short, mackintosh
fishing-coat, and a small ivory-handled pistol.

"They were Keith's; he would be glad for you to have them. His uncle
gave him the pistol when he was home from school. All our relations are
not like Father and Madam."

"I haven't yet carried a gun," said Emerson humorously. "Canadians are
not a remarkably blood-thirsty lot."

"You are going to meet dangerous men," Anne insisted. "If you are forced
to fight, you fight for Keith, and, in a way, for me--I'd like to think
I had armed you."

Emerson pushed the small pistol into his pocket and she gave him her
hand.

"Madam may wonder where we are, and when you start I will not be about.
Good luck, Garnet! Until I know you're safe, I'll be anxious!"

She went off, and Emerson carried the rucksack and mackintosh to his
room. His emotions were very mixed, but he must dwell upon the moving
interview another time. The light would soon go and he must push off.




IX

THE STRANGE PATH


Emerson refused Harden's car. He would sooner his hosts did not know
where he went; his plan was to steal off, and, carrying Keith's
rucksack, he started on his feet. When he took the valley road the
sunset had melted and the woods and hills were dim. Sheep bleated on the
long, steep slopes, mist floated about the trees, and the river throbbed
in the gloom. In a way, Emerson felt it was symbolical. He had rashly
left the plain, beaten path, and the trail he hit led into the dark. His
adventure was fantastic, but he had embarked on it and he must trust his
luck.

When he started Harden was obviously disturbed; Mrs. Harden was, at
least, resigned. Emerson dared not yet speculate about Anne. She was
romantic, and he knew she had, perhaps not altogether consciously,
pushed him on; and then was sorry. Well, he did not want her to be
logical. To go was hard, but he liked to feel he was Anne's servant and
went on her errand. By and by he pulled out her present. The
old-fashioned revolver was small, but the balance was good and when he
ejected the cartridges the action was smooth. A useful little gun, but
Emerson put it up. Were he forced to shoot, he would know himself
beaten.

His business was to bluff a gang of supposititiously clever and
well-organized crooks, and it implies one's using talents he doubted if
he had. Moreover, he must baffle the police, but, to some extent, their
searching for him was an advantage. It ought to persuade Basset he was
the man the fellow imagined. The sergeant, no doubt, had inquired for
him at the inn.

The inn was two or three miles off, at the bottom of a wooded hill. In
front, a slender suspension bridge spanned the river, and when Emerson
arrived Basset leaned against the iron lattice and smoked his pipe.
Emerson noted that the spot commanded two roads.

"I reckoned you would look me up," Basset remarked in a meaning voice.

Emerson knew his supposition accurate. The other had given him his cue;
the sergeant had visited at the inn.

"Sure thing," he said. "The police have hit my trail."

"What about your country-house friends? I expect they got a knock!"

"It's possible," Emerson agreed with a laugh. "I don't boast about my
exploits and I left them guessing. Anyhow, they'd hate to be famous, and
I reckon they did not help the sergeant much. Since they're rather
important, he's gone off for fresh orders, and my notion is to beat it
before he gets back."

The other deliberated and Emerson wondered who he thought he was. It
certainly was not Keith, and for a crook to stop at a country house was
queer. Yet the fellow had known he was at Copshope.

"Perhaps I'm not very humorous, but I don't see the joke," Basset
remarked. "The police are not fools, and not long since an accident gave
the C.I.D. a useful hint."

Emerson saw the fellow studied him and he experimented.

"The stopped bond? Well, somebody was not very bright, and by and by I
want particulars. In the meantime, you can fix it for me to meet up with
the boys?"

"Oakshot's in town; London's three hundred miles off. However, I wired
Burke and Lang to look out for me at Hexham, and we must chance their
being there."

"At Hexham?" said Emerson, for he understood the town was small.

Basset frowned impatiently. "It looked as if you meant to remain at
Copshope and I must wait for you to move. Then the main rail and road
lines to Scotland go by the west and the east coast. Hexham commands
both; a loop line joins the Edinburgh railway, and Newcastle is not far
off. Since the bond was stopped, we wanted a quick route to a port.
Anyhow, the car I ordered is waiting and we ought to be off. Go ahead;
I'll pick you up on the road."

When the lights of the inn vanished, Emerson sat down on a wall. His
luck was better than he had had much grounds to think. Basset took it
for granted he was the man the gang expected, and Oakshot, who might
know him for an imposter, was three hundred miles off. Moreover, Basset
was obviously disturbed, and one might perhaps work on his fears. At
Copshope, Emerson had torn a map from a railway time-table. The main
lines and steamship routes were marked, and passenger boats went to
Europe from the east coast ports. Since the gang's retreat was
apparently to the Continent, Emerson thought, if he put across his
bluff, he would start the other way.

A bright beam dazzled him and he jumped on board the slowing car. For
some time they sped up a valley, by dark hills and glimmering
river-pools. Mountain-ashes and silver birches shone in the swift
illumination; dry-stone walls leaped up and melted, and startled sheep
raced across the road. Then the hills vanished, and dreary moorland
rolled in front. The road was stony and uneven. Sometimes water splashed
about the wheels, and the car rocked. Emerson heard wings beat in the
dark, and curlew and plover called.

Anne had talked about the moorlands, and Garnet knew he traveled
romantic ground. In the old days, the moss-troopers had followed the
stony track. They carried long spears and steel caps, and when the
English watch-fires leaped up, trusted to their horses' speed. Some who
crossed the Waste were perhaps Anne's ancestors, and Emerson thought she
had inherited something of their reckless vein. He pictured her taking a
steep chance and somehow making good.

In the meantime, he had taken a steep chance, and he saw all he was up
against; but since Anne had inspired the adventure he did not grumble.
Besides, in the circumstances, Basset had no grounds to doubt him; he
had expected to meet a Canadian and the Canadian was there. Then the
police had made inquiries at the inn. Garnet saw another thing: Basset
would present him to the gang and, in a sense, be his guarantee. Until
Oakshot arrived, he perhaps need not bother much.

They stopped at a number of gates, and for some time their progress was
slow. Then the road began to run downhill, the fences and gates
vanished, and vague moors enclosed the deepening valley. A river curved
about the fields and soon got large; sometimes one saw a glimmering
white farmstead, and cattle lowed. Trees bordered the ravines; they sped
through a straggling village; and at length faint, clustered lights
marked a little town.

The car took a trunk road and the lights got bright. Emerson saw noble
trees, an abbey's dark walls, an old market-place, and a dim, massive
tower. Basset stopped at a big white hotel. It looked as if the guests
had gone to bed, but some lights were burning, and a porter directed
Basset to the smoking-room. Emerson remarked that the furniture and
decoration were good; the room was spacious, and but for two men at a
corner table nobody was about. The men were not at all remarkable; in
fact, had not Basset advanced to the table, Garnet admitted he might
have thought them commercial travelers. After all, he reflected, a
crook does not, as a rule, wear a distinguishing mark.

Emerson's heart beat. He had bet on the others' not having met the man
they imagined him to be, but he did not know, and he was glad the
rendezvous was not a thieves' kitchen. Trying for carelessness, he
advanced.

The strangers looked up, and for a moment the suspense was intolerable;
then one gave Basset a nod and the strain went. Garnet knew he must use
caution, but they did not yet suspect he was an impostor and he began to
think he might make good his bluff. Basset fetched two chairs and
presented Emerson to Burke and Lang.

"Maine wanted to see Johnny, and I thought he had better meet you," he
said. "We did not stop for dinner and I'd like some food. Can we get a
drink?"

"You might get some sandwiches; I don't know about a drink," one
replied. "Are you stopping for the night? Although we engaged rooms, I
am not."

"Ah--" said Basset. "Well, I wait your news. I expect my telegram was a
useful hint."

A yawning waiter brought them sandwiches and coffee. Emerson's appetite
was keen and the coffee was good, but he watched the others,
particularly when Basset took his cup. Although it looked as if none
doubted him, he thought the group disturbed, and he must not be doped.

"We got your telegram. In fact, we got one or two more," said Burke.
"But where's the trouble?"

Basset told him, and Emerson lighted a cigarette. He was glad his part,
so far, was not a talking part. When Basset stopped, Lang rather noisily
pushed back his cup.

"It's awkward! The Yard has rather obviously got to work. Oakshot ought
to be in Paris, but he doesn't dare start. He reckons they won't spot
him so long as he lies close in town."

"Who's the Yard?" Emerson inquired.

Burke frowned impatiently. "Don't you know? Although you're Canadian, I
thought you'd have heard about our C.I.D.; Criminal Investigation
Department--" He turned to Basset. "Since Moss's outside stock-jobbing
pal bungled the transfer, nothing has gone as we planned. I was to start
for Brussels, but Moreau has taken fright and refuses to handle the
stuff."

"Where are the certificates?" Basset asked.

The other looked about the room, and when he pulled out a long envelope
Emerson made an effort for calm. A number of the stolen bonds were on
the table, hardly a yard off. His impulse was to seize the envelope.
Anne's pistol was in his pocket, but the others were young and athletic,
his chair was awkwardly placed, and he could not watch them all.
Moreover, in the Old Country to pull a gun was a serious offense, and he
reflected that the police already searched for him. The hotel was in the
main street, and if there was trouble, the officers would arrive in a
few minutes and arrest the lot. When they found out whom they had
captured, they would think it a dispute between confederates. Emerson
admitted his tale was not plausible.

"You can take the packet," Burke remarked to Basset. "For some time, at
all events, the stuff cannot be negotiated, and I'm not keen to carry it
about. The convention is, one must get a search warrant, but a few days
since somebody ransacked my room."

"You have not much grounds to boast," said Emerson. "At Miscana we put
across our job."

"And you thought it entitled you to loaf in Scotland?" Lang rejoined.
"You forced Basset to wait until the police got on our track----"

"The police are on my track. Anyhow, you cannot put up the stock on a
foreign exchange, and you're scared to hold the paper. What are you
going to do about it? I must shove off soon, and I want to know."

Basset knitted his brows. It looked as if he were leader and by and by
he turned to Lang.

"Oakshot may see a plan and ought to have the certificates. Will you
carry them to him?"

"I will not," said Lang. "The Yard lot know me and I won't risk the
trip."

The others were quiet, and Emerson saw neither was keen to go, but after
a few moments Basset shrugged.

"I'm not as famous as our friends and I'll chance it," he said to
Emerson. "Anyhow, Johnny ought to see you as soon as possible."

"If you will fix things, I'll start when you like," Emerson agreed, and
lighted a cigarette.

He wondered whether the other noted that his hand rather shook. He
certainly did not want to meet Oakshot, but since Basset declared he
ought to do so, he dared not refuse. Moreover, he might perhaps by some
means seize the bonds. Basset nodded and got up.

"We'll get a train at Carlisle, and I'll go for the car. Smoke out your
cigarette. The coffee's not all gone."

He signed the others, who went off with him, and Emerson drained his
cup. The coffee was nearly cold, but he felt he needed a drink. He had
borne some strain and must brace up for a fresh exploit.




X

EMERSON DRIVES ON


Dawn broke calmly on the Pennine moors behind the wide trunk road. Gray
walls and battered, slanted hedges melted in the low mist, moisture
glistened on the white bent-grass, and Emerson shivered. He had no
driving-coat, and his short mackintosh was wet by dew.

Basset stopped the car, and, pulling off his gloves, beat his hands. He
looked about, but nothing moved on the straight, black road. Plover
circled in the mist and a cock grouse called from a heathy slope.

"As a rule, I don't drive much, and my hands are cramped," he said. "I
expect you can steer her, and I'll take a smoke. Our train does not go
for two hours and I don't want to loaf about Carlisle. Jennings will
call for the car."

The man who had driven them to Hexham was not on board, and when Garnet
inquired why he had stopped, Basset hesitated.

"To some extent, I must trust the fellow, but I do so where I'm forced,
and I've recently thought him inquisitive. Anyhow, you had better carry
his licence."

He lighted his pipe and pulled out the licence and the large envelope he
had got at Hexham.

"The blasted certificates are a dangerous load, and when I don't wear my
thick coat my bulging pocket is conspicuous. Since I can't dump the
stuff at a safe deposit, I must use my knapsack."

"It looks as if you trusted me," Garnet remarked.

"Oh, well, in the meantime, the documents cannot be negotiated, and for
you or Jennings to double-cross us might be expensive. The C.I.D.
people, of course, are not our friends, but I've known them take a
useful hint from their antagonists. If you did get off with the packet,
I rather think you'd find the roads were stopped."

"I won't experiment," said Emerson, laughing. "Besides, my habit is to
stand by my pals. Anyhow, we'll shove off."

He started the car and they sped down rolling hills to the woods on the
Cumberland plain. All the traffic on the road was a rattling milk lorry,
and Emerson let the engine go. The job he had undertaken was awkward and
his talents were not remarkable, but he had made good in Canada, and so
far he had done so in the Old Country. Although luck, perhaps, accounted
for much, one must know where to seize the favoring chance, and then
hold on. However, to philosophize about it would not help. His business
was to get the bonds.

By and by blue smoke, floating about the trees in a hollow, marked a
little town, and Basset pulled out his watch.

"People are beginning to get up and I think we'll take the longer road
to the right. I expect it's quiet, but don't drive fast."

They crossed a river, and rolling by a ruined abbey, climbed a long
incline. Then the road curved about small folded hills, and from the top
of one Garnet saw a city's smoke. The mills and railroad-yards were
obviously at Carlisle.

"Now you can let her go," said Basset, and they plunged down the hill.

Where the road curved, somebody shouted, a dog barked, and sheep
streamed out from a gate. The flock straggled across the road, and the
hedge bank was high and steep. Garnet used the brakes, but the locked
wheels skidded and the car swerved. A jolt threw him against the
cushions, and when a fresh shock stopped the car he supposed a sheep was
under the wheels. A red-faced, angry shepherd pushed through the
struggling flock.

"Get doon and help me pull oot sheep," he said to Basset. "Maybe t'other
can back t' blasted car."

Basset jumped down. Emerson imagined he dared not provoke a quarrel that
might lead to the shepherd's going for the police. He reversed the
engine and the others dragged the sheep from the wheels. The animal got
up, as if it were not much hurt, but the flock had begun to scatter and
Emerson steered for a gap. Then he saw Basset's knapsack on the seat
beside him and knew the opportunity for which he waited had arrived.

The car leaped forward and Basset shouted. Garnet thought a stone
brushed his cap, and the wind-screen smashed. He did not know who threw
the stone, but the fellow's aim was good. The next, however, struck the
road; the engine accelerated nobly, and he was round the curve and
climbing a long hill. At the top he turned his head, but all he saw was
tossing dust. He pictured Basset's trying to soothe the shepherd, but
their dispute had nothing to do with him. They were half a mile off, he
had the bonds, and all England was in front. The drawback was, he did
not know where to go.

A lark began to sing, and in the distance yellow sunshine touched
massed, broken mountain-tops. The rolling plain before him as yet was
misty blue. Across the level Border marches, the Scottish hills folded
in smooth, flowing lines, and he believed a glittering streak was the
Solway.

Since Garnet dared not stop, he tried to visualize the railway map. It
indicated where the towns were thickly grouped, but the Border was not
much populated. On the whole, he thought he would keep to the open
spaces; the trunk roads might be dangerous. Moreover, in Cumberland he
would not be far from Copshope, and he might be justified to steal back
and consult with Anne.

Before long Basset's lot would try to get on his track and he ought
perhaps to carry the bonds to the police, but since they looked for him
and his tale was hardly convincing, he thought he would not. Emerson was
young and rather wanted to try his powers; besides, he had not yet got
all the bonds. Steering for Carlisle, he admitted that his wanting Anne
to acknowledge him a useful champion to some extent explained his
foolhardiness.

The road went by Carlisle, but Emerson was not forced to enter the city.
From the hill the first houses climbed he saw across the river an old
castle, the smoke of early household fires, and a cathedral tower. A
guide-post directed him to Scotland, and he went ahead. All the same, he
did not mean to use the car for long.

Two lorries loaded with clanging milk-churns rolled by, and Garnet
looked at his watch. So far, the big road was quiet, but he supposed the
traffic would presently begin, and when he set off on foot he would
sooner nobody saw him start. After a time, he remarked a small road,
running north to the Scottish hills, and not far ahead, another going
south across the Solway plain. Garnet took the north road and pulled up
by a bridge, three or four hundred yards from the crossing. On one side,
a steep bank sloped to a little stream and the fence rails were old.

For a minute or two he waited. Dust rolled about the main road hedge and
an engine throbbed. When the car was gone Emerson heard an advancing
motor-coach. It looked as if he must get busy, and, pushing back the
door, he started the engine. Then he got on the running-board and
steered for the fence-rails. The wheels took the grass border, and
Garnet jumped.

The car went up a low bank, and a post crashed. Broken rails were thrown
about, thorn branches bent, the car tilted and plunged into the field.
Emerson picked up Basset's knapsack, pushed the bonds under his coat,
and looked about. The motor-coach rolled past the crossing, and he
thought nobody behind the hedge could see the wreck. Going back to the
main road, he turned at the guide-post and started south.

In front, the plain was level like the sea, but a dark fir wood crossed
the marshy fields and a peat moss where white wild cotton grew. A
six-foot ditch followed the uneven road and the slow stream at the
bottom was stained dark brown. Emerson threw Basset's knapsack into a
clump of fern; he hoped nobody would find it until winter cut the
foliage. All was very quiet. It looked as if the road went nowhere; but
when he passed the wood a church-spire broke the level horizon and he
pushed ahead. Now he thought about it, all he had eaten since he lunched
at Copshope was two or three sandwiches.

He stopped at a village. Near the church, three or four white farmsteads
and an inn bordered the road. House-leeks grew about the roofs, and
noble beech-trees spread their branches across the massive flags. At the
end of the road were low red cliffs, and a river sparkling in a belt of
yellow sand. Garnet noted a ferry-boat at the water's edge, and went to
the inn.

After breakfast he lighted his pipe under a spreading beech. A fresh sea
breeze shook the leaves, the shade was pleasantly cool, and he thought
he was entitled to rest and ponder. He was four or five miles from the
spot where he ditched the car, and he doubted if Basset had reached
Carlisle. Emerson wondered whether he was forced to pay for injuring the
sheep; the shepherd was muscular and looked obstinate. In the meantime
he himself had vanished, and he argued that the police and Basset would
not search for him in the lonely Solway flats. They would rather watch
the railways and the trunk roads; and Basset must use some caution.

Bees hummed and the patter of the leaves was soothing. Ten or twelve
miles off, foothills cut the plain, and behind their rounded tops Garnet
saw broken crags and a mountain peak. The distant heights were bluer
than the sky, and he speculated drowsily--The deep blue was luminous,
like the reflections on a river pool and the blue in Anne Harden's eyes.
Now he thought about it, Anne's eyes did not sparkle; when she was moved
they shone with a sort of steady light. But perhaps _steadfast_ was the
word. Anne was like that. She went where she meant to go, and if she
must front trouble, she would not hesitate----

Emerson pictured her in the library when the light was going; her
slender form outlined against the dusky panels and her look resolutely
calm. She thought for him and weighed the risks, but she approved his
plan. Had he been her lover, he knew she would have let him go. Well, he
had not much grounds to think Anne would be satisfied with him for a
lover; and a lonely mountain in the west fixed his glance. The sharp
blue pyramid dominated the coast belt and seemed to call. Anyhow, it
was a beacon in the wide flats, and he resolved to cross the river.

A sunbeam touched his bent head and he looked up. The shadow in which he
had drowsed was gone, and the branches tossed in the wind. Strapping on
his knapsack, he asked the landlord for some sandwiches, and went down
to the sands. A ferryman rowed him across the river, and when the old
fellow pushed off his boat Garnet hesitated for a few moments.

On one side, and not far off, was broken rolling ground. In front, a
wide level marsh ran back to the west and the river vanished in shining
sands. Where colors and outlines melted, the lonely mountain's top
pierced soft fleecy clouds.

Garnet must choose his path, and he steered for the mountain. Sometimes
he crossed muddy creeks, and sometimes he followed the straight marsh
ditches where tall reeds bent in the wind. Plover circled overhead, and
shining terns screamed, and splashed in the salt-water pools. Where the
sheep and cattle fed he pulled off his boots; the smooth turf was soft
and dotted by yellow treefoil. In the distance, the blue mountain
glimmered, and, when the sun had passed the south, slowly got
indistinct.

In the afternoon the sands encroached upon the narrowing marsh, and
Garnet crossed a road and a railway. The track was a single track and
pierced a big peat moss; the road climbed a hill and vanished behind a
few white farmsteads. Garnet took the heather and went slowly west, past
peat-hags, wastes of wild cotton, and scattered birch woods. Sometimes
a flock of sheep broke across his path, sometimes a partridge covey rose
on noisy wings; and then all he heard was rustling sedges and the wind
in the heath. The mountain in front began to get sharp again, and its
faint, ethereal blue went purple.

When the sun was low he followed a curving river to a small white
village. Dark trees cut the yellow sky and cornfields sloped to the
glimmering streak where wet sands pierced the marsh. Cottagers leaned
against their gates, but so far as Emerson could see, nobody was
interested by his arrival, and he went to an inn.

It looked as if walking tourists sometimes stopped there, and although
Garnet's accent was not marked, the landlord thought him an Irishman.
His supper was good, and when he had satisfied his appetite and engaged
a room, he went to the porch and smoked his pipe.

He heard cattle and tossing branches; behind the dusky marshes the
Solway tide throbbed like a drum. For a time, that was all, and Garnet
was languidly content. Since sunrise nobody had bothered him, and he had
got the bonds. He had not fixed where he ought to go, but it was not
important. In the meantime, he was satisfied to roam the marshes on his
feet----

He looked up. An engine rattled and dust rolled across the road. A car
leaped from the dust and swung round the curve by the inn. The driver's
glance was fixed, but Emerson clenched his fist. Basset had soon got on
his track and another was in the car. They steered furiously for the
west, and it looked as if they reckoned him in front. In the
circumstances, Garnet thought the proper plan was to let them go, and
when his pipe was smoked out he went tranquilly to bed.




XI

HARDEN'S DOUBLE


The tide was full and the sandy water broke languidly against the
concrete blocks. Emerson, his rucksack under his shoulders, lay in the
stones behind the wall and smoked his pipe. The evening was hot, and for
a time he was willing to loaf. He did not know if he ought to stop at
the small sea-coast resort, but his English boots had begun to pinch his
feet.

The mountain he had steered for was opposite him, across the sparkling
firth, and when he looked the other way he saw a sweep of trampled,
dusty grass, and tall houses bordering a long, one-sided street.
Motor-coaches blocked a road by a church, and behind a clump of battered
firs a crowd surrounded a pierrots' theater.

It looked as if the place had some attraction for excursionists and
Garnet considered his stopping for the night. On the whole he imagined
the police and Basset would not search for him at a small
watering-place. Moreover, he had visited two garages and had not spotted
the car Basset drove through the village when Garnet was at the inn. He
believed he would know the car.

A yard or two off, a sunburned young fellow smoked a cigarette and
studied a map. He had put a loaded bicycle in a garage where Emerson
loafed about and they had begun to talk.

"Where do you start for in the morning?" Garnet inquired.

"For the Pennine moors," the bicyclist replied. "You see, I'm at a
cotton mill and the office shakes with the rumble of engines. My
lodging's in a street where tramcars and heavy lorries run for most of
the night, and every evening they turn on a wireless loud-speaker in the
next house. When I get a holiday I like space and quiet."

"But what about your lake country? It is not far off."

The tourist pushed across his map and laughed.

"The lakes are beautiful, but in summer they are not quiet.
Motor-coaches roar along the roads, and, when it does not rain, you
cannot see the water and mountains for dust. In the little towns the
traffic's like the traffic in the Strand. Of course, if you take the
high rocks, you leave the noisy crowd, but I'm a bicyclist. Like the
rest, I suppose I'm a tripper, but I don't mark my track across the
country by mangled fowls and slaughtered dogs."

Emerson meditated. Where excursionists were numerous another would not
be remarked, and perhaps one hid most safely in a crowd. He rather
thought he would see the English lakes, and if Basset got after him, he
would take the rocks. At one time he had patrolled the lone Northwest,
and in the mountains he ought to baffle a city crook.

"Yours is a bully map," he said. "Where'd you get it?"

The tourist imagined any bookseller would supply him and said he had
noticed a shop by the church. He asked if Emerson were stopping.

"I might," said Garnet. "Do you know a quiet hotel?"

"Mine is not crowded, and I think you'd get a room. Dinner will not be
served for some time, and if you like, we'll look round the bookshop."

Garnet agreed, and when they crossed the dusty grass the other remarked:

"You are American?"

"Remarkably American?" said Garnet, who had an object for inquiring.

"Oh, well," said the other, apologetically, "in our provincial towns all
we see of Americans is on the film, and sometimes one wonders whether
the portrait's accurate. Well, I suppose dissolute millionaires, crooks,
and gunmen are picturesque, but the sober folk who run your big
industries are not. If you judged us by some plays and novels, you'd
think us a decadent crowd. However, I didn't spot you until you said
_bully_ and _pretty_ good."

In the circumstances, that was something, for Garnet thought the young
fellow keen; but when they reached the wide pavement he braced up. Two
big policemen stopped at a corner, and it looked as if they waited for
him to cross the street. Garnet, however, did not hesitate.

"I expect there's a bookshop in the town?" he said to one.

"Straight forra'd, fifty yards," the officer directed him.

The bicyclist's look was surprised, but Garnet said nothing. He had
experimented, and if the police had been warned to watch out, they did
not know him for a Canadian. At the hotel he put his rucksack in the
office, and after dinner went to the smoking-room. Nobody was in the
room, for the evening was hot and the other guests were on the porch and
on the benches in the green across the street. The long windows fronted
the sea, but the light had begun to fade. A motor-coach rolled noisily
by, and Garnet heard people shout and laugh at the pierrots' theater.

He went to a writing-table. Anne had said she would expect his letter,
and for her to know he had got a number of the bonds might be some
comfort. He knew he must not boast, for Anne was fastidious, but to
bluff the gang was something of an exploit, and she had ordered him to
keep her informed. Anyhow, he was going to write, and he thrilled to
picture her generous approval. His narrative was modest, but he signed
himself her servant, and thought Anne would understand.

Garnet sealed the envelope and looked up. The room was on the first
floor and he saw the dark-blue mountain against the saffron sunset. The
smooth firth was a shimmering orange streak, and the wet sandbars shone
fiery red. By contrast, the smoking-room was cool and shadowy.

A man crossed the floor to the window and leaned against the balcony
rails. When he passed the writing-table his head was turned, but Garnet
thought he had seen somebody like that before; he felt he ought to know
the fellow's step and well-balanced figure. After a moment or two he
pushed Anne's letter into his pocket and noiselessly moved his chair. He
had got it; the stranger was the man he had followed across the fields
at Copshope.

For a time the other leaned against the rails, his head bent, as if he
watched the people in the street; but at length he turned, and Garnet
tried to conquer his surprise. It looked as if Keith Harden faced him
five or six yards off. He knew the thing impossible, but for a moment it
was hard to persuade himself Keith was not really there. Then he saw the
other did not know him, although his glance perhaps was interested. The
fading light was on Garnet's face and he wondered whether he had
started, but thought he had not. For one thing, the Royal North-West
were taught to use control.

The stranger carelessly remarked that the evening was fine and went to
the door. Garnet heard his step in the passage and tried to
concentrate--The likeness, at first, was startling, but now he
reflected, he saw differences. Well, when Keith narrated his meeting the
gambler, he talked about a _family_ likeness. To imagine the fellow was
the Vancouver tinhorn was perhaps extravagant, but Garnet doubted if two
or three men were made on his friend's model. Then, he had grounds to
think somebody had personated Keith at Miscana.

But suppose the fellow was the gambler? Had he thought to see Garnet at
the hotel? Nothing indicated that he knew him, but a tinhorn's business
was to bluff. Anyhow, if he was the fellow, Basset was not far off, and
Garnet ought not to stop. He got up, and, looking for the cycling
tourist, gave him the letter to Anne.

"Perhaps you will mail this for me at any post-office you pass in the
morning," he said, and held the envelope so that the address was
visible. "I don't want to mail it here."

The young fellow saw the letter was for a lady, and smiled.

"Of course," he said. "If you like, I'll carry it for thirty or forty
miles."

Emerson thanked him, and going carelessly up the street, inquired at a
shop about the garages. He had searched two, but he found there was
another he had not noticed. Emerson strolled into the garage, as if he
looked for somebody, and spotted the car Basset drove through the
village. In the circumstances, he thought he ought to start. Moreover,
his departure must not be conspicuous, and, going to the hotel for his
rucksack, he stole off by a quiet street.

For a time he followed the beach, but the sand was soft and by and by he
crossed a field to the road along the coast. The road was narrow, and
curved between high banks on which battered thorns slanted from the
wind. The sun had set, the moon had not risen, and behind the hedges the
gloom got thick. Across the fields, the ebb-tide brawled among the
shoals. A fresh wind had sprung up and Garnet could not hear his steps
in the soft dust.

He met nobody, and it looked as if the traffic had stopped. One or two
lights twinkled by a clump of trees, and sea-birds screamed; but that
was all, and Garnet pushed ahead. Although he could not see his watch,
he thought it was ten o'clock, and the inn where he hoped to stop was
six or seven miles off.

Stones rattled in the gloom. He had a few moments since crossed a belt
of fresh metal. A first-class modern car, running at half-speed, went
almost noiselessly, but his not seeing the headlamps' reflections was
ominous. The road was narrow and crooked, and the hedge-banks went up
straight from the edge of the stones. One ought, however, to find a gate
in the next field and Garnet began to run.

A dazzling beam enveloped him and he heard an engine's quickening throb.
The light touched a gate and sped by, but he doubted if he could reach
the spot. The engine was running at full speed and the flood of light
swerved. Garnet jumped for the bank. Something touched his back, and
although he was not conscious of much shock, he staggered and fell in
the grass.

Dust rolled about him, and when he looked up the car was fifty yards
off. He thought it slowed; at all events, it would not go far, and when
it stopped he must not be in the road. The gate was rather obvious and
Basset was keen. Emerson leaped up the opposite bank and plunged at the
hedge.

Green branches bent and thorns seized his clothes; but speed helped him
through, and he rolled down the bank on the other side. In front was a
sandy common, with stones in the thick heather, for Garnet struck his
foot. A ragged hedge went along one side, and dark bushes, four or five
feet high, were scattered about.

Emerson imagined Basset would expect him to keep the hedge, but the
bushes were numerous and he steered for one and got behind the
sharp-spined branches. The stuff felt like the prickly Scottish whinn.
His skin was wet by sweat and his heart beat, but when he got his breath
he began to look about. The streaming light had vanished and the car had
stopped. So far as he could see, the common was large, and if the gang
followed the hedge, he might steal off. Emerson did not imagine Basset
was alone.

He thought he heard another car, but the wind and the sea's turmoil
drowned the noise. Anyhow, nobody could see him four or five yards off,
and he pulled out Anne's pistol and turned the cylinder. All the
chambers were loaded, and the Royal North-West used the revolver and the
rifle. When they were forced to shoot, they shot straight. Garnet hoped
he would not be forced; but he meant to keep the bonds.

Rails rattled. Basset had found a gate, but others were with him and one
ran for the hedge. Emerson thought two more advanced, separately, across
the common, but the gloom was puzzling and he did not know. If they
meant to search all the gorse bushes, they might be occupied for some
time, and since they could not do so noiselessly, he would know where
they were and might steal across to a clump they had visited. Much,
however, depended on their luck, and his.

One made for the spot Emerson occupied, and then stopped, as if he
studied a larger bush. He went to the other bush, and Garnet felt about
in the heather with his foot. A pistol shot would bring the fellow's
companions; besides, if he shot the man, he must bear the consequences.
The common was stony, and when his boot struck something, he stooped and
picked up a round block. The block went neatly into his fist and he
smiled with grim satisfaction, but his throat was parched.

After a few moments, the indistinct figure again advanced. It came
towards Emerson's bush, and when it was three or four yards off Garnet
stretched his arm and braced his muscles. He knew his reach, and where
the stone ought to go, but his heart beat----

Light streamed along the hedge, heavy wheels rumbled, and a horn blew.
The wheels stopped, but the horn did not, and the man for whom Emerson
waited ran for the gate. Garnet followed, and when he was three or four
yards off launched the heavy stone. The man in front swore and
staggered. Garnet flung him against the hedge and leaped through the
gate.

A large motor-coach had stopped; the driver perhaps had hesitated to
steer his bulky vehicle past the standing car. He inquired angrily why
the others blocked the narrow road. Then Basset's engine began to rattle
and his lights sprang up. His companion and the motor-coachman disputed
noisily, but Emerson did not see the fellow he had knocked into the
hedge.

"They're drunk," he shouted. "Their lights were not going and they drove
at full speed round the curve. Although I jumped, the car threw me into
the hedge."

"I know their number," the driver remarked. "If you'd like to see the
police about it, we'll give you a lift. There's room on the back seat."

Emerson ran for the steps, the horn hooted, and the big coach rolled
ahead; but when he lighted a cigarette his hand shook and to answer the
excursionists' questions bothered him. Basset had rather obviously meant
to run him down, and he had companions, one of whom, no doubt, was the
fellow Garnet had thought was Keith. Anyhow, he must not risk a fresh
encounter, and when the coach stopped at a garage he was the first to
get down. Stealing off before the excursionists reached the pavement, he
started for the dark beach. When Basset returned to search the town he
must be as far off as possible.




XII

EMERSON TAKES COVER


There was no moon, but the night was not dark, and where a bay curved
back into the marsh Emerson pushed across the sands. He carried his
boots; the cool salt ooze was soothing to his galled feet, but he went
slowly, for his back hurt. The car had not struck him squarely; he was
almost clear and the blow was, no doubt, a glancing blow. When he jumped
for the hedge his muscles were braced, and highly strung as he was, he
had hardly felt the knock. Now he doubted if he could go much farther,
but one could not sleep on the sands and the marsh was boggy and wet by
dew.

Three or four miles off, across misty level fields, electric lights
marked the town. Rows of glistening windows dotted a mill, and bright
reflections played about a dock. In front all was dim but for a high,
dark bank where a point broke the vague sweep of beach. Emerson heard a
black-backed gull and the noise was like a hoarse laugh; oyster-catchers
screamed, and water murmured in the gloom. Then a loud splash rolled
across the flats, and he imagined the tide ran down a river channel and
the current undermined the bank.

Crossing a spot where samphire and soft salt-grass grew, he saw the
water. The channel was not wide, but little waves beat the sand, as if
the stream went fast, and farther back, a lake melted in the dark.
Garnet turned and headed for the land.

He now fronted the electric lights. They shone above a quiet town where
coasting steamers loaded and holiday makers slept. In a sense, his
roaming the wet sands at midnight was a romantic extravagance. He was
not a Western swashbuckler, and since he quit the North-West police he
had occupied himself soberly with his business. In fact, a moderately
prosperous contractor had nothing to do with adventures like his. All
the same, he carried a packet of stolen bonds and he imagined Basset
searched the town for him. He, like Keith, had got entangled; his part
was foreign to his character, but since it was forced on him, he must
play up.

By and by he stopped where great blocks of slimy turf had fallen from
the marsh. A curlew called on a shrill, warning note, and noisy plover
wheeled above his head. It looked as if somebody had disturbed the birds
and Garnet cautiously climbed the bank. At the top he lay in the grass.
The night was not dark and he did not want to be conspicuous.

He heard a whistle, but the note was not a curlew's. He was obviously
not alone on the marsh, and when, perhaps fifty yards off, a man's dark
figure cut the sky he wondered whether the fellow knew he was about. On
the whole, he thought not, and after a few moments the other vanished.
Garnet lay still and pondered.

In the town the police had not seemed curious about him, the marsh was
wide, and he imagined it was impossible for Basset to have hit his
trail. All the same, he must not take chances, and when he started he
kept the sands in the gloom of the high bank. He was tired, his back
hurt, and he must find a spot where he could sleep.

For some time all he heard was the wildfowl. The big pool in the sands
glimmered faintly and he smelt drying salt-grass and peat. He left the
bank and pushed across the flats for another jutting point. At the
point, the channel curved and followed the land and Garnet was forced
back to the tumbled peat blocks under the steep bank. The stuff was
slimy, to balance on the lumps was awkward and he concentrated on
finding firm ground for his feet. Before he ventured to look about he
had crept round the point.

Garnet stopped and clenched his fist. A narrow belt of muddy sand sloped
to the water and at the edge of the channel three men waited. Their
figures were indistinct, but he knew they had seen him and there was no
use in running. The peat blocks were slippery and he was embarrassed by
his knapsack and mackintosh. Between the group and him, a long dark
object occupied the middle of the flat. Garnet waited, as calmly as
possible.

If the men were Basset's lot, they knew he had the bonds and they knew
him dangerous. He thought they would not be satisfied to seize his load
and let him go. The spot was lonely and the ebb tide went down-channel.
To feel Anne's pistol on his hip was some comfort, but he must not
rashly use the gun. The strange thing was, he thought the others
irresolute. It began to look as if they had not expected him, but after
a moment or two one advanced.

"Launch punt," he ordered his companions. "I'se stop t' d---- watcher."

He was a big fellow, but Emerson now remarked his oilskin coat and long
boots, and he laughed, a hoarse but joyous laugh, for the suspense was
gone.

"Wait a moment!" he shouted. "I am not the watcher, but I can tell you
where he is."

The others joined their comrade, and Garnet, sitting down on the punt,
pulled out a cigarette and rubbed a match. He wanted them to see his
rucksack and short fishing-coat.

"A laiker!" one remarked.

"If a _laiker_ is a walking tourist, you have got it," Emerson agreed,
and, looking about, noted a net in the channel. "I don't know your
business, and it does not interest me, but if your fishing here is not
allowed, I think you ought to quit. A man is watching by the point
across the sands and I heard him call another."

"Pull oot net and let him be," said the first poacher and turned to
Emerson. "Until we're ready to start, ye'll bide by punt."

Garnet was tired, but the spot where he had seen the watcher was not
far off and he must not risk a fresh complication.

"Since I don't want to wait, I'd sooner help you with the net," he said.
"Then you need not keep an eye on me. Let's get to work."

The other nodded, and when they launched the punt one brought the end of
the net to land. Emerson imagined it was lowered when the tide was full,
and now the water sank, it blocked the channel. The meshes were heavy
with tangled weed and when the stuff was shaken out flounders splashed
in the muddy sand. Garnet imagined his companions were not yet
satisfied, and by and by, as the heavy folds came ashore, silvery gleams
indicated nobler fish. The fish were shining sea-trout.

The poachers worked fast, and when the net was folded in the punt one
pushed off and vanished in the dark. Somebody farther down the channel
apparently heard the punt pole splash, for a shout rolled across the
sands. The others were embarrassed by coiled ropes and the fish, and
Garnet seized a basket with a broad web strap. He must find a lodging
for the night and he thought he saw a plan.

They set off, and after a few minutes plunged into the mouth of a creek.
Emerson's load was heavy and his feet sank in the mud. The bottom was
two or three yards below the grass; fresh creeks branched off, and for a
time the poachers threaded the intricate maze. Then they climbed a wet
peat bank and Garnet sat down. His back hurt horribly, the strap galled
his shoulder, and the water draining from the fish had soaked his
clothes. The poachers threw off their loads and one inquired where he
was for.

Emerson reflected. The fellows had rather obviously taken fish they were
not allowed to catch, and had he not warned them, the officers might
have seized their net and boat. To some extent, he thought he might be
frank.

"I don't know," he replied. "Some folks I'd sooner not run up against
arrived at my hotel. I'm willing to pay for a night's lodging, so long
as the spot is quiet."

The poacher turned to the others and Garnet thought one smiled. Since
there were, no doubt, people they did not want to meet, he imagined they
sympathized.

"Varra weel," said the first. "If ye're not particular aboot your bed,
ye can gan wi' me."

He turned his head and his glance searched the dark marsh. The rushes
and long grass by a ditch bent in the wind. One heard the dry stalks
rustle and wildfowl scream across the flats.

"Watchers are on t' sands, following Jim," he said. "He'll be up the
Holm creek lang before they cross big dub."

They picked up their loads and started, but one turned at a plank bridge
and followed the creek. Garnet and the other pushed ahead. The grass got
longer and the ground was broken. They skirted little pools and clumps
of reeds, and went up a bank where prickly whinn bushes grew. In the
background, tall trees loomed behind a row of slanted thorns. All was
blurred and dark; the sea-birds' faint calling hardly disturbed the
calm, and when a distant motor's lights flickered across the sky, Garnet
felt the dim illumination was exotic and strange.

A sheep coughed behind the thorns and a horse went with them for a
hundred yards, as if it were unwilling to be alone. Then Garnet felt
stones under his feet, and the poacher shoved back a rattling gate. The
noise jarred, but in a moment it was gone and leaves pattered softly in
the gloom.

The poacher stopped at a cottage, and, getting a light, guided Emerson
to a tarred shed. Folded nets and bundles of dry rushes occupied most of
the earth floor. Garnet remarked a rusty scythe, a hedge-slasher, and
some draining tools. The poacher gave him the lantern and indicated the
nets.

"Neabody will bodder you. You can sleep till sun is up."

He went off and Emerson pulled a net across the rushes. When he
patrolled the lonely plains for the Royal North-West he had been content
to use a much worse bed. The net, at all events, was warm and dry, and
in ten minutes he was asleep.

When the first sunbeams sparkled on the wall he got up, and, finding a
bucket, took the path to a well under the trees. Nobody was about and he
pulled off his clothes. A red mark crossed his ribs and at one spot the
skin was torn. Garnet imagined he had run some risk in the dark road,
although when Basset's mud-guard struck him he had hardly felt the
knock. Had he been a few inches farther off the hedge--There was,
however, no use in speculating about things like that.

The cold water braced him, the morning was fresh, and by and by he
climbed a steep bank. Level fields, crossed by tall hedgerows, went back
to a little hill. Noble trees dotted the slope, but Garnet did not see a
house. When he turned the other way, the sun was on the marsh, and
shining blue channels curved about the yellow sands. In the background,
the firth sparkled like a looking-glass. Well, the spot was lonely, his
back hurt, and for a day or two he must take cover. Then he smelt peat
smoke and went down the bank.

The cottage was a two-roomed _daubin'_, and where the limewash had
flaked off Emerson saw the rammed clay walls. His host was frying
flounders on the red peat, but when he heard Garnet's step he got up
from a box by the hearth. Although his hair was white, his figure was
strongly built and straight. His eyes were very blue and his glance was
keen. He wore a fisherman's jersey and long rubber boots, and Emerson
thought him a pretty good sample of the Viking type. Putting the pan and
a loaf on the table, he gave his guest a nod.

"Ye'll be needing some breakfast and there's enough for two."

Emerson approved the flounders, and the big loaf was good. In the Old
Country one did not get potatoes for breakfast, but the coffee was
better than some they served at Western hotels. Then he liked the
primitive furniture and the sunshine on the lime-washed wall. The
cottage was homelike; the home of a man who labored in the keen salt
wind. When breakfast was over Garnet gave the other his tobacco-pouch
and lighted his pipe.

"Nobody keeps house for you," he remarked.

"For ten years I've lived my lone," said the marsh man in a quiet voice,
but resumed with a twinkle: "I'm oot by day, and noo and then a good
part o' t' night."

"Then, suppose I wanted to stay for a week? I can cook all the food I
need, and if you're at work, I might cook yours. I'd be satisfied to
camp in the shack, and if you agree, my proposition is----"

He reckoned, like a Canadian, in dollars, and he rather thought his host
surprised.

"Easy money!" said the old fellow. "Ye see, I get mine hard; in winter
paddling old shooting-punt aboot flats in t' dark. Sometimes ye must
wait two-three hours in bitter frost for a shot; and then, if she jumps
on the tide-rip, ye maybe get a duck for your pound o' lead."

Emerson thought a gun that carried a pound of shot must be like a
cannon. One certainly could not hold the thing; but now he remembered,
the punt he helped to load was fitted with wooden chocks that might
support a big gun's barrel. Then he saw the marsh man's look got
thoughtful.

"You feel my wanting to stop is queer?" he said. "Well, I'm not going to
talk about it. If you don't like my proposition, I'll pull out."

The old fellow's eyes twinkled. "It's nowt to do with me; and noo an'
then I'd sooner folks did not know where I am, and I cross the firth to
Scotland. So long as you are happy, you can bide, and when it's kent
you're at Peter Ivison's neabody will bodder you. Noo I'm away t' mow
some rushes to thatch a farmer's stack."

He went for his scythe. Garnet heard the whetstone ring, and when the
noise stopped pulled out his notebook. He thought he had an envelope in
his sack, and Anne might like to know the bonds were yet safe. Moreover,
so long as he used another name, she might now reply. He did not dwell
on his adventures; he must try to strike the proper note, and the short,
penciled letter was frank and friendly, the sort of letter one wrote to
a pal.

Emerson sealed the envelope, crossed a field, and followed a little
winding lane until he found a letterbox in an old barn wall. One or two
white farmsteads shone behind big ash-trees; quiet pastures and
cornfields rolled up the little hill that seemed to cut off the marshes
from modern England. The dust in the lane was not disturbed by wheels;
tangled briars crept out from the tall hedgerows so that a cart could
hardly pass. Emerson thought the cover he had found was good. So long as
he stopped at Ivison's, he would be left alone.




XIII

SOLWAY SANDS


For four days Emerson loafed about the cottage. Sometimes when the tide
was low, he took Ivison's fish-spear and looked for flounders in the
channels that pierced the sands. Wading against the current, he probed
the bottom with his toes, and when a swift streak of sand stained the
sparkling water, drew back his foot and struck. Sometimes he strolled up
the hill and lay in the sunny grass.

So long as he went quietly, his back did not trouble him much, but he
doubted if he could walk far, and until he got Anne's letter, he was
entitled to rest. Nobody disturbed him. Sometimes, in the early morning
when the dew sparkled on the turf, the bent figures of mushroom
gatherers cut the sky, but after the sun got hot only the sleek red
cattle wandered about the marsh.

At Ivison's Garnet felt he was safe. He trusted his host and thought, if
danger threatened, the old fellow would find him a line of retreat. In
the Old Country the fishery and game laws were strict, but Harden had
talked about the poaching gangs and it looked as if the Borderers were
rather a lawless lot. Fishermen and marsh men sprang from nearly pure
Viking stock, and their ancestors had _lifted_ cattle and smuggled
goods from France. Anyhow, Emerson imagined Ivison had confederates
across the firth.

Moreover, Garnet's plans were vague. He had carried off a number of the
bonds, but he had not got all, and he did not yet know much about the
thieves. Then he had got a knock, and when he took the road he must be
fit and able to use some speed.

When he lay in the wild thyme one morning Anne's letter arrived, and
afterwards to think about her brought back the smell of the small red
flowers.

Somehow Anne was like the aromatic thyme. Her beauty was not the rose's
flamboyant splendor; something elusive marked her charm, but the charm
persisted and one could not forget----

Emerson tore open the envelope and his pulse quickened. On the surface,
the letter was frank. Anne wrote as if she felt herself his friend and
fellow-conspirator; but when Garnet speculated whether that was all he
did not know. After the words were studied, he sensed a sort of
fragrance, delicate and ascetic, but queerly moving--He put up the
baffling letter. His bent was practical and he liked Anne's pluck. If he
could get across the firth, she would meet him at a spot she fixed.
Garnet meant to go.

When Ivison came home in the evening he inquired: "Could I get across to
Scotland? I don't want to use the train or road."

"Ye might," said Ivison. "Where did ye want to land?"

Garnet told him and he nodded.

"Yan would get four foot o' water over t' banks to the burn foot at
aboot half tide. If ye can pay your passage, it might be fixed."

They agreed about the sum, and after dark fell on the next evening
Emerson put on a fisherman's jersey and long rubber boots. The thin moon
was low in the west, the wind had dropped, and in the distance the surf
rumbled like a heavy train, for the Solway tide raced seawards across
the shoals that block the firth.

Ivison pushed off his shooting-punt, and used the pole. The long punt
was about two-feet beam, and when his body swung her narrow side-deck
dipped. Garnet crouched amidships and smoked his pipe.

The dim marsh top vanished, gleaming wet sands and mud-flats rolled by.
The punt went smoothly, but she went very fast, and loud splashes
indicated that the current cut the hollow bank. Sometimes she shot, like
a toboggan, across a rippling belt, and sometimes in the dark one heard
the measured beat of wings. Ivison's stroke was steady, and the roll and
surge against the bows were rhythmical.

In the meantime, the channel got wider, and at length all in front was
rippling water. Ivison threw down his pole, seized a thin, coiled line,
and signed Garnet to get overboard.

Emerson found firm bottom, but the current beat his legs and his
progress was marked by frothing streaks. They were near the narrow mouth
of the bay, and the tide, swirling round a long, dark point, ran
savagely for the firth. Garnet had tracked canoes up Canadian rivers,
and he imagined that where they could not hold the punt by pole and
paddle they might hold her by the line. They must not be carried out to
sea, and although it looked as if Ivison steered for open water, Garnet
thought the old fellow knew where they went. Anyhow, to talk would not
help and he set his mouth and hauled.

The punt towed heavily and sometimes the line came near to pull them
from their feet. The water got deeper and ran in a slow swell that
splashed to Garnet's waist, but at length Ivison shouted for him to get
on board. He did so, and for a few minutes after the other joined him,
the punt was furiously swept along. The current foamed and splashed; it
was like plunging down a Canadian rapid; but, laboring with pole and
paddle, they steered for a mud bank that broke the angry flood. Under
the bank they found slack eddies, and presently Ivison drove the punt
into the ooze and carried out the grapnel.

Emerson saw they were on a long point. A mile off, blurred trees marked
the beach, but the point apparently ran for some distance into the
firth. To get his breath was hard, and he thought all he wore was soaked
by sweat. After a few moments Ivison started across the flats, and they
splashed through rippling channels and little pools. By and by the
ribbed sand got firm and they went faster. The shore faded, and for all
Emerson could see, it looked as if they steered for Scotland, nine or
ten miles off. Then a tall pole, stayed by wire ropes, broke the dim
expanse, and Ivison shouted.

Shrill screams pierced the dark, wings beat, and shadowy flocks of
wildfowl wheeled across the sky. Their dreary clamor died away and, some
distance off, a light flashed and disappeared.

"Jock keeps tryst," said Ivison. "When we're by t' mussel gut ye'll
watch where ye gan."

Ten minutes afterwards, they reached the top of a steep bank. At the
bottom water sparkled; water splashed and gurgled in the gullies that
pierced the muddy slope, and Emerson thought the forbidding hollow like
a large canal lock. Sliding and stumbling, they went down, and he saw
the mud was built, by mussels, into broken ridges and pyramids. Between
the piles were quagmires in which he thought a man might drown. At one
end, the pool opened to a trickling channel in the sands, and a boat
rode in the gloom of the high bank.

A rope splashed, and shone with phosphorescent gleams as if somebody
pulled her to the shore. Garnet seized her bow and jumped on deck;
Ivison, in the water, leaned against the gunwale.

"I've browt your passenger, Jock. Ye'll mind he's my lodger and tak'
care o' him. I'se wait ye by the Rig sand on the evening's ebb."

He pushed off the boat and vanished. Ivison did not talk much, but
Garnet thought he carried out all he undertook to do. He trusted the old
fellow and imagined that his remarks conveyed a warning; Ivison, so to
speak, had vouched for him. Garnet washed the mud from his long boots
and a man on board laughed.

"If ye're a friend o' Peter's, ye're safe wi' us. Come away doon. The
night's getting cauld."

Emerson jumped into the well and looked about. The boat was half-decked,
and double-ended, like a whale-boat; twenty feet long, he thought. She
carried a short, thick mast, and a tanned lugsail was pulled across the
open well. A little funnel stuck out from the deck forward and a thin
plume of smoke went up. Emerson smelt coffee and saw somebody was
occupied at the stove.

"Ye'll tak' a bit piece?" said his companion. "I doot if we can land ye
before aboot three-hours' flood."

The tide would ebb for some time, and reckoning he must wait for six or
seven hours, Emerson agreed.

"We're ready for ye, Tam," said his companion.

The other crawled, feet foremost, from under the deck, and put a tin
plate and a steaming can on a box. The _piece_ was half a loaf and a
fine pink-fleshed trout. Emerson wondered whether the men were licensed
to catch the fish, but it had nothing to do with him. The night was cold
and his appetite was good.

After supper he sat on a box behind the sail and smoked. Sometimes the
others talked; about shifting sands, and fish, and the Solway's tides.
Where deep water ran not long since, one found a solid bank, they said;
and the plaice that fed on the pink shell-fish were across the firth.
The small boat skipper must _smell_ the changing shoals, for if he
struck bottom when the tide was strong, the stream would bury her in the
sand.

At all events, the fellows were hospitable and their politeness had a
queer touch of dignity. Emerson sought for a phrase he half remembered
and smiled when he thought he had got it. _The kindly Scot!_ His
companions were big and muscular, and if Harden's tales were accurate,
they sprang from a virile stock. They married their own sort, the
seaboard clan was exclusive, and in build and temperament one sensed the
Norseman vein.

Sometimes they drowsed and Garnet meditated languidly about Anne and
Keith. He was her servant and her brother's pal. Although he was,
perhaps, a pretty good contractor, he admitted his abilities were not
the sort one needed for the undertaking in which he had engaged.
Moreover, his antagonists were not scrupulous, and unless he could
baffle them, they would break him. Yet he was not much daunted. So long
as he fought for Anne, he could take the knocks he got. He, no doubt,
had rashly left the beaten path, but he did not mean to stop. Anne and
Keith trusted him, and although all in front was dark, he must push
ahead. Anyhow, there was no use in philosophizing; he had got the bonds,
and the night wore away. In the morning Anne would be at the rendezvous.

A black-backed gull called hoarsely and Garnet looked up. The stars were
dim and the hills across the firth were very black. A keen wind began to
blow across the sands and the tide murmured in the channels. Day was
breaking, and he had drowsed and mused for three hours.

The murmuring noise got louder, water splashed about the mussel beds,
and it looked as if a star behind the mast moved across the sky. Then
the cable jarred, and Emerson knew the boat had swung. The fishermen
stretched their legs, and when one got up and pushed an oar across the
gunwale the current rippled noisily against the blade.

"Flood's rinning strong," he said. "We'll be away in two hours."

He crawled beneath the sail and the boat gently rocked. Sliding water
beat her planks and her cable strained. She floated higher; the mussel
beds had vanished, and the steep mud bank sank. Pale white scum and
trailing weed went by; terns followed the sandy stream, arched their
wings, and splashed. Where all not long since was quiet one felt the
beat of dynamic force. Garnet pulled the wet sail between him and the
wind and lighted his pipe.

When the trees along shore shone in the sun they hoisted the black
lugsail and broke out the anchor. A keen east wind blew down the firth,
but the tide went fast the other way, and short, curling waves ridged
the channel and foamed across the sands. When the small jib was hoisted
the boat careened, and plunging close-hauled, smashed the white combers
on her weather bow. Water sluiced across her inclined deck, and
sometimes where a tide-ridge broke, the coaming ledge went under. The
steersman dashed the spray from his brown face and let her go.

She crossed sands where one must feel one's way with an oar in the
racing foam; she lurched and rolled in the deeps, but the flood carried
her nobly to wind-ward, and after some time dry banks enclosed the
channel along the Scottish shore and the water got smooth. At length,
rounding a long sand's end, they lowered sail. In front was a narrow
gutter and when the steersman threw an oar in the sculling notch the
stream carried them swiftly up the muddy hollow.

Emerson landed on a pebble beach. Yellow sandhills fringed the shore,
and in the background he saw a long, white village. Before Anne met him
two or three hours must go, and finding a corner where the sun was hot,
he was soon asleep.




XIV

ANNE'S INSPIRATION


Emerson turned his head, and with a joyous shout, jumped to his feet.
Two or three hundred yards away, somebody crossed the shining grass, and
he would have known the slim white figure much farther off. Nobody but
Anne walked with that proud grace; for all her slender lightness, she
carried herself imperiously. Moreover, she had arrived at the time she
fixed, and since she could not state her object for going, Garnet
imagined for her to get away was hard. Yet he had not doubted she would
be at the rendezvous. All Anne engaged to do she did.

Then he reflected that his clothes were a fisherman's clothes, and Anne
was rather an important lady; besides, he had shouted like a schoolboy.
When she advanced, however, her smile was kind, and to see his uncouth
welcome had not jarred was some comfort. She gave him her hand frankly
and, for her sake, he looked about. For Miss Harden of Copshope to meet
a fisherman at an unfrequented spot might excite some remark.

Behind a hedge that slanted from the wind, he saw smooth, rolling turf,
dotted here and there by posts and little flags. In the background, a
mile or two off, telegraph poles and low white houses bordered a road.
Only a flock of sheep occupied the golf links, and in front the level
sands ran back to the horizon. The sea had vanished, but one heard the
beat of the distant tide.

"Well?" said Anne. "I expect nobody will disturb us. Are you satisfied?"

Emerson colored, and said nothing. Anne's eyes twinkled, but she gave
him a friendly look.

"Oh, well," she resumed, "I expect you thought for me!"

"I hope it was not awkward for you to leave Copshope," Garnet remarked.

"Perhaps you ought not to inquire," said Anne, and indicated her white
woolen jersey. "A golfing engagement was useful, but Madam was
difficult----"

She frowned and her look got reflective. "Since you went she has been
moody and highly strung--But we will not bother about Mrs. Harden. Was
it awkward for you to cross the firth?"

"Not at all. My poaching friend planned the trip and the fishermen he
engaged were first-class sorts. The night was fine and I would not have
missed the excursion. Besides, it looked as if you wanted me----"

"To know where to stop is something," Anne remarked. "On the Solway,
fine nights are not the rule and the tides are savage. Well, you don't
protest much; but perhaps a fresh wind would not have held you up."

"If I boasted, you'd be jarred," Garnet rejoined with a smile.

"I wonder--After all, I'm human, and one likes to feel one is
important," said Anne, and glanced at the watch on her wrist. "But in an
hour I must play golf. I think Madam's interested and she might make
inquiries."

She sat down. The sandhills curved behind the spot and the sun was on
the sheltered hollow. In front the dry spear-grass slanted to the lonely
flats. A big gull circled overhead and called on a raucous note; then
all one heard was the distant tide and the wind in the grass. Emerson
admitted he was happy. To be with Anne was reward enough for much worse
risks than he had run.

"Now I want to know all about your exploits," she said. "Sometimes
modesty is a drawback, and you must give me full particulars."

Garnet indulged her. He felt Anne ought to know. She reasoned like a man
and her brain was as keen as his. Sometimes he thought a faint rosy tint
touched her delicate skin and her eyes got luminous. Moreover, although
he dared not study her closely, he was not cheated, for Anne was frankly
flesh and blood. The sober narrative stirred her; Garnet was a noble
champion and she doubted if he fought only for his friend.

He stopped, and for a few moments looked straight in front. His brows
were knit, as if he pondered; his stiff pose was somehow alert.

"Your carrying off the bonds was splendid!" said Anne. "But where is the
packet?"

Emerson pulled the large envelope from under his jersey.

"I can trust my landlord; but if the gang found out where I was, they
might search the cottage."

"It's very possible. The packet is a dangerous load. Suppose you give it
me?"

"No," said Garnet in a firm voice. "A girl ought not to run the risk
your carrying the papers might imply."

Anne smiled. "Now you argue like a man, but although you are rather
nice, you are not logical. The thieves know you had the bonds; they
would not reckon on your giving them to me--Besides, if they stopped you
another time, the documents would be safe."

Her argument carried weight and Garnet allowed her to take the envelope.

"Your load is gone," she said. "Aren't you happier?"

"On the whole, I am not. Since to keep the packet safe is the main
thing, you have beaten me; but I feel I've given another my proper job."

"You have given it to a girl! If I fronted a crisis, I might not be as
cool as you? I expect there's the drawback?"

"Not altogether, Anne. My talent's not for intrigue, but I can take
hard knocks. The gang might not stop at argument."

"You are rather dull, Garnet; but perhaps you're obstinate. So long as
the men don't know where the packet is, they will not bother me. In
fact, I admit it ought to be at a police office."

"No," said Emerson. "We resolved _we_ would use the clue, and when we
have found out a little more about the Basset crowd I am going to carry
the bonds to Montreal. You see, my tale's not convincing; the police
might think me an accomplice who wanted to turn informer. Then I feel I
might get a useful hint where they would not--The queer thing is, they
seem to leave me alone."

"It is queer," Anne agreed, as if she pondered. "You do not think much
for yourself, and you have not yet inquired if the police did ask for
you. However, since the sergeant was at Copshope nobody has bothered us,
and if the house was watched, I would know. Our servants and the farm
people are our friends. We are a clannish lot and I doubt if an
Edinburgh detective would cheat a Borderer. Our tenants poach our trout
and partridges; but if a _foreigner_ annoyed us they'd stanchly support
us."

"You are some confederate," Emerson remarked, and laughed. "All the
same, we must study up what we ought to do, and, so far, I don't see my
line."

"I feel the man you met at the hotel might give us a clue. Was he really
like Keith?"

"For a moment I thought him your brother, but I imagine he was two or
three years younger and his look was hard. One got a hint of indulgence
and the sort of cold boldness we call _gall_. However, when I tried to
study him he went off."

"It is very strange," said Anne. "I have not a relation one would think
was Keith, and none, of course, would join a gang of thieves--" She
frowned, as if she were baffled, and, knitting her brows, resumed:
"Well, the fellow is important. Somebody in Canada impersonated Keith,
and I think we know the man. It's possible his English accomplices
thought you were he, but why they looked for him at Copshope is another
thing."

"In the meantime, we'll let it go, and concentrate on the main clue. I
feel you're getting somewhere."

"Although you are not?" Anne remarked.

Emerson smiled. He had begun to respect Anne's abilities, and was
willing for her to banter him. Anne had not Keith's soberness. She was
marked by a touch of capricious humor that sometimes was scornful and
sometimes was kind. Harden was his son's type, a staid Scottish
gentleman; but when Anne's romantic imagination rather carried her away
Garnet had known his glance light up, as if he sympathized.

"My cogitations have not helped us much," he admitted. "Suppose you go
ahead."

"Very well. If the fellow you met was the Vancouver tinhorn, he used his
likeness to Keith in order to rob the bank. Why should Keith not use the
likeness in order to cheat the robbers?"

"By George!" shouted Emerson. "The scheme's a bully scheme. It's, so to
speak, an inspiration! All the same, I see some drawbacks."

"They're numerous," said Anne dryly. "But for example?"

"To begin with, Keith might not agree."

"You are his friend. You do not doubt his pluck?"

"Not at all. I've helped haul your brother across the snow when our food
ran out; I've gone down an ugly rapid when he steered the canoe. Well,
maybe when I'm hot I don't stop for a risk; but Keith's another sort.
His pluck is calculated and logical. So long as he reckoned the
adventure justified, he'd calmly shove ahead where my feet got cold."

"One mustn't exaggerate," said Anne. "But go on."

"Keith's coolness is the obstacle. He is not romantic and he likes the
beaten track. Although his nerve's first-class, he is cautious. If he
thought his part theatrical, he'd hate to play up."

Anne's eyes began to shine. Emerson knew her blood was red.

"The portrait's accurate," she agreed. "Keith, however, might be forced
to take a part he did not like. He is not remarkably selfish, and I
expect he sees that others pay for his misfortune; for example, the girl
he engaged to marry, and the Canadian friends who generously stick to
him. Then he knows his father is cruelly humiliated. We are not properly
Border landlords; our fortunes were mended on the exchange, and perhaps
our code's commercial, but a merchant must not steal. I expect my
father pictures the spiteful jokes about the laird of Copshope whose son
is a thief. A joke like that has power to hurt a proud old man. Besides,
he loves Keith----"

For a moment or two she meditated; and then she gave Emerson a steady
glance.

"Keith trusts you, and I can be frank. Madam's doubts are hurting
father, and when I think about it, control is hard. I feel she is
willing for people to think my brother a thief! Jealousy is keen in
women, but although her remarks are guarded, when she talks about him
one senses a sort of _revengeful_ satisfaction. I'm baffled, Garnet;
Keith has not injured her. Then I admit I'm selfish. I am Keith's sister
and his disgrace touches me. I will not apologize for my brother, and I
hate to feel that when I am about nobody dares use his name. Well, we
know him innocent; but he must help us persuade the others."

"Ah," said Emerson, "who will persuade Keith?"

"I believe you know the proper man."

Garnet knitted his brows. His habit was not to protest, and for a few
moments he was quiet. Then he looked up.

"Very well! In the meantime, I'm waiting for the gang's move, and I
doubt if I could make Montreal. However, you must weigh things, and when
you reckon I ought to start. I'll be ready. It looks as if we can trust
Ivison, and if I'm not at his cottage when your letter arrives, he'll
know where I am."

"Keith and I have got a useful friend," said Anne with feeling.

For a time she talked about something else, and for Garnet the half-hour
in the sandhills was golden. Then she got up and gave him her hand.

"Well, I must play golf; Madam is very keen. Thank you, Garnet, for more
than you perhaps know," she said, and was gone.

Emerson thrilled, and set off along the coast. At dusk he must meet the
fishermen by a small river-mouth.




XV

REBEL YOUTH


Mrs. Harden occupied herself with an account-book and a number of bills.
The morning was the last morning in the month, and Mrs. Harden was a
methodical housekeeper. Her rule was firm, and although she was perhaps
not much loved by servants and tradesmen, nobody disputed her authority.
In fact, Copshope was a shining example of efficient control, and Anne
acknowledged her stepmother's rather out-of-date domestic virtues.

Yet when Anne came into the room she was faintly jarred. Mrs. Harden's
clothes were fashionable, and she carried herself and talked like the
laird's lady, but Anne for long had felt the pose was not unconscious.
She felt that Madam at some time had laboriously studied the part. At
Copshope she was, in a sense, exotic. Anne, herself, was not
extravagant; but one did not dispute about sixpence with one's butcher.
In fact, she sometimes thought Madam's qualities were the qualities one
cultivated at a Glasgow shop.

Mrs. Harden pushed back the bills. For a moment or two she hesitated;
and then her look got resolute, as if she meant to carry out a duty she
would sooner leave alone. Anne knew her stepmother, and was rather
amused. Madam was conscientious; the word was hers.

"My habit is not to meddle, and on the whole I think you and your
friends wisely use a freedom we did not get when I was a girl," she
said.

"I wonder--" said Anne. "Sometimes I feel our occupations lead us
nowhere. At all events, when you do meddle, I admit your object's good."

"There's my justification. Very well. When, two or three days since, you
went to the golf match you started much sooner than the others, and you
were not with the party all the time."

"You thought you were entitled to inquire?" said Anne, in an ominously
level voice.

"I did not inquire, and I believe your friends did not mean to enlighten
me; but that is not important. Where were you?"

Anne's temperament was frank, and she was proud. She did not acknowledge
Mrs. Harden's right to know, but she would not cheat. Besides, her
stepmother sometimes was kind, and as a rule she tried to conquer her
half-instinctive antagonism.

"You have found out I was not on the links," she said. "I met Mr.
Emerson, by appointment, in the sandhills."

"Then, Emerson is still in Scotland?" Mrs. Harden exclaimed. "In the
circumstances, his nerve is good."

"He obviously was in Scotland. I believe, however, he meant to cross the
firth."

Mrs. Harden frowned. Her object was not altogether selfish, and since
Anne refused her her confidence, she was annoyed.

"I suppose the appointment was his?"

The blood came to Anne's skin, but her glance was level.

"It was mine. Garnet Emerson's modesty is rather remarkable. I fixed the
rendezvous."

"Then, you were very indiscreet," Mrs. Harden rejoined in an angry
voice. "The young fellow is not your sort and your father certainly
would not approve. Since I must be frank, you cannot marry a man of his
stamp. Besides, the police believe he had something to do with the
Canadian robbery."

Anne laughed, a proud, scornful laugh.

"If that is so, the police and all who agree with them are very dull.
Keith is fastidious and Garnet is his friend. Then, if you implicate
him, you implicate my brother. The thing's absurd!"

"Yet the bank removed Keith from his post."

Anne colored like a rose. As a rule, she tried to control her emotions,
but she was a Borderer and the Borderer's blood is hot.

"Are you _willing_ to think Keith a thief?" she asked.

Mrs. Harden hesitated. It looked as if the question disturbed her more
than Anne thought it ought. For a few moments they fronted each other
like watchful antagonists; and then Mrs. Harden looked the other way.

"At all events, the bonds were stolen, and Keith was responsible for
their safety," she said, as if she knew the argument was weak. "But I
had wanted to talk about your meeting Mr. Emerson. You ought not to have
done so."

"I do not see the obstacle. Emerson is not my lover."

"Then, what is he? You gave him the rendezvous."

"He's my ally, confederate, accomplice; you can choose the term you
like----" Anne replied, and stopped; for, after all, if she were honest,
could she state that Emerson was not her lover? "You see," she resumed,
"since Keith's relations doubt him, he needs his friends' support, and
Garnet is faithful. I met him in order to find out if we can in some way
help Keith."

Mrs. Harden had remarked her hesitation. She had grounds Anne did not
know for disliking her step-daughter's friendship with the young fellow,
but this was not all. She believed sincerely she saw danger for Anne.

"A girl must use some caution," she rejoined. "People talk, and
malicious whispers have power to wound. But there's another thing. I
suppose you and Emerson are occupied by some extravagant plan for Keith.
When he steals across the firth to meet you he hazards his freedom, and
if you take his help, you acknowledge yourself his debtor. Although you
declare he does not love you, a secret intrigue with an attractive young
man is frankly dangerous."

"Ah," said Anne, "your school is the old school and your rules are out
of date. Now young men and women face life with open eyes. We know its
ugly side, as we know its beauty, and we are not afraid. You were
afraid; you pretended, and used ridiculous conventions for a shield. We,
at all events, are honest; we admit we know all we do. But I mustn't
philosophize. The important thing is, I claim my freedom. Where I'm rash
I must pay for my rashness, but I will not submit to another's control."

"Although I am not your mother, I am your father's wife, and I'm
entitled to rule his household," Mrs. Harden replied in a quiet voice.
"However, I know your independence and I will not strain my authority. I
have faced life for fifty years. There's my strongest claim."

"It carries some weight," Anne agreed. "Well, I expect I was rebellious
and perhaps not always just. For the most part, you bore with me, and
often you were kind. But your code is not my code, and liberty's worth
something. It's worth fighting for."

Mrs. Harden looked straight in front. A little color touched her lined
face; her pose was firm, as if she unconsciously braced up. Anne sensed
a sort of dignity she had not before remarked.

"The old school and the new school are but flesh and blood, and although
you use fresh rules, human passion is as strong as when I was a girl,"
she said. "I know its power, Anne, for I, like you, rebelled, and I
bought my knowledge for a price I hope you may not be forced to pay. My
philosophy is perhaps not up to date; but I am very sure that one must
meet one's debts."

Anne was moved. She was generous and she knew her stepmother's warning
sincere. Moreover, she thought her frankness had cost her much. The
strange thing was, Madam, whom she had thought prudishly conventional,
had fronted romantic adventure and known tragedy.

"After all, I am young and raw, and sometimes I hurt people who try to
be kind," she said. "Afterwards I'm ashamed and sorry--but one mustn't
exaggerate. My friendship for Garnet Emerson is not an intrigue. If it's
possible, we want to put things straight for Keith. That is all. I don't
know if Emerson will come back to Scotland, but if I think his help
useful, I shall send for him."

"Do you expect him to find the thief where the police are baffled?"

Anne hesitated. Mrs. Harden doubted Keith's innocence; to some extent,
she was his antagonist, and Anne had resolved not to enlighten her.
Then, until she had something to go upon, she must not excite her
father's hopes. If he knew Emerson had recovered a number of the bonds,
he would insist on meddling.

"Our plans are rather vague; it's possible they will not work," she
replied. "For all that, I feel I must try to put things straight, and so
long as I think I may need a helper, I will not let Emerson go."

Mrs. Harden sighed. "I have tried to carry out my duty, Anne, and I must
be resigned. Since I am not a fool, I shall not bother your father; he
indulges you. Well, I certainly doubt if you can solve the puzzle, but
Keith's misfortune is worse than you perhaps know. His career is in
Canada, for I do not think he will inherit much. If your stockbroking
uncle survives your father, he will take Copshope. You must find another
home, and I am afraid you will not be rich."

"Ah," said Anne, "to leave a house one loves is hard, but, after all, my
inheritance is not brick and stone. Wherever I go, I am Anne Harden. All
the same, I'm sorry for father. I believe he thought our luck at length
had turned."

"You are a queer lot," Mrs. Harden remarked reflectively. "The Hardens'
talent is for business, but when you prosper on the exchanges you
squander your reward in a barren moorland that gives you nothing back.
Well, your father's fortune was not large, and when it began to melt he
speculated rashly. Then taxes get heavier and expenses go up----"

"We are Borderers, and the Borderers _dinna' forget_," Anne rejoined.
"The bleak old house our forbears built is home; a few barren fields
call us from across the world. Well, Keith's son may yet get Copshope,
and my brother must be vindicated. To find the man for whom he pays is
not a woman's job, but if I do see a plan, I hope I will not shrink."

She went off, and after a time joined Harden on the terrace. He smoked
his pipe and studied a newspaper, but Anne remarked that the paper
opened at the market reports and his look was rather grim.

"Madam and I were talking--" she said. "She admitted you had had
reverses, if that's the proper word. I'm sorry, Father."

Harden turned his head.

"To sell for two-and-sixpence shares you bought for ten shillings is
something of a reverse; but, after all, it will not break me and I have
got worse knocks."

"Keith's disgrace?" said Anne. "For him to be suspected is humiliating.
In fact, it's intolerable!"

"Intolerable implies not to be borne. I'm afraid we must for some time
carry our load."

Anne reflected that a number of the stolen bonds were in her desk, but
she was not going to talk about it yet.

"I cannot carry mine philosophically. One hates to wait," she said.

"When one is young, to wait is hard," Harden agreed. "When one gets old,
one acquiesces and tries to be resigned."

"Ah," said Anne, "I'm not yet old and youth rebels. Patience, I suppose,
is useful, but sometimes it's a sort of soporific, and when you ought to
fight you sleep. Modern young men and women have not much use for
_dope_."

"One may batter oneself against the bars for nothing," Harden rejoined
rather drearily. "To know when one must be patient is much. Then perhaps
I'm an old-fashioned optimist, but I cling to the hope that some time
all that's now entangled will be put straight."

"You are a dear," said Anne. "One, however, wants all put straight in
our time, and to see the people who entangled things forced to meet the
bill. The hateful part is, Keith must suffer for another's cunning. I'm
persuaded the fellow he saw in the Vancouver saloon impersonated him."

Harden gave her a queer, fixed look.

"Did you and Madam talk about the gambler?"

"I think we did not. We were talking about Mr. Emerson, and I rather
boasted that he was going to help me exonerate Keith. Madam was not very
sympathetic. I saw she thought our resolve absurd, and perhaps it is.
All the same, I mean to try----"

"Since it looks as if the police were baffled, I'm afraid your efforts
will not carry you far," Harden remarked, and bent his head as if he
were tired. "Anyhow, I like your stanchness, and if you think you can
help your brother, I admit that you ought."

"Now you are very nice," said Anne, and kissed him. "Perhaps my youthful
hopefulness accounts for something, but I'm satisfied Keith is going to
be vindicated. Mr. Emerson means to see him out, and he's a better
friend than you know."

She went off. Harden lighted his pipe and brooded drearily.




XVI

THE SEARCH PARTY


Dusk was falling, and Emerson, in a sandy pool, leaned on his
fish-spear. The current had not long since run down-channel, but he
thought it had stopped. Anyhow, the tide had turned for two or three
hours, and a measured turmoil marked its advance up the firth.

In the west, the lonely mountain looked like a dark-blue pyramid against
melting saffron and red; in the east, across a wide peat moss, the
round, pale moon glimmered in thin mist. When the moon is full the tide
runs hard, and Garnet thought it was time for him to leave the sands.

Trying the soft bottom with the spear, he crossed the pool. He had left
his boots by the marsh gate and he liked to feel the warm ripples beat
his skin. At the top of the bank, he shifted the basket-strap, for he
had been on the sands since afternoon and the flounders were heavy.

When he reached the marsh he sat down under the edge of the high bank.
The moon was getting bright, and streaks of sparkling water began to
pierce the sands. After the hot autumn day, the evening was pleasantly
cool and Ivison was not at the cottage. The old fellow had stated he
would not be back until midnight, and Emerson did not inquire where he
went. Partridge coveys haunted the meadows, and a large, thin net had
vanished from its hiding-place.

Sometimes the grass on the marsh top rustled in the faint east wind, but
before sunset cirrus clouds had streaked the sky and the mare's tails
threatened a stronger breeze. Moreover, the surf throbbed like a drum,
and Garnet imagined a boisterous west wind had begun to blow in the
Irish Sea. On the next evening he must cross the firth. Anne's letter
indicated that she got impatient. They had found out nothing fresh, and
she thought Garnet ought to start for Montreal and persuade Keith to
come across. Garnet smiled, a sympathetic smile. Anne hated to wait, but
he was not remarkably keen to go. He liked to feel he was where she
could call him if he were wanted, and although he had expected to be
bored, he was content at Ivison's.

After a life of strenuous effort, to lie in the wild thyme and loaf
about the sands with a fish-spear was something fresh, and when he
caught a basketful of flounders he was boyishly proud of his exploit.
Moreover, his waiting for the gang to move justified his taking a rest.

At Copshope he liked his host. The old house was charming, and he had
Anne's society. For all that, he sensed a sort of strain that reacted on
him and her. In fact, but for Anne he might not have stopped. The gloom
he had felt was puzzling. Harden, of course, had grounds to be anxious,
but the old fellow was not the sort to exaggerate, and Keith was not
Mrs. Harden's son. Yet, for all their efforts to be hospitable, Garnet
knew them strangely disturbed. It looked as if they fronted something
worse than Keith's unmerited disgrace. Well, it was not his business,
and he started for the cottage.

At the marsh gate he stopped to pick up his boots. The ash-tree branches
gently moved and leaves fluttered down. Dry sedges rattled in the light
wind, and then all was still. Garnet did not put on his boots. After
wading about the ribbed sand, his feet were hard, and when he got to the
cottage he would use the thin bedroom slippers he carried in his pack.
His advance along the lane was noiseless and he thought the horses
behind the hedge did not know he passed. When the wind was east, they
came at night to the sheltered field by the hill.

A white wall shone in the moon, and when Garnet pushed back the garden
gate an owl swooped across the hedge on noiseless wings. Somehow he felt
the spot was lonely and the gloom behind the ash-trunks was sinister.

The evening was the first on which Ivison was away at dark, but Garnet
pulled off the fish-basket and went up the path. His last meal was a
frugal lunch, and to start the peat fire and fry some flounders would
banish the rather puzzling dreariness. Anne's pistol was hidden in the
shack where he slept, and the poacher's duck gun was somewhere about.

Garnet got down on his knees by the hearth, but he did not rub the match
he pulled out. Behind the hedge the horses began to move; in the quiet
dark their feet rang on the hard ground. Garnet turned his head and
waited. The horses had not moved when he went by, and he thought they
would not move for Ivison. Their habit was to haunt the spot, and they
knew the old fellow's step. Now, however, they went off across the
field. A colt stampeded the others. Garnet knew its frightened plunge,
but, as a rule, the animal was friendly, and he got up.

Strangers were in the lane, and his not hearing their advance was
ominous. When he was a Royal North-West trooper his superintendent
reckoned him a pretty good scout; but he had rashly left Anne's pistol
in the shack. Now the moon was on the lime-washed wall, and if he stole
across the garden, his figure would be conspicuous. Well, he must wait,
and he went quietly to the door of the other room. The moon shone
through the window, but he did not see Ivison's gun, although he knew
where the cartridges were.

A stone rattled and somebody came up the path. The fellow's step was
quick and rather loud, but Garnet had not heard him until he reached the
gate. The other did not yet know who was in the cottage, and if it was
not the man he thought, he would perhaps inquire the way across the
marsh. Yet, had his foot not struck the stone, Emerson imagined he would
have crept up to the window. However, since the house was dark, it was
possible he did not know if anybody was there. After a few moments the
steps stopped and somebody called: "Hallo!"

Emerson glanced about the small room, but saw nowhere for him to hide.
He must trust his luck, and he stole behind the inside door. On the
whole, he thought the stranger had not seen him go into the house. When
the other threw back the kitchen door to the wall and crossed the earth
floor, he knew his supposition accurate. Had the fellow seen anything to
indicate that his man was in the cottage, he would have waited and
signaled his friends.

All the same, he stopped at the bedroom door and his black shadow
touched the opposite wall. Garnet, behind the boards, clenched his fist,
but his heart beat and his mouth was dry. To knock out the man would not
help much. His confederates would hear the struggle and one could not
fight a gang. If Basset meant to use force, he would arrange for proper
support. All the same, if the spy did look behind the door, Emerson must
jump for him and use the few moments before the rest arrived.

The shadow moved on the opposite wall, as if the fellow turned his head.
Emerson thought he looked about mechanically, but imagined the cottage
was unoccupied. Had he doubted it, he would have looked behind the door.
Then somebody whistled and the shadow vanished from the wall. Emerson
heard steps in the kitchen and a chair rattle. The steps went down the
path and all was quiet.

Garnet leaned against the boards. He was breathless and his skin was
wet by sweat, but he braced up and began to feel about the wall. In a
dark corner he touched a cold gun-barrel and his mouth went tight. The
gun was a big ten-bore and carried a heavy load, and when he had got
some cartridges he sat down on a box in the kitchen. If he were forced,
he might risk a fight, but he must not be rash. To shoot up somebody
would involve him in fresh complications, and he frankly did not want to
be shot.

He heard a noise, and when he reached the door a swift reflection leaped
across the window of the shed. Again it flickered on the glass and
Garnet knew it for the beam from an electric torch. The gang were
searching the shed; they no doubt had seen his bed in the nets and
rushes, and opened his pack. The clothes he had carried were not the
clothes a fisherman would wear. By and by they would search the cottage,
and when they did so he must not be there. In the meantime, they were
occupied, and he stole across the garden.

An ash-tree threw its shadow over the shed, but the leaves had begun to
fall and an ash-tree's shadow is thin. Garnet, however, felt that
something must be risked; he must find out if he knew the men. His bare
feet sank noiselessly in the wet grass, and creeping up to the window,
he crouched against the boards. He dared not push back the door, which
was not quite shut.

But for the concentrated illumination the room was dark. The small
bright circle moved, and the objects it touched got distinct and
vanished. When it stopped for a few moments, Garnet saw a man's bent
back, his opened pack, and the few articles of clothing he had carried.
The blankets his host had given him were thrown aside in a loose heap.
Somebody obviously held the torch while another tried to find the bonds.
The bonds were in Scotland and Anne's caution was justified; but Emerson
speculated about the fellows' plans when they knew themselves baffled.

On the whole, he reckoned the gang would not be willing to let him go.
The sands, across which the tide advanced, were not far off and the spot
was lonely. He ought perhaps to crawl away, but he was not going. So far
as he could distinguish, two men were in the shed and they did not know
he carried a big duck gun. In the dark, one might use a pistol and miss;
the ten-bore scattered an ounce and a half of heavy shot. In fact,
Garnet thought he might perhaps hold up the men until Ivison came back.

The drawback was, he did not see what he ought then to do. For one
thing, he must not send for the police, and any engagement he might
extort would not be carried out. The agreement would stand only as long
as the other contracting party faced the muzzle of the gun. Besides, he
could not altogether give Ivison his confidence. For all that, he must,
if possible, find out who they were, and he was not going to risk their
carrying off Anne's pistol. He admitted he was perhaps ridiculous, but
Anne's queer present was his for good.

Emerson's reasoning coolly was not remarkable. The big gun gave him
confidence and a Royal North-West trooper must cultivate his nerve. In
the meantime, the dew was heavy and he got cramped and cold, but since
the door was open to move might be rash. Yet he could not wait for long.
The shadow got thinner and the moon would presently be on the wall.
Garnet frowned and knitted his brows.

He could not see the searcher's face. Sometimes the light touched his
bent head and arms, but for the most part it rested on Emerson's clothes
and disordered bed. The fellow who carried the torch was in the gloom. A
fishing-net, dragged across the illumination, indicated that he tried to
help, and he swore softly but viciously. His companion growled and
Garnet knew disappointment made them savage. If he was not gone when
they came out, he must fight; but he waited. The fellow with the torch
might yet turn the beam upon the other's face.

He did not. The light was extinguished and one went to the door. He
whistled and somebody pushed through the long grass in the lane. Garnet
clenched his fist. He ought to have reckoned on the others posting a
look-out and he might be forced to pay for his carelessness. To steal
away was now impossible. The fellow at the door would see him, and the
look-out, coming from the lane, fronted the other end of the shed.
Moreover, the shadow had crept back close to the wall.

Garnet pushed the gun behind him and bent his head. The barrel must not
sparkle, and so long as he was quiet, his white face might not be
remarked. His figure, he hoped, was indistinct against the dark boards.
For all that, his heart beat. He was horribly cramped. In a few moments
he must stretch his bent legs.

The man went by, three or four yards off, and stopped by the door.

"Have you got the stuff?" he asked, and Garnet did not know his voice.

"We have not," a man in the hut replied, and the look-out swore.

"All's quiet up the lane," he said. "Let's try the cottage. I'll help."

They crossed the garden and Garnet crept along the wall. He dared not
run for the hedge, but the fellows had done with the shed and the door
was open. He stole in and sat down on the tumbled nets. Although he had
not used much muscular effort, he was breathless. On the whole, he
imagined the danger was gone, but the gang might yet come back.

For some time they were occupied in the cottage. Emerson heard them pull
about the primitive furniture. Then they left the house, and, crouching
by the shed door, he saw them start for the lane. He thought one carried
himself like Keith Harden and another was Basset, but they were in the
gloom. For ten minutes he waited. His pack and his bed were evidence
that he was not far off and the men might watch for his expected return.
All he knew was they had gone up the lane, and if they did return he
must not be in the shed.

Feeling for his short mackintosh, he started for the trees and reached a
hayrick in the field. The farmer had cut the rick, and Garnet covered
himself with some loose stuff and rested his back against the broken
pile. The hay kept off the chilly dew, the rick was not conspicuous, and
he resigned himself to wait for Ivison.

An owl hooted about the trees, the tide throbbed on the sands, and a
flight of ducks went noisily by. That, however, was all, until at length
Garnet heard steps. The steps were not cautious, and, risking a shout,
he thrilled to hear the poacher's voice. So long as somebody was about,
the gang dared not molest him, and when the next night's tide flowed up
the bay he hoped he would be gone.




XVII

GARNET MOVES ON


The day after Basset's raid was stormy and dark. Mist rolled about the
hills, drenching showers swept the marsh, and as the morning advanced
the sands melted in noisy surf. High-water was at noon, but until the
tide again flowed up the bay Emerson must wait for the boat Ivison had
engaged to carry him across the firth.

He dared not take the road to Scotland, and to buy a ticket at the
station three or four miles off would mark his trail. The gang knew
where he was. He imagined they watched the spot, and when dark fell they
might come back, but so long as he was not alone, he perhaps was
comparatively safe. In fact, he might play for a sort of stale-mate, in
which neither party dared move. The drawback was, if he stayed at the
cottage, he could not keep his rendezvous with Anne.

When the rain blew away he helped Ivison mend a hedge. Garnet had told
the old fellow all he thought he ought to know, and Ivison was not
remarkably inquisitive. He admitted that he himself occasionally found
it convenient to cross the firth. Anyhow, until the boatmen signaled, he
would not leave the house and garden. Moreover, he reckoned that the
man who meddled with him would be sorry.

All the same, Garnet was thoughtful. When the boat arrived he must cross
the marsh and get on board Ivison's shooting-punt in the dark. How Anne
would manage to keep the rendezvous at the small Scottish village he did
not know, but when he met her he would not be entitled to boast. His
plan had not worked and he agreed that he must move on. For him to be
put out would not exonerate Keith, and he certainly was not keen to face
the cheated gang.

In the afternoon a rainstorm drove them to the house, and Garnet sat by
the peat fire and mused. Anne's business was to champion her brother,
but Garnet, studying her letter, wondered whether she was sorry to part
with her confederate. Anyhow, he doubted if he could persuade Keith to
come across, and it was possible he would not be allowed to sail for
Montreal. Since the Canadian immigration bureau examined all passengers,
he must at the steamship office fill up documents stating who he was,
and to use another name might be dangerous. All the same, Anne obviously
thought he ought to go, and as he was her servant he must make the
experiment.

The rain stopped, and when he and Ivison resumed their labors a savage
squall drove a white track across the sandy flood running down the bay.
Short waves curled in the channels, and the wet flats were bordered by
tumbling foam. Yellow ash-leaves whirled about the hedge, and Garnet
frowned.

"The wind's freshening. D'you think your friends will face it? Their
boat is small."

"You'll not can capsize a whammle boat, and Jock's has maist a ton o'
iron on her keel," Ivison replied and smiled. "If it blew much waur,
he'd keep tryst wi' me. As soon as he kens there's three-fit water over
banks he'll run roon t' point."

Garnet saw the old fellow did not doubt. His look was humorously proud,
as if he knew his power. Well, the Borderers were a queer, virile lot,
and Ivison was the old Viking type. One kept one's engagements with men
like that. Garnet admitted the excursion was not attractive. In fact,
Anne's expecting him was its only charm. There was, however, no use in
weighing the obstacles. Anne had called and he must take a fresh plunge.
He let it go, and helped Ivison drive thorn-branches into the wet peat
bank.

Dusk fell soon. Torn, low-driving clouds sped across the sky and the
rumble of the surf was like the noise of a heavy train. At sunset the
trees across the bay were hardly distinguishable, and when the moon rose
her beams but now and then pierced the tossing wrack. The ash-trees
groaned behind the cottage, dead leaves and heavy showers beat the roof,
but for all the turmoil Emerson heard the tide advance.

Sitting by the fire, he pulled out his watch. Before the boat got safe
water on the sands another hour must go. So far, nobody had disturbed
him, and while Ivison was about the gang dared not force the door. Their
plan was to seize him when he was alone; a witness would be awkward.
Still he imagined they watched the cottage; and the creek where Ivison
moored his punt was half a mile away. When he tried to reach her the
trouble would begin. Three men had searched the shed, and Basset might
bring another. In the meantime, he must wait, as coolly as possible,
although to wait was hard.

At length, Ivison went to the door, and presently signed. Behind the
marsh top a light tossed in the rain, and when it vanished Garnet seized
his pack. Ivison waited for a moment or two, knitting his brows.

"I sent Jock word we'd shove off old punt; but I doot if she wad carry
us in a breeze like this. Then maybe your friends have found her, and
Yan will watch t' creek--Weel, if Jock dis not see us, he'll beat back
to point and wait."

Emerson nodded. If Basset knew about the punt, he would try to cut his
antagonist's best line of retreat. The water at the point would soon
float the whammle boat to the steep bank; but in order to get there one
must cross a belt of open ground. The night, however, was stormy and
Garnet thought himself a better scout than a city crook.

"Let's steer for the point. Don't go straight," he said.

The ash-leaves showered about them, and when they stole along the hedge
the thorn-branches bent. A moonbeam touched tangled grass and rushes and
sparkled in a pool; then the ragged clouds rolled on and all was dark.
The surf roared and Emerson imagined Basset's lot would not hear his
steps two or three yards away.

They crossed the boggy field and followed a creek to a plank bridge.
Whinn-bushes grew along the curving bank, and when they reached the last
loop Ivison stopped. A moonbeam swept the marsh and Garnet saw a dark
object in the gorse by the bridge. He dropped in the wet grass. Ivison
disappeared, but Garnet heard him laugh.

"Noo I'se let ye see how a poacher keps a hare," he said.

"You'll wait," said Garnet. "I think the job is mine."

He crawled away. The noise of the wind and sea would cover his advance,
and he thought the watcher fronted the cottage. A man from the cities
would perhaps expect him to take the obvious path, but Garnet was not a
city man, and as he crawled across the bents and rushes he indulged a
grim satisfaction. The gang had hunted him, he thought they had meant to
put him out, and since he was forced, he had run away. Now, however, he
was going to attack, and if his luck were good, in a few moments the
watcher would get a nasty jolt.

Emerson reached a prickly whinn-bush. The other, two or three yards off,
had not moved. His head was turned to the cottage path, and behind him
was the deep muddy creek. The wind screamed and a cloud rolled across
the moon, but the night was not very dark. The fellow did not know his
job; his head and the upper part of his body cut the sky. Garnet
crawled another yard, and then got off his knees. Crouching behind the
bush, he braced his muscles, got his breath, and jumped.

The other turned. Perhaps his legs were cramped, for he was slow, and as
he awkwardly got up Garnet's fist crashed in his face. He reeled
backwards into the whinn-bush and they rolled about in the prickly
stuff, but Garnet was on top. Then somebody said:

"Keep his legs. Noo, away we' him!"

Garnet bent his back and strained, for the brute was heavy. He thought
he took a kick, but all he really knew was, water splashed behind the
whinns and Basset's man was in the creek.

"Bank steep and gey soft. We'll just leave him to win oot," Ivison
remarked.

Garnet thought they might do so; he had felt the black mud's
holding-power. Laughing breathlessly, he crossed the plank, and he did
not bother to go very fast. Of the Basset gang one presumably watched
the punt, another was in the creek, and the point was not far off.
Besides, the grim old Borderer carried his big duck gun.

The moon pierced the speeding clouds, and a swift silver beam searched
the marsh and sparkled on leaping foam. Behind the broken bank, a small,
black sail tossed. The whammle boat had run up the bay, but her
steersman, not seeing the punt, was beating back for the point.
Close-hauled to the wind, she lurched across the short, white seas
along-shore, where the tide was weak.

Her progress was not fast. The stream ran up the bay and she must meet
the shock of the angry waves. Short, and double-ended, she leaped like a
porpoise, and sometimes all one saw of her was her round, shining bilge.
Then the moonbeam vanished and Emerson calculated. Basset, no doubt, had
seen the boat, and collecting his scattered forces, would start for the
point. Garnet was some distance in front, but if the gang arrived before
the boat, it might be awkward.

By and by he reached the bank. The point broke the sea, but oblique
rollers splashed against the peat and large blocks fell. Ragged white
streaks marked the tideway and, fifty yards from shore, melted in vague,
tossing foam. The spray was salt on Emerson's lips and his eyes smarted,
but he searched the channel and thought a large dark object rolled about
in the gloom. When he turned his head he saw a glimmering creek, ruffled
pools, and level grass. His pursuers had not yet reached the open marsh.
Then slack canvas beat noisily in the dark. The boat was coming round
for a tack in-shore, and he turned to Ivison.

"Are you going? I expect your friends would land you where you like."

"I am not," the poacher replied, with a hoarse laugh. "It's no' me
t'ithers are wanting, and I've not yet met t' man who'd chase me off
marsh."

Garnet gave him his hand. The moon was breaking through, and the boat
steered for the wave-beaten turf. He himself would not engage to find,
or fight, the stanch old fellow. Then silver light touched an inclined
mast and slanted sails. A little black jib fell, the boat swung head to
wind, and lurched upright. Her lugsail beat across her, Ivison seized a
rope, and the short, white hull crashed against the turf.

Ivison, in the water, jambed his back against her bow; Garnet jumped on
board and helped a fisherman push on a long oar. Then they jumped for
the halyard, the little jib went up, and the thrashing lugsail filled.
Ivison shouted, and a roller smashed on the weather bow; the boat heeled
steeply, and they were off.

Somebody threw Garnet an oilskin coat, and he sat down on wet boards
under the narrow side-deck. Water blew from the streaming canvas, water
splashed across the coaming ledge above his head. The floorings slanted
like a roof. Half a gale blew up the firth, and the tide yet ran up the
bay. In order to clear the sands at its mouth, they must carry sail.
Speed must make up for leeway and urge her through when she met the
steep head-seas. She was built high-sided, with a massive iron keel, for
her job was to drag a quarter-mile salmon net in the sandy turmoil a
Solway gale stirs up.

By and by a fisherman plunged down a boathook and Emerson got on his
feet. He saw a wide belt of foam and, in the background, vague, dark
trees. They had reached the shoals that fringed the bay's northern horn,
and if they went about, the tide would carry them back. It looked as if
the steersman meant to go across.

"Yet a fathom!" shouted the man who used the pole, and, a few moments
later, "Noo ye're on the Perch sand; I find aboot four fit!"

They let her go, and when the sounder got three-feet-six Emerson knitted
his brows. On the sand the broken seas were not large, but the margin of
safety was disturbingly small. She jarred and slowed but did not stop,
and when the pole again went down bottom was not touched.

The seas got long and regular, the steersman let the mainsheet run, and
Garnet knew they had made the firth. Wind and tide went with them, and
by and by they lowered the lugsail. The small jib was all she needed,
and she lurched along before the wind on an even keel. Garnet drained
the water from his oilskin, and a fisherman crawled under the fore-deck
and brewed coffee.




XVIII

ANNE TAKES CONTROL


Emerson landed on a gravel bank where a burn pierced the flats. The
fishermen took the sum Ivison had agreed for him to pay, gave him
good-night, and pushed off their boat. The transaction was finished.
They had done, efficiently, all they had engaged, and, in the
circumstances, Garnet thought the bill was not large. He had begun to
like the laconic Border Scots. Although they did not protest much, and
indeed rather used under-statement, one could trust them to put across
an awkward job.

Well, Anne was a Borderer, and he imagined her part in the joint
adventure was not easy. Although Mrs. Harden was jealous and watchful,
Anne had fixed to meet him at a small village, remarkably late at night.
In the meantime he need not inquire about the methods she would use. His
business was to get there. Anne would keep the rendezvous.

Crossing a sandy common, Garnet joined a road. A dry-stone wall broke
the savage wind, the moon was bright, and he stopped for a moment and
tried to rub the peat mud from his boots and straighten his battered
hat. His clothes were wet, his fishing mackintosh was stained, and he
feared the landlady might be curious about his disorder when he joined
Anne at the inn. Anyhow, Anne waited, and he pushed on for the village.

The little stone houses were quiet and the dormer windows in the low
roofs were dark. It looked as if the villagers had some time since gone
to bed. A dog barked, and then all Garnet heard was the clamor of the
sea. Then clouds drove across the moon, but when they passed the night
was clear. By and by he saw trees and a rather ambitious building at the
end of the street.

Lights yet burned behind one or two windows, and Garnet believed the
building was the inn. Then a dazzling beam swept the road, and
mechanically he jumped for the wall. When he touched the stones he
swore. He must use some caution, but to run like a cottontail rabbit was
another thing. Basset's friends could not yet have reached the spot and
there was no cover; the walls of the little houses went up straight from
the pavement. The beam vanished, he thought a woman laughed, and a man
called him to come on.

Garnet did so, and saw the inn and stables and garage occupied one side
of the square. A limousine and a little open run-about were under the
trees. Broad sycamore-leaves blew about the stones, and two or three
people waited in front of the inn. Garnet's doubts were gone. Somehow
Anne had fixed things, and when a short, slim figure left the group he
went forward.

"You got across. That's fine!" she said. "Jim rather doubted if you
could persuade the boatmen to face the gale. I did not, but I was
anxious. The sea is very wild, and to know you had arrived was some
relief."

"The boatmen didn't hesitate," said Emerson, and added with a laugh: "I
expect you knew me when I jumped!"

Anne gently touched his arm. "Your nerve is very good, Garnet, and after
the strain you have borne for Keith and me, I'd sooner you did not
joke--well, you know Jim Carruthers; but I think you have not met
Flora."

Garnet had not, and was presented to Miss Jardine. She was older than
Anne and gave him a swift, searching glance. He imagined he looked
something like a British tramp, but her twinkle indicated that she was
rather amused than disturbed.

"I expect you had a stormy crossing," Carruthers remarked. "Since you're
not stopping at the inn, I'm afraid I can't get you a drink, but the
landlady put up some coffee in a vacuum flask and we'll picnic in the
limousine."

Emerson had met the young fellow at a tennis match, and he said, "Then,
I'm not to stop? You see, I sent off my boat."

"I believe Anne has another scheme, but I'll allow her to state it. To
begin with, you must get some supper, and all have had enough of this
blustering wind."

The limousine was softly lighted, and Miss Jardine took the host's part,
as if the car were hers. When she opened a lunch-basket Emerson doubted
if the country inn had supplied the food. The fruit, at all events, did
not grow on the bleak Solway coast. His appetite was pretty keen and
some minutes went before he began to talk.

In the meantime the inn windows got dark, the sycamore-branches tossed,
and rustling leaves blew about the car. The limousine, under the trees,
was twenty yards from the quiet road. Emerson, leaning back against the
soft cushions, wondered how Anne had contrived to get the party there.

"When did you leave Copshope?" he inquired.

"I think it was seven o'clock," Miss Jardine replied. "We are bound for
Dumfries, where we had arranged to visit with some friends and go to a
local function tomorrow afternoon. Soon before dark, however, the engine
stopped, and since I am not a mechanic, we were lucky when Jim arrived.
Anne took his car, and with some difficulty he steered mine to the inn."

"That's not quite all," Carruthers remarked. "I mustn't boast, but if
Flora had allowed the village jobber to have his way, it's possible we
should have stopped all night. Anyhow, I was firm, and we sent to
Dumfries for the stuff we needed."

"But you had a car," said Emerson.

"That is so," Carruthers agreed with some dryness. "I, however, was
occupied, pulling down the engine. Then my car carries three. In the
circumstances, we thought the proper plan was to send Flora's friends a
note--she was stopped by engine trouble, but hoped to arrive before very
long."

"But what was the trouble?"

Anne smiled and Carruthers frankly grinned.

"I think we will not bother about technicalities. In fact, my dispute
with the village mechanic was rather a strain. The main thing is, we
have banished our friends' anxiety."

"Jim really means that nobody will inquire about our late arrival," said
Miss Jardine. "A tennis engagement prevented our starting in time to
reach Dumfries for dinner; and then the engine refused to go. Jim, who
has some business at the quarries along the coast, fortunately overtook
us, and I imagine everybody in the village knows he and the repair man
were busy for an hour or two. Most of them went to bed some time since,
and when you joined us I expect all were asleep. Now I think everything
is properly accounted for."

Garnet laughed. All fitted in. Mrs. Harden and the folks with whom Anne
was to visit had no grounds to wonder about her stopping by the way.
Pretty good staff-work; but perhaps stage-management was the better
term. Anne had some talent for theatrical experiments and her cast
played up. Garnet did not yet see his and Carruthers' parts, although he
was persuaded she had some fresh use for the young fellow. Anyhow, he
liked her cleverness.

"Now your engine is all right, ought you not to be off?" he asked.

"We will start in five minutes," Miss Jardine replied, and looked at
Anne. "Perhaps you will pack the lunch-basket? Let's see if you put back
the tools and fastened the box, Jim."

"If you don't mind, Garnet and I will walk round the square," said Anne.

She pulled on her coat and Emerson helped her down. Old Country folk
were not remarkably obvious and Anne's touch was light, but Garnet
admitted that she got there. For all her thick coat, she was charmingly
slender and small, and he was ridiculously tempted to put the arm on
which her hand rested to another use. Yet he dared not. Sometimes Anne,
so to speak, was Miss Harden of Copshope, and her temper was imperious.
The moon behind the trees was bright, but the inn and the houses
opposite were dark, and Garnet's feet sank noiselessly in the drifting
leaves. He thought Anne rather floated by his side than walked.

"All we have is five minutes," she said and somehow implied that she was
sorry. "Well, what about Basset? Has he found out where you are?"

"Two days since his friends searched the cottage. However, he didn't
find me and, of course, the bonds were not there."

"Ah," said Anne, "he might have found you! The strange thing is, he
allowed you to cross the firth."

"He was, perhaps, not very willing," Garnet agreed. "At all events, when
I made for the boat we found a fellow watching a marsh bridge. He did
not see us in useful time, and went into the creek. That's really all I
know."

Anne's touch on his arm got firm.

"I have been horribly selfish; but you must not meet Basset another
time."

"Oh, well, I'm not remarkably keen to go back."

"There's another thing," Anne resumed. "I do not think we ought to keep
the bonds."

"Perhaps it's dangerous; Basset might get on their track. However, since
you sent for me, I expect you have a plan. Carruthers hinted something
of the sort."

Anne laughed, a gentle laugh.

"I like your modesty, Garnet; but we mustn't joke. I begin to think the
bonds are not safe at Copshope."

"If Basset keeps my trail, I doubt if I would be allowed to carry them
to Montreal. The police are the proper people----"

"No," said Anne firmly. "It's possible we ought to have enlightened the
police, at the beginning, but we did not. If we did so now, they'd doubt
us, and make us accountable if Basset got away. Then one hates to own
one is beaten, and I expect the Edinburgh officers are not a romantic
lot. If I talked to our fiscal about Keith's tinhorn, he'd listen with
old-fashioned politeness, but I'd know all he'd think. Old people do not
use imagination. They hate to experiment, and they stick to worn-out
rules."

Garnet saw Anne tried to justify her extravagant scheme, and he smiled,
a crooked, humorous smile.

"After I carried off the bonds, I began to feel myself rather young for
my job. However, you want me to go to Montreal? I don't know if I can
get there, but I'm willing to try."

"Ah," said Anne, "it might be awkward, and I hate to urge you; but if
you stay here, you run a worse risk. Then, you see, the risk ought to be
Keith's. He must come across."

"Very well," Garnet agreed. "All the same, I had hoped you might let me
wait and see you out."

Anne turned and fronted him. The moon was on her face and he thought her
brows were knit. In fact, he thought her embarrassed, but the light was
puzzling; the sycamore-branches tossed, and falling leaves blew about
her head.

"I'd sooner you did stop; but I want you to understand--You have helped
nobly, and perhaps one is entitled to use a willing friend. Yet one must
not be shabby--Well, I know you're generous and you dislike to leave a
half-finished job. The important thing is we get no farther, and Keith
must fight for himself. He must use his likeness to the gambler and you
must persuade him. Then--if you are not wanted at the factory--you
might, perhaps, come back."

Garnet's heart beat, but he smiled.

"My young partner is rather keen to try his powers. I don't expect the
factory will hold me, Anne."

For a moment Anne looked the other way. Then she met his glance and said
in a quiet voice, "In three days a Donaldson liner sails from Glasgow."

Garnet nodded. He knew he must not stop on an emotional note, and at
length he saw Carruthers' part.

"Very well. I expect Jim will help me make the Clyde. But Miss Jardine
waits, and you ought to be off."

Anne faced the moonlight and faint color touched her skin.

"You are fine, Garnet! You play up splendidly."

They went back to the car and Anne said, "Garnet is going to Glasgow. He
wants to get the Donaldson boat."

Carruthers turned to Emerson. "I could get you there for breakfast, but
you would have two days to wait, and perhaps you would sooner not go by
road. Well, we are loading a coaster with granite for the Clyde, and the
quarries are not very far off. She starts at high-water tomorrow and I
expect the captain will give you a berth."

"There's my line," said Emerson, and Anne gave him her hand.

"Good luck, Garnet--I hope your partner will not need you," she said,
and got on board.

The engine rattled, the headlamps flared, and the limousine took the
road. Carruthers laughed and cranked his car.

"I'm not remarkably inquisitive and don't expect you to explain," he
said. "Anne declares your object's good and I imagine in some way she's
accountable for your excursion. Well, she's Flora's friend, and Anne's
friends indulge her. Now you, perhaps, see?"

Emerson thought he saw. The young fellow was Miss Jardine's lover, and
Anne had used the girl and him. Garnet reflected humorously that
although Anne's plans were romantic, as a rule, they worked. The
reflection was encouraging, but the engine started and he jumped on
board the little car.




XIX

GARNET TRIES PERSUASION


A light breeze rippled the languid swell rolling up the Firth of Clyde,
and the Donaldson liner's smoke trailed astern like a long gray cloud.
Her engines beat a measured rhythm, and wide belts of foam swirled aft
from the thrusting bows. Emerson, on the boat-deck, felt the swift
screws throb, and the sense of speed and power was soothing.

In front, Kintyre's high blue crags commanded the Atlantic, but for the
most part Emerson's glance was fixed regretfully, the other way. Behind
the big boat's quarter, faint hills and moors rolled back to the Solway
Firth. Soon the coast began to fade, and Garnet reviewed his adventures
since Anne wished him good luck at the Border village.

The road to the West was quiet and Carruthers drove fast. The wind
screamed about the car, and when they rolled through a little town
behind a mountain Garnet was cold and cramped. All was quiet at the
terraced quarries, the street was bleak and dark, but a light or two
twinkled by the granite quay. Garnet tumbled over ropes, and crossed a
slanted plank to a little coaster lying in the river mud. Carruthers
beat on an iron door under the steamer's bridge, a light leaped up
behind a round port, and somebody inquired in vigorous Scots what he
wanted.

The brown-skinned man had rather obviously jumped from his bunk, but a
coasting skipper wakens soon and his glance was alert. It looked as if
he knew Carruthers, for he brought out a whisky bottle and at the
beginning called him "sir."

In about five minutes all was fixed, and Emerson smiled as he recaptured
the interview. Some North Americans imagined the Old Country folk were
not businesslike, but Garnet admitted they knew where to take things for
granted and where to stop. Tactful implications economized argument.
Anyhow, when Carruthers drained his glass the epigrammatic captain had
agreed to take a passenger and understood that he must not advertise his
being on board. Emerson asked for some paper and wrote a hurried note
for Anne. Then they went to the gang-plank, and at the top Carruthers
gave Garnet his hand.

"You can trust the fellow and I'll see Anne gets the note. Good luck,
and a fair wind," he said meaningly.

That was all, but it was all one wanted. The young fellow had put across
his job, and now went down the plank. Ten minutes afterwards Emerson was
asleep on a settee in the captain's room.

In the morning he sent for the Glasgow _Herald_ and kept in the room
under the bridge. The paper gave him the shipping news and he studied
the Atlantic companies' advertisements. His note had instructed Anne
about the bonds, and since the Donaldson boat was not as fast as some,
he hoped his arrival and the packet's, so to speak, would synchronize.
Anyhow, he knew Anne would punctually carry out his orders.

At noon the little coaster hauled out from the wharf and, dropping
downriver, crossed a rock-guarded bay. Emerson was glad the captain
dined before they cleared the sheltering point, although, from his point
of view, potato soup, a sheep's head, and strong black tea was not a
tempting bill of fare. In the meantime, the crew were strenuously
occupied, wedging up the hatch covers, lowering cargo booms, and lashing
fast all the sea could move. When the _Craig Dhu_ stole round the point,
their activity was justified.

A half-gale blew up the firth, the tide went to wind-ward at four miles
an hour, and the opposing forces piled the sea in hollow-fronted walls.
The _Craig Dhu_ carried three hundred tons of granite--a Scots skipper
does not cut down a paying load--and Garnet was glad to note her bows
were round and her forecastle was high.

When she rammed a comber, her well-deck vanished in a yeasty flood. She
did not climb across the ridges; the tide and the granite's momentum
hurled her through. When she rolled, her rails went under and her bilge
swung from the sea. Her rusty stack soon was white with crusted salt,
but for a time her engines pounded steadily and her smoke trail streamed
back across the foam.

In the evening the skipper rang for reduced speed, and Emerson, holding
on behind the wheelhouse, saw high black rocks and the wild turmoil that
marks the Mull of Galloway race. The boisterous wind held back the
tide's urgent rush round the head, and the roar of the tumbling seas was
like the roar of a waterfall. Sometimes the _Craig Dhu_, tossed about by
the eddies, would not steer, and for a minute or two the white seas
leaped on board and cascaded across her tilting leeward rail. When she
rolled back, one heard coal and stokers' tools crash on iron floors. She
took a fresh buffet, and then the rudder gripped and swung her
head-to-wind.

Sometimes she met the combers squarely. In the plunge her screw was
lifted high and the furious beat of engines shook her racked plates. For
all that, she went through, and when the black cliffs dropped astern,
bore up, swept and battered, for the Clyde.

At Glasgow, Emerson went to a second-class hotel. When he called at the
passenger office he hesitated, but used his proper name and accurately
supplied the particulars the steamship company required. The passenger
clerk was not interested and Garnet got his ticket. It looked as if the
Glasgow police had not watched out for him.

Garnet wondered whether he had run away where nobody pursued; but the
police had inquired about a Canadian and their inquiries had helped him
cheat Basset. Anyhow, until he reached Quebec he need not bother, and if
his luck were good, he might soon return with Keith----

A bugle called on the deck below and he made for the ladder. For some
time he had cogitated in the keen salt breeze, and he wanted food.

When the liner touched at Quebec his interview with the immigration
officers was short and satisfactory. Garnet went on to Montreal, where
he asked about the mail-boat arrivals and waited for two days. Then he
called at the post-office one morning and started for Harden's bank.

The bank's offices, like the other great blocks bordering the narrow
street, were palatial, and when Emerson had given a clerk his name he
waited for some time in the spacious central hall. In Montreal a small
Western contractor was not of much account, and the high Corinthian
pillars, wide marble floor, gilded screens and polished hardwood stood
for wealth and power. His business was to persuade the gentlemen who
controlled the great commercial enterprise to trust him and take a very
unbusinesslike line. Garnet, with a touch of humor, admitted that he
might fail.

For one thing, his part was an unaccustomed part. He liked to be
independent, and, so far, all he had wanted done he did for himself. To
some extent, pride was an obstacle to his using others. To ask for help
was humiliating, and he hated argument. There was the trouble; because
the bank's head officers would not be easily moved.

After a time he was shown into a private office. The cold light from the
long windows touched plate-glass, polished wood, and stamped leather.
Emerson noted the nickeled clasps of index files, the speaking-tubes,
and telephones. For all its utilitarian austerity, the room was
dignified; he felt it was a sort of power-house. From their revolving
chairs the gentlemen who waited to know his errand measured, and in some
degree controlled, the trade of Canada. One called into a tube, and new
sawmills started in Pacific Slope forests. His colleague picked up a
telephone, and floods of wheat began to flow from the prairie to the
lakes.

One was strongly built and fat. His look was rather truculent and his
large hands were muscular. Garnet, knowing something of his history,
imagined he at one time had used the ax. The other's look was rather
ascetic and like a scholar's; his hair was white, but his thoughtful
glance was somehow commanding. By contrast, Emerson knew himself a raw
Westerner. They, however, received him politely and he felt their
agreeing to the interview was significant.

"For some time I have been a customer at your Miscana office," he said.
"My account is not of much consequence to a first-class bank; but I hope
it may soon be larger, and I mainly owe my progress to your local agent,
Mr. Harden's, help."

"Our fresh agent will be happy to give you all the facilities at his
command," the strongly built gentleman replied. "Perhaps you know Harden
is not now at Miscana?"

"I do know. It explains my asking for an interview. To begin with, the
English mail is in, and I expect a registered packet addressed to your
care."

The banker called down a tube.

"A messenger is clearing our box at the post-office. He is expected in a
few minutes. Your packet will be sent up."

"In the meantime I'll go ahead.... Since I am your customer, I did
not reckon on your putting the Old Country police on my track."

The white-haired gentleman smiled. "If they annoyed you, I am sorry. The
bank, however, did not advise them to look out for you."

Garnet looked up with surprise. A Scottish police sergeant certainly had
asked about him; but he must let it go.

"We did suggest some inquiries at Miscana," the banker resumed. "Our
agents and, I believe, the police, thought you might be implicated."

"If your agents had used much intelligence, they would not have
implicated Harden. Well, I am his friend. I expect you know I was with
him at the fishing camp and soon afterwards started for Scotland?"

"We were so informed," the fat gentleman agreed.

Garnet reflected. He was going to ask something the others might refuse,
and since he doubted his persuasive powers, he must try a dramatic
stroke.

"Very well. I had planned my excursion before the robbery; but when
Harden reckoned the thieves might negotiate the certificates in London,
I wondered whether I might somehow spot the gang. You see, I was
resolved, if possible, to exonerate my pal. In a way, the notion was
ridiculous, and perhaps my luck was strangely good; but, to some extent,
_I succeeded_."

The bankers' surprise was obvious and Garnet acknowledged it logical.
They waited and he heard a step in the passage. Somebody knocked and his
heart beat. Argument might not help much, but his exploit ought to carry
weight. A clerk came in and separated a large envelope from the letters
he put on a desk.

"The packet you asked for, sir."

Emerson took the envelope and when he broke the seal his hand shook.
Then he thrilled triumphantly. Anne had not let him down, and he pulled
out some stamped documents.

"I have pleasure to hand you a number of the stolen bonds!"

The others said nothing, and Garnet thought they wondered whether he
joked. They examined the documents, and by and by one addressed him.

"You have done us an important service, Mr. Emerson. But how did you get
the certificates?"

"I stole them from the thieves," Garnet replied, and smiled, a rather
nervous smile. "I do not want your thanks; I want your confidence, and
if you engage to say nothing until you have my leave, I'll give you the
tale."

The banker looked at him hard and shook his head.

"In the circumstances, you must not ask us for a promise like that. If
we were private merchants, I might perhaps agree; but we are trustees
for our stock-holders and investors. We must have freedom to follow up
any clue we get."

"Anyhow, I'll tell you something.... The man who broke your safe at
Miscana impersonated Harden. Although the statement looks absurd, I ran
up against the fellow and for a few moments did not know him from my
friend. Well, I reckon you would like to recover the remaining bonds?"

"Your supposition is accurate," said the white-haired gentleman dryly.
"Unless the certificates are discovered, the bank must make good a large
sum."

Garnet had hoped to carry them away, but he began to see he was cheated.
These men were not the sort to be moved by impulse.

"Then I want you to weigh my proposition," he resumed. "I got the bonds
because the gang took me for a messenger they expected from Canada, and
they would have better grounds to think Harden the man who opened your
safe. I want you to give him two months' leave in order to visit the Old
Country; but to say nothing about it until he returns."

"The plan, I suppose, is Harden's?"

"Not at all," said Garnet, frowning, because he saw where the remark
led. "I landed two days since from the Donaldson liner, and Harden's at
Winnipeg. One does not work out a scheme like mine by telegraph."

"We cannot indulge you," said the other gentleman. "For one thing, to
find the thieves is the police's job, and I feel that if you refuse to
consult with them you undertake an awkward responsibility. We
acknowledge that we owe you much, but your plan has some rather obvious
drawbacks."

Garnet got up. He knew when he was beaten, but control was hard and his
face got red.

"Very well! I see you are firm. All the same, I'm Harden's pal, and if
you will not help, I must get to work alone. There's another thing: if
the police meddle, they'll find out nothing. They cannot force me to be
frank, and Harden cannot put them wise, because he doesn't know. That's
all, gentlemen; but I'll take a receipt for the certificates I brought."

He thought one hesitated, but the other signaled for a clerk, and they
politely let him go.




XX

HARDEN CAPITULATES


After his interview with the bankers Emerson went to his hotel and wrote
a telegram for Miss Forbes at Miscana and a letter to Keith Harden at
Winnipeg. Next morning he got on board the Vancouver express and stopped
at Miscana for twenty-four hours.

Miss Forbes had started on a visit to Winnipeg before he arrived, but
the message she left stated that she hoped to see him soon and Garnet
knew she had got his telegram. His partner said nothing much was doing,
and declared he could, if necessary, carry on for some time. Emerson
told him he might be forced to do so, and started west by the next day's
train.

At Winnipeg he waited for evening, and then got on a street-car at the
Main Street corner. Keith was occupied all day and the bank was not the
proper spot for confidential talk. Besides, when they did talk, Garnet
wanted Miss Forbes' support.

The street-car rolled noisily west and Emerson looked about. Ambitious
office blocks were springing up along the avenue, and the sidewalk was
crowded with smart young men and women going home. Cars and motorcycles
sped by, and Garnet reflected that Winnipeg grew fast. Not long since,
the avenue was the old Portage Trail; a track, torn by wagon-wheels in
the dark gumbo soil. Now, where rude board shacks had stood, steel and
concrete buildings cut the sky. Huge flour-mills and grain-elevators
dominated the town; the station's floor was marble----

Garnet began to muse. He had failed to move the bank officials, and to
move Harden would not be an easy job. In fact, his chiefs' refusal
justified Keith's being firm. To some extent, Garnet sympathized, but he
had promised Anne he would, if possible, rouse her brother to fight for
himself, and he meant to use his best effort.

Keith's soberness was the obstacle, and since Garnet had studied Mr.
Harden at Copshope he better understood his friend. Keith's type was the
old, sternly logical Scottish type. His nerve was good and he would go
stubbornly where he thought he ought, but he hated rashness and he
calculated. One could not carry him away, he must be convinced; and
Garnet admitted his arguments, if coldly weighed, were not remarkably
plausible. In fact, the romantic scheme was rather Anne's than his. Yet
he had recovered a number of the bonds, and, anyhow, Anne had his
promise.

The car stopped at Deer Park. Small frame-houses, picturesquely built,
with verandas and wooden pillars, had sprung up along the road, and soon
after Garnet got down he saw Miss Forbes and Harden on the steps to a
garden lot. He knew they looked out for him, and when they met,
Margaret indicated that she was his ally.

"I am stopping for a few days with Miscana friends--I expect you
remember Belle Nasmyth?" she said. "Keith told me when you would arrive
and I was keen to hear your tale. Your getting the bonds was splendid,
but we'll talk about it again. Now I have seen Keith's lodgings, I think
he is lucky to get a home. If he had been housed like a working bee in a
crowded hotel, he'd have got horribly bored. Then his Scandinavian
landlady is a dear--But I think she's waiting to give us supper."

They went in, and Garnet agreed about Harden's luck. As a rule, in
Canadian cities one must be satisfied with a seat at a dining-table, and
a very small bedroom. Keith's Danish landlady was motherly. When her son
was away on his freight-train the house was quiet, and the supper was
first-class.

Garnet studied his friend and knew his troubles weighed. Keith was
thinner, his kind smile was gone, and when he talked his voice was
different. Garnet thought him rather stubbornly resolved to hold on than
resigned. For the most part, they talked about Winnipeg and Miscana, but
when the landlady carried off the plates Emerson braced up. In a few
minutes the struggle would begin.

They went to the porch. A grass lot, shaded by small trees, sloped to
the board sidewalk. The evening was calm, and after a jangling
street-car rolled by the road was quiet. Harden fetched a rocking-chair
for Margaret.

"Now you must tell us all you did in the Old Country," she said to
Emerson. "I'm tremendously interested, and I imagine Keith is much
keener than he pretends. However, you were in Scotland, and you know his
sort."

Garnet narrated his adventures, but when he talked about the man at the
holiday-resort hotel Harden stopped him.

"You really thought the fellow like me?"

"So long as he was at the window, I was almost cheated. When he fronted
me I knew a difference, but the difference was not marked. Frankly, I
think him your Vancouver tinhorn."

"He was the tinhorn," said Margaret firmly. "He pretended to be Keith at
Miscana."

Harden knitted his brows. "Another time, you thought you saw the fellow
at Copshope, and Madam was disturbed. It is very queer! Anne and I are
all our mother's children, and Madam, of course, has none. Then Basset
expected somebody to meet him at Copshope! Well, the thing has baffled
us before. Suppose you go ahead?"

Emerson did so, and by and by narrated his interview with the bank
managers. Harden moved abruptly, as if he were annoyed.

"You are a first-class pal, Garnet; but I'm sorry you meddled where you
did. Don't you see it looks as if I had sent you? As if I wanted to
make my get-away!"

"One gentleman suggested something like that. I believe I satisfied him.
I had recently landed, could not have seen you, and so forth. Well, I
allow I was disappointed. If your chiefs had agreed, you'd have had no
reason to hesitate."

"You think not?" said Harden, dryly. "You are a hopeful fellow, but I
doubt if the plan for me to go across was altogether yours. For one
thing, I know my sister's temperament."

"Anne approved. For your father's sake, she thought you ought to seize
the chance. And I'm convinced my proper line is to urge you----"

"Then you are rather dull," Harden rejoined, and went on moodily: "I'm
suspected. In the office here I have got a third-class post and I know
all I do is watched. It's horribly humiliating, but I must be resigned.
Some time, perhaps the police will find the thief; the men at
headquarters are just, and when I'm exonerated I expect my promotion
will be fast. Until the certificates vanished, I think they admitted I
was a pretty good servant. In the meantime, they know where I am and
that I dare not quit. I could not get another post, and if I started for
the United States, I'd acknowledge myself guilty. The police would stop
their search. They'd think they knew the proper man and concentrate on
convicting me."

Garnet admitted the argument was logical. Keith was logical. In fact,
there was the drawback. Garnet looked at Margaret and saw she waited.
He knew her for an ally, but perhaps she felt she could not yet help.
Well, he had known his job was awkward.

"Anne stated your career was at the bank," he said. "Your father's
fortune has melted, and your uncle, the stockbroker, will take
Copshope--I guess the old house is not all your folks' inheritance?"

"It is not," said Harden, and the blood stained his skin. "One would
sooner use reserve, but I think you mean me to be frank. Well, we
inherit a tradition; a name for uprightness and just dealing. Our farm
tenants trust us; on the exchanges our engagements stand. Now you see
where the worst hurt is. I've let down my folks, living and dead; I've
let down Margaret."

Margaret's eyes began to sparkle. "I have not grumbled, Keith; but a
tradition like yours is worth something. It's worth fighting for. I
would hate to think you were afraid."

Harden looked up quickly and his mouth went tight. Garnet, however,
imagined Miss Forbes was not wantonly cruel. She knew her lover's
obstinacy and she used a hint of scorn as one used a whip.

"The trouble is, I cannot fight. All I can do is to wait," Harden
rejoined.

"For how long, Keith? The proper thief may not be found; and one soon
gets old. You have a talent for business and might make your mark. I am
ambitious for you and myself. Are you content to hold a menial post
until your chiefs forget you and your chance to rise is gone?"

Harden, trying hard for calm, did not see. He looked surprised, but
Garnet liked Miss Forbes' pluck. So long as she moved her lover, she was
willing for him to think her selfish and her ambition mean.

"One fights for an obvious advantage, where one hopes to win."

"Is that all? Oh, Keith!"

"I am not a sentimentalist, and Garnet already forced me to boast.
Suppose I admit one might fight for a cause, for an ideal, knowing one
must be beaten? My case is not like that. If I steal off, like a thief,
I go to jail. I myself give my friends, and yours, the worst knock they
could get. It's unthinkable!"

"You reckon you could not make the frontier?" Garnet asked.

"I am watched," said Harden grimly. "Then, two or three days since, you
rather hinted that I might go. Well, I suppose your object was good!"

Garnet said nothing. So long as Keith was resolved, to dispute would not
help. Moreover, his argument was sound. If he stole away and was
stopped, to prove him innocent would be hard. All the same, hesitating
timidity had nothing to do with his refusal. Keith's sober Scottish
temperament was the drawback. Perhaps it was strange, but Anne and
Margaret wanted him to take the plunge. Garnet wondered whether a
woman's belief in ultimate justice was firmer than a man's. For all
Anne's romantic moods, she was sternly practical, and Miss Forbes was
not a fool.

"Sometimes one must carry a load, but if one does so for long, one's
shoulders bend," she said in a quiet voice. "Your endurance is good,
Keith; perhaps you can stand for cold distrust and small humiliations.
I, however, have not yet tried mine. I'd hate to see you left at a boy
clerk's desk for an example of the directors' clemency; I'd hate you to
feel the younger men's half-pitiful scorn. You might hold on; but it
would hurt. Sometimes the police are baffled, and by and by hope would
go. Then you'd soon get old and tired, and I'd get moody. You would hate
your job, and I would hate the bank. When I grumbled you would think I
made you accountable for our dreariness and poverty."

Harden's look was very grim, but he clenched his fist, and Emerson
thought Margaret struck the proper note. Although she was not selfish,
she must force Keith to think for her.

"Garnet's plan is altogether theatrical," he said. "I am to impersonate
a man I do not know; I must take a part to which I have not a cue and in
which a false line might knock me out. I wonder whether he expects me to
make up and wear a wig! Well, I ought to refuse; but perhaps there is
not much use in my stopping, and if you would sooner, I'll risk it."

"Sometimes one must risk all one has. I think it's worth while, Keith."

"Very well!" said Harden and threw down his cigarette. "Since I am
going, I'll start tonight. When I'm missed in the morning I hope to be
some distance off, and the last local for Portage goes out soon. If I'm
spotted at the station, it will look as if I had started West, but my
line's for Dakota and New York. Are you going, Garnet?"

Emerson smiled. "Sure thing, Keith! The scheme was mine and your
sister's, and I've got to see you out. My partner reckons to hold down
all the business we can do until the Brockenhurst job begins, and I
guess I'm entitled to take a holiday. Well, I must look up some truck I
left at the station baggage-room."

He thought he used some tact, but when Margaret gave him her hand she
said:

"Perhaps Keith does run some risk; but, if it is possible for flesh and
blood, I believe you will see him out."




XXI

HARDEN LOOKS IN FRONT


Cinders rattled on the roof and red sparks tossed in the locomotive
smoke. The train was near the top of an incline, and Emerson leaned
against the platform rails behind the jolting car. Shielding his eyes
from the soot and grit, he looked about. A thin moon was in the west,
and the night was not dark.

A bluff on the horizon got sharp and black, and a ravine the line
followed curved back, like a gray riband, into the grass. Dawn was not
far off, and when the train stopped near the frontier the sun would be
up. Garnet would sooner have crossed in the dark. A pale, quivering
reflection behind the bluff caught his eye and he pondered--When the
conductor examined the tickets he said they were behind schedule time
and he hoped they would not be held up, but a construction gang was
cutting out a curve where the track went round a butte. Garnet thought
the flickering light marked the spot and he went to the smoking
compartment.

Harden, on the bench along the wall, calmly smoked his pipe. Garnet had
not expected him to be disturbed. To move Keith was sometimes difficult,
but when he did get going he did not look back. Garnet sat down and
pulled out his watch.

"She's running fast, but the conductor expects to be held up at the
curve. When we make the frontier the light will be good."

Harden indicated their small suitcases. To check and transfer baggage
might mark their trail and they had resolved to travel light.

"You're nervy, Garnet. Our grips will not interest the Customs'
officers."

"I was rather thinking about the Immigration folks."

"They don't bother about Canadians. In fact, I don't know if they board
the short-distance trains. My notion is, the Americans are glad to get
the young men who now stream across."

"The boys ought to stop. A country three thousand miles long with nine
million people has room for white men, but we let our best go and fill
up with foreigners. When you think about it, we are watering our stock."

"It's possible," said Harden dryly. "In the United States they begin to
value the Nordic stock; but you are not much of a politician, and I
imagine you meant to talk about something else. Well, you can go ahead."

"Then, suppose the police have got telegraphic orders to watch the
railroad?"

"So far as I can calculate, until the bank opens nobody will know I'm
gone, and I don't think I was spotted at the station. You are a stranger
and you bought the tickets. If there is trouble, I expect it will begin
when we are farther south and some time has passed. Perhaps it's
strange, but I don't know much about the rules our police must use when
a Canadian crook gets across the frontier. Until very recently, I was
not interested."

"You are pretty cool, Keith."

Harden smiled. "There is no use in worrying. I, so to speak, have burned
my boats, and since retreat's impossible, I must look in front. If I do
not make good, I'm done with."

"To some extent, I'm accountable, and anyhow I'd hate to see you sent
back. If we go as far as our tickets carry us, we rather blaze our
trail; and when we make Minneapolis I'd sooner we did so from a Western
point. If the Americans agreed to hold us up, they'd watch the south
track from the frontier."

"The risk began when we bought our tickets," Harden rejoined. "Since you
like romantic exploits, the queer thing is you did not suggest our
jumping a night freight."

Emerson pushed up the window. The train was speeding down grade and the
stars got pale. A pool the cars passed glimmered, and where a clump of
brush broke the rolling grass its outline was distinct. The lights in
front got bright and he knew them for the reflections from big
blast-lamps. Garnet shut the window.

"To _jump off_ a train might pay. I expect the construction gang will
flag the engineer, and in a few minutes we'll reach the spot where
they're at work. The conductor has got his piece of ticket, and if we
get down when the train slows, nobody will know we're gone."

For a moment or two Harden cogitated, and then he got up.

"On the whole, I like your plan. At all events, we break our trail."

They went to the platform and Garnet swung out from the rail across the
steps. The morning was cold and a keen wind blew about the rocking cars.
The moon was nearly gone and day had begun to break, but the east yet
was gray. In front, and about a mile off, the blast-lamps' white flames
tossed. Garnet shivered and turned his head from the wind. Cinders beat
his hat, he smelt dust and creosote, and saw the blurred ties leap by.
Somehow his plan's advantages were less obvious. When one has not slept,
one shrinks from a hazardous jump at cold, forbidding dawn.

The whistle screamed and he looked in front. Down the track a colored
lantern flashed, and the locomotive's rapid snorts sank to a slacker
beat. Small dark figures were silhouetted against leaping flame, and the
rails shone in silver light. The lantern swung about and the engineer
acknowledged the signal, but the roll of wheels did not get much slower.
Garnet frowned.

"They are calling her to run through. She's not going to stop!"

Harden nodded tranquilly. "We have got to jump. After all, there would
not be much use in getting off where the gang is at work. Wait until
she takes the curve and the locomotive cuts the light."

After a few moments the cars began to slant. Harden tossed his bag
across the rail, went down the steps, and disappeared. Emerson, however,
had not expected Keith to hesitate. Now he himself must risk the leap.
Seizing the greasy rail, he dropped his bag and swung one foot out from
the step. He frankly did not want to move the other foot, but he braced
up sternly, leaned back, and let go.

His boot struck a tie and he reeled across sharp stones. Then he rolled
down a low bank and stopped in wet grass. He was shaken and breathless,
but when he cautiously got up he rather thought he was not hurt. Three
or four hundred yards off, thick smoke floated about the track and the
end of the train cut the blast-lamps' reflections. Then somebody
shouted, and stumbling across the ties, he saw Harden seated on his bag.
When Garnet joined him the locomotive snorted explosively and showers of
sparks leaped from the smoke.

"She didn't stop! It looks as if nobody knows we jumped off," he gasped.

"Our luck was better than we were entitled to expect," Harden remarked
dryly. "Well, we are still on British soil. Which way do we go?"

"Southeast, I think. I'd sooner we steered away from the main line to St.
Paul."

Harden got up. Garnet thought he did so awkwardly, but he himself had
got a jolt. The light was growing, and for some distance there was not
much cover. Keeping the graded bank, as far as possible, between them
and the construction gang, they took the dewy grass.

At sunrise they stopped for a few minutes by a lonely butte and looked
about. They were on the bleak watershed from which the rivers run to
Lake Winnipeg and the Gulf of Mexico, and Emerson imagined the spot
commanded the boundary of a British province and two American states.
For fifty years white men had settled on the windy plains, but the wide
landscape was desolate.

A wavy belt of trees cut the eastern horizon, and when one looked the
other way a slow smoke-plume marked a freight-train going north. In the
south, where the ground rolled, a rig and team was silhouetted against
the sky, but somehow the distant signs that men were about emphasized
the loneliness. Until Emerson knew he was on American soil, he, however,
did not want much society, and for some time thought he would steer
obliquely east. The railroad and the telegraph followed the Red River on
his other hand.

In the meantime, he and Keith had made their get-away and he was
justified to take a smoke. Lighting a cigarette, he let himself go
slack. Dew sparkled in the yellow grass, the sky was blue, and the wind
was keen. Only in the North Atlantic had he known the bracing freshness
that marks sunrise on the Western plains. For the most part, the swift
cloud shadows sped across virgin soil. The prairie, like the Atlantic,
was immaculate, yet unstained by smoke and not disturbed by man's
turmoil.

"Your Border dales are beautiful," he remarked. "I like to picture the
red cattle feeding by the river pools and the big beech-trees rolling up
the hill. The pastures along the waterside are velvet smooth and green;
the woods are trimmed, and planted just where woods ought to be. Well,
our pruning's done by Arctic cold and savage gales; but the bleak plains
give you something your sheltered dales do not. You feel you want to get
up and get going."

"As a rule, if you stop you freeze," Harden rejoined. "You're a
sentimentalist, Garnet, although your business is to build factory
stacks and pollute our rivers by sawdust dumps.

"Oh, well," said Emerson, smiling, "North American blood is red. You can
stampede us by a slogan; we'll shout for a catch-word that leaves a dour
Scot cold. Your sort hates to push and hustle; folks don't know you're
going, but somehow you get there. However, New York is our objective,
and since it's fifteen-hundred miles off, I reckon we ought to start.
When you carry a gripsack and wear city boots, hiking's a slow job."

They set off. Sometimes a windmill-pump broke the sweep of grass;
sometimes from rolling ground they saw distant squares of wheat. At noon
they crossed an uneven track, torn in the dark gumbo soil, and Emerson
hesitated. Keith was going slowly, the sun was hot, and they had not yet
had breakfast. Where the trail went, homesteads were and one might
perhaps find a prairie hotel.

"I'd frankly like my dinner, but I doubt if we have made the boundary,"
he remarked in an apologetic voice.

"Then, we'll shove along," said Harden, rather grimly.

Some time afterward they stopped by a little pond, and Harden, sitting
down in the grass, opened his bag.

"When you got the tickets at Winnipeg I went back to a foreign
delicatessen store on Main Street," he said. "I imagined you might not
be content to keep the beaten track and we might not find a hotel where
we wanted one. Now I hope you'll like the stuff. The storekeeper
declared they used it at feasts in Norway."

Garnet approved the Scandinavian bill of fare, and he reflected that
forethought like Keith's was useful. Keith's habit was to look in front
and allow for obstacles.

In the afternoon the wind dropped and the sun was very hot. Garnet's bag
got heavy and his boots galled his feet; he thought Harden limped, but
they steadily pushed on. At length, when they crossed a ravine where a
creek sparkled across a sandy bed, Harden pulled off his boots.

"I'm sorry, but I have had enough," he said. "In fact, I doubt if I can
take the trail again until morning."

Emerson attempted sympathetic carelessness, but he was disturbed.
Harden's foot was swollen and his leg was red.

"Well, I like your pluck; but in a way we are lucky. The ravine is a
pretty good spot for a camp. But where did you hurt your foot?"

Harden sat down in the sand, and putting his foot in the water, lighted
his pipe.

"When I jumped off the train I hit the corner of a tie, but it did not
hurt very much, and I wasn't keen about stopping by the track. In fact,
until three or four hours since, I had not much bother to get along."

Emerson imagined three or four hours would have knocked him out. He
hated to think he had not known and had allowed Keith to carry his bag.
All the same, there was no use in talking about it and he knew his pal.

"We have dead wood for a fire, and in the poplars the night will not be
cold," he said. "I don't know about the mosquitoes; but perhaps I can
find a homestead and hire a team. Anyhow, I'll take a smoke."

He needed a rest. To shoulder a pack did not tire him, but to carry a
hand-bag for most of the day was another thing, and Harden had somehow
kept up a good pace. For all that, to be stopped when the frontier was
perhaps but a mile in front was galling. So long as they were on
Canadian soil, Harden was in danger of arrest; but Keith could go no
farther.

The sun got low and the evening grew cool. From the top of the ravine
Emerson thought he saw a homestead, but the light was puzzling and he
might walk for some distance before he knew. He went back to the creek,
and when the mosquitoes began to bother them, lighted a fire.

The yellow grass he used for kindling was damp, the dead wood smoked but
was slow to burn, and when Harden touched him some time had gone.
Looking up sharply, he saw a team and a farm wagon at the top of the
bank. A lean, brown-faced man on the driving-seat studied the camp.
Emerson's disturbance vanished. He had rather thought to see a trooper
of the Royal North-West Police.

"Can you tell us where we are?" he asked.

"Well," said the farmer, in a meaning voice, "you're on the right side
of the line. Don't you know God's country?"

"It's much like ours," said Garnet. "Which State?"

"Minnesota, bo. How'd you get here?"

"My partner fell off a train."

"That so? Some hike for a man whose foot is hurt. But did you both fall
off? And what sort of stuff are you packing in them grips?"

Garnet laughed. "I jumped off; but we have got no hootch. So far as I
know, nothing's doing in Manitoba. The whisky road's from Quebec to
Maine."

"Some leaks across our ways. Five dollars in the right man's hand helps
considerable. But where are you going?"

"Southeast," said Garnet, rather dryly, and threw the clothes from his
bag.

The fellow must not think they carried liquor but refused to give him a
drink. His imagining they had an object for not getting down at a
station did not matter and might command his sympathy. Except where the
railroads cross, the frontier is but a line on the map, and where
tariffs are high smuggling pays. Emerson knew Western farmers grumbled
much about the cost of Ontario tools and agricultural machinery.

"You see my partner's lame," he resumed. "Can you fix us for the night?
Then in the morning we'd like to hire your team and drive to a
settlement where we could get a car. If you agree, we'll meet the bill."

"Sure thing!" said the farmer. "I ain't met up with a stranger for most
three weeks. Give me your grips and help the boss on board."




XXII

KEITH COMES HOME


A week after they stole away from Winnipeg, Emerson and Harden reached
St. Paul. Harden's foot was getting better, for since they met the
farmer they had traveled, like sober American citizens, by automobile
and rail. Nobody inquired their business, and stopping for a night at
Chicago, they got the famous express for New York.

Emerson admitted he had not traveled as fast before, and he had not
thought to find facilities for carrying on one's business and indulging
one's tastes for amusements on board a train. The swift cars were rather
like a first-class city club, and when they rolled into New York a
porter pulled out his watch.

"You don't get your dollar this trip, suh," he said. Garnet looked at
him in surprise. The porter grinned.

"For every hour she's late, the company done pay you one hundred cents."

"The plan would break some lines I know. In the West, they _lose_ their
trains," Garnet rejoined.

His luck held. The Newfoundland banks were clear of fog, and light
breezes hardly rippled the smooth Atlantic. At Liverpool the liner
hauled alongside the stage several hours ahead of time. The police in
the Customs' sheds did not bother Harden, and soon after the searchers
franked their light luggage a train went north.

Garnet admitted the adventure had prosperously begun and Keith's
preferring the beaten path was not remarkable. To travel by luxurious
trains and swift steamships was a softer job than going on one's feet
and fronting savage wind on board a wet fishing boat. For all that, he
imagined he might again be forced to take the lonely trail.

They left their luggage at the station in the Border hills and walked up
the dale. Keith imagined Mr. Harden did not expect them yet, and he had
not stated his object for coming home. The afternoon was calm, the grass
was dry, and when they were near Copshope they took a field path. Where
the path pierced a clipped beech hedge, Keith stopped mechanically.

In front, blue sky and tall, straight trunks were reflected in a quiet
pool. Dead leaves had drifted about the water's edge, and across the
smooth, green lawn the sun was on the house. Behind the long roof,
stately beeches rolled up the hill. Their tops were netted in delicate
tracery, but where the gray boughs got thick, leaves yet shone orange
and red. A robin sang in the brown hedge and one heard a burn splash.

"All's the same," said Keith in a quiet voice. "The spot has the queer
calm beauty I felt when I was a boy. Well, I expect time has touched its
occupants. Since I was at Copshope eight years have gone."

The path curved to a gate commanding the flagged terrace, and when they
advanced Emerson saw a group sitting in the sun. Only that the leaves
were falling, it was like the tranquil afternoon when he first arrived.
Yet the queer, brooding calm rather marked the old house than the
Hardens. For all their Scots reserve, one knew they carried a load.

Harden, on the terrace, bent his head, as if he mused unhappily. Mrs.
Harden was in a basket-chair and her thin mouth was tight. Anne leaned
against the terrace wall. Her pose was virile and graceful and she, by
contrast, stood for fearless youth, but her look was pensive and Garnet
imagined the strain the others bore touched her.

Then Keith let go the gate and the latch's metallic clang brought Harden
to his feet. He went quickly to the steps, and Garnet, noting his kind
smile, rather sympathized with both. Harden had no other son and Keith
had not come home like a conqueror. Mrs. Harden waited, and Garnet felt
her satisfaction was, at all events, not very keen. Anne's eyes shone,
her color was rose-pink, and she balanced as if she were ready to leap
down the steps. Yet she, too, waited. Harden was head of the clan.

A few moments afterward she was in her brother's arms, and Garnet
stopped, rather forlornly, at the bottom of the steps. It looked as if
nobody had remarked his arrival, and Keith, very properly, took the
center of the stage. Well, Garnet was not jealous, and, after all,
Keith's part was hard; but to feel himself forgotten hurt.

Then Anne looked about, as if she searched for somebody, and Garnet's
heart beat. Keith had got his welcome, and now Anne looked for him. He
advanced and Harden's greeting was friendly and Mrs. Harden's polite. He
thought Madam's hand was cold, but when Anne gave him hers he thrilled.
Her level glance met his and signaled, "Well done!"

Tea was served on the terrace, and Garnet admired the Scot's control.
Only Anne knew why Keith had come home. The others were entitled to
think he had fled from the Canadian police, but Harden talked about
Copshope and Mrs. Harden occupied herself with calm hospitality. At
length, Keith pushed back his plate and gave the old man an apologetic
glance.

"I expect Madam and you are surprised by my coming across. Well, of
course I wanted to look you up; but, as you no doubt imagined, there is
something else. So long as the proper thief is unknown, I am rather
naturally suspected. I dare not leave the bank's employment, and if I
did so, I could not get another post. In fact, I'm done with, and my
career is closed. And I began to doubt if the police could find the
thief."

"Then you have not resigned your appointment?" said Mrs. Harden, and her
voice was sharp, as if with suspense.

"In a way, I have not. The managers certainly refused to allow the
excursion. It's possible they reckoned I might not come back; but I
hope, at all events, to resume my post. Anyhow, if my experiment does
not work, I shall not hide myself in the Old Country. When I know I'm
beaten, I'll get the first boat for Montreal----"

Keith stopped for a moment and Garnet noted that he implied the
experiment was his. Moreover, Anne noted it, but her brother's glance
warned her to say nothing. Although Keith had been urged, or perhaps
driven, to embark on the rash adventure, he would not make others
accountable. Throwing away his cigarette, he turned to Harden.

"You see, the police's investigations seem to carry them nowhere, and I
cannot wait. I owe something to you and Madam and the girl I engaged to
marry. Since others cannot help me, I must help myself."

"Perhaps you ought to try," said Harden, in a queer voice.

"But, where the police are baffled, can you hope to find the thief?"
Mrs. Harden inquired. "Their business is to solve such puzzles; they
have the technical skill and can use the proper machinery----"

Keith nodded. "And I cannot? That is so, ma'am. All the same, I have an
advantage the police cannot use, and sometimes an amateur does beat a
professional. For example, when Garnet stopped with you he got back a
number of the bonds."

"I did not know!" said Harden, with marked surprise. "The strange thing
is, Mr. Emerson did not think us interested."

Garnet was embarrassed; he owned Harden's remark was just, but while he
pondered his apology Anne took control.

"Mr. Emerson did not tell you because I ordered him to say nothing. You
were disturbed and anxious, and we did not want to excite false hopes.
If the hopes were false, the fresh knock might hurt worse than the
first."

"You thought you ought to guard me?" Harden remarked, with rather dreary
humor. "Well, I do get old, and sometimes youth is kind."

"Garnet and Keith are very noble; they don't want to implicate their
accomplice, but the plan for Keith to come home was mine," Anne resumed.
"In fact, I sent for him, and Garnet carried my message, although I
doubt if he approved. Like Keith and you, he believes he's logical, but
he went, and I expect he got Miss Forbes' support. She is young, and you
perhaps don't realize a modern girl's pluck. The old rules and
conventions do not bind us. We try all things for ourselves, and we are
not afraid."

"One rule stands," said Harden. "The loser pays."

"Ah," said Anne, "somehow I'm persuaded we are going to win!"

Mrs. Harden gave her a queer, antagonistic glance, and then turned her
head. For a few moments Harden brooded. All was very quiet; the sun had
crept back from the wall and the light had begun to go. Garnet felt his
hosts bore an awkward strain; of all the group, only Anne was firmly
confident. Then Keith lighted a fresh cigarette. The scrape of the match
jarred, and Harden slowly turned to his son.

"Am I allowed to inquire about Anne's scheme?"

"You ought to know, sir. I cannot use the police, and I shall be
satisfied if they leave me alone. My tale about the fellow who cheated
my friends at Miscana carries no weight, and I stole away from Winnipeg
after the managers refused to let me go. The implication is, I was
afraid to stay. For all that, the thief did work on his likeness to me,
and he is very like. I met the fellow on the Pacific Slope, and Garnet
ran up against him at a Cumberland hotel."

"That is so," said Emerson. "I think all but Keith's friends and
relations might take one for the other. The tinhorn was perhaps two or
three years younger, and although his look was hard, I sensed a sort of
cultivation that does not mark his type."

Harden's chair cracked, as if he conquered an impulse to get up. Mrs.
Harden's pose was quiet, but her figure was braced, and her lips were
firmly set.

"Go on, please," Harden said to Keith.

"I cannot go very far. I mean to use the likeness that helped my
antagonist. Since he cheated the folks at Miscana, I may cheat the gang.
I don't know where I shall meet them, or if I can put across the bluff;
but I mean to try. In the meantime, that's all, sir. I'd like to think
you agreed."

Harden knit his brows, and although the light was going, one saw the
lines in his face were deep.

"Your plan is romantic, Keith, and may carry you into strange
entanglements; but I dare not discourage you. Your duty is, if possible,
to exculpate yourself."

He got up and looked at Mrs. Harden. "Well, perhaps we ought to leave
the young folk alone."

They went off, and with something of an effort the others began to talk.
After dinner Garnet went to the terrace. Harden and Keith were in the
smoking-room, and he imagined them resigned to be without his society.
Anne had vanished, but by and by he saw a slim figure on the flagged
walk, and when he advanced her smile implied that she had expected him.
The evening was not cold and a half-moon shone behind the netted
branches in the high beech tops. For a few minutes they walked about;
and then Anne stopped at the end of the wall farthest from the
illuminated windows.

"Was Keith very obstinate?" she asked.

"At the beginning he was firm and I was afraid I might not persuade him.
His arguments were better than mine, but I had a first-class
confederate."

"Margaret Forbes? I expected her to help."

"Perhaps it's strange, but I did, too," Garnet remarked.

Anne smiled. "You are keener than you think. You see, a modern girl does
not stop for obstacles that might daunt a calculating man. We rather
like a rash adventure, and we are instinctively optimists. In a way, I
think we know that so long as our object's good, for all our muddles and
blunders, we'll win out at the end."

"To believe in ultimate justice helps; but at times it's hard."

"Ah," said Anne, "you must, at least, believe that on the whole right
will conquer! Evil must destroy itself. If it did not, civilization
could not stand and man must go back to savagery. But if I philosophize,
you'll soon get bored."

Emerson was not bored. Anne's frankness moved him, because he felt she
would not thus confess her faith to a stranger. He saw her, as he knew
she was, proud and stanch and inflexibly upright.

"Although Mr. Harden agreed to our experiment, I thought it cost him
something," he remarked. "In fact, it looked as if he did agree because
he was forced."

Anne gave him a keen glance. "You noted that? Well, his hesitation
puzzled me. Our plan, of course, is not the sort of plan he would
approve; but that was not all. Somehow I felt he'd sooner we did not
meddle. Yet he tried to be just."

"But, perhaps for Keith, I think Mr. Harden is the justest man I know."

"Ah," said Anne, "justness is not comparative; one must be just or not.
The queer thing is, he talked about the loser's paying--as if the
implication was somehow personal, and he himself must pay. But I'm
disturbed and perhaps I exaggerate. I feel there's a sort of shadow on
our house that's darker than Keith's misfortune----"

For a few moments she brooded; and then looked up with an apologetic
smile.

"I begin to see I'm not as brave as I imagined. I sent for Keith and to
feel I'm responsible for his adventure weighs. However, he has come back
and we must see him out. The first thing is to get to know where the
thieves are."

Garnet admitted it might be difficult, and for a time they walked up and
down the terrace and weighed his vague plans.




XXIII

CONTACT


The short train rolled down a river valley and Emerson mused and looked
about. His rucksack, thick stick, and fishing mackintosh were in the
rack, for imagining speed might be useful, he had resolved to travel
light. Moreover a walking tourist's part had some advantages.

Mist floated along the hill-slopes, and the roll of wheels echoed in the
dark gullies that seamed the peat. The cars sped noisily across bridges
and slanted round the curves by the brawling river. Its stony bed went
down the valley like a wide, gray road to a gap about which the dark
hills closed; but only the telegraph-posts and the sheep in the heather
indicated man's industry.

Garnet thought the country sterner than his. To wring the means to live
from the bleak hills implied stern qualities; but so far as he knew the
Borderers, they were a virile lot, and sometimes one sensed a sort of
steely hardness in Anne and Keith. In fact, for all Anne's grace and
beauty, he knew her keen and true as a tempered blade. It was possible
she and Keith might be forced to use all the firmness they had.

In the meantime, their plans, so to speak, were nebulous. Keith was to
wait at Copshope; Garnet must try to make contact with the gang and find
out where Oakshot was. There was no use in Keith's pretending to be the
gang's Canadian boss if the real tinhorn was about. On the whole, Garnet
was not hopeful; he understood the population of the Old Country was
forty-five millions, and to search for three or four individuals in the
crowd was some undertaking. Besides, the gang might have pulled out for
the Continent. Yet since Keith had stolen away from Winnipeg, Garnet
must use his best effort.

For a start, he meant to stop at Hexham. The town was small and not
important, but that was perhaps an advantage, and Basset had used it for
a rendezvous. Located on the trunk road across northern England, it
commanded the North and Irish Seas and the main rail tracks to London by
the east and west coasts. In fact, it commanded a sort of quadrilateral,
of which Newcastle, Liverpool, Edinburgh, and Glasgow were the strategic
points. Moreover, lonely moors, into which one might plunge and
disappear, rolled down to its walls.

Emerson nodded and lighted his pipe. On the Western plains and in the
trackless North, the R.N.W.P. patrols cultivate a sort of geographical
instinct and he thought the argument for his starting at Hexham sound.
The trouble was, the undertaking demanded other qualities, and he
admitted his talent for accurate abstract reasoning was not marked.
Anyhow, he could be practical and he began to study the landscape.

The river attracted him; the belt of gray stones dominated the valley
and was straighter than the line. As a rule, the streams that break from
the storm-swept moors are nearly straight; but in the North the roads
are not. When Garnet searched the hill-slope he saw here and there a
gate and a faint row of posts; in some places a dim white streak melted
in the heath. The road over which Basset had driven him to Hexham wound
about the hills.

The train stopped at small stations, where sometimes a shepherd and his
dogs and two or three country women with baskets of eggs got on board.
Garnet studied the time-table. The line joined the main track to
Edinburgh and, if he were forced to pull out, might help him reach the
North. Since his object was to make contact with Basset's lot, he ought
to fix his line of retreat.

He got down at Hexham and engaged a room at the hotel he had used
before. His search of the register was not rewarded; the only guests
were two or three commercial travelers and a motoring tourist. The
house, however, was spacious and comfortable, and Garnet resolved to
wait.

Hexham interested him. When Cartier landed at Hochelaga the Border town
was old. Garnet saw its Moot Hall and the Roman altar in the austere
abbey's crypt. On the bleak moors that feed the Tyne he saw broken
hypocausts where Vexilliary centurions found refuge from the British
cold, and, still dominating rocky crests, the wall Hadrian built
eighteen hundred years ago. He visited Dilston and Stayward Pele, and in
the keen autumn evenings read Besant's _Dorothy Foster_ by the
smoking-room fire.

The pleasant excursions, however, did not help him much, and he had not
left his business for a romantic holiday. It did not look as if the gang
would return to Hexham, and Garnet extended his excursions to Newcastle.
The Brockenhurst robbery was perhaps not the only job the thieves had
undertaken, and since to negotiate the bonds was dangerous, he imagined
Oakshot might look for a market across the North Sea. Although Garnet
haunted the stations, hotels, and tourist agencies, he did not find a
clue, and he reflected that the routes the fellow might use were rather
numerous.

After a week or two, he went one evening to a Newcastle theater. The
play was short, and when he got to the station he found he must wait for
some time. Long trains arrived, passengers crowded the platforms, and
throbbing steam and rolling wheels echoed in the high roof. Garnet
walked about rather moodily under the big lamps, and wondered whether he
was not a fool. The Old Country was dotted by towns as large as
Newcastle, but where people swarmed like bees he had undertaken to find
Basset and two or three confederates.

By and by two passengers pushed through a group, and Garnet stepped back
quickly to a waiting-room door. He thought he knew the men, and they
must not see him. One carried a steamer-rug; the other summoned a porter
and gave him their bags. They passed the indicator without a glance, as
if they knew where their train started, and steered for the
ticket-office. A lamp hung above the indicator, and Garnet knew he was
not cheated. The men were Basset's friends, Burke and Lang.

For all the chances against him, he had got contact with the gang, and
he was suddenly alert. He, so to speak, had closed a dynamic circuit,
and perhaps released forces he could not control. Anyhow, things would
happen, and his waiting was over; but in the meantime he must follow the
porter's trolly.

The fellow steered for the Hexham train, and when he stopped by a van
and pulled off some luggage Garnet examined the two bags. He saw the end
of a steamship label and something like a crown stamped on torn paper; a
Customs searcher's ticket, he thought. Faint oblong marks implied that
other labels had been removed, as if the passengers did not want to mark
their itinerary. Garnet had reckoned on something like that, and he
stepped behind the milk churns on a neighboring truck.

A minute or two afterward, the porter signaled and seized the bags. The
men for whom Garnet waited went by, and he followed a group, four or
five yards behind.

"Here you are for Carlisle! Hexham's the only stop," said the porter,
opening a door.

Garnet imagined Burke and Lang were not going to Carlisle. Their habit
was, no doubt, to break their trail, and when they were on board he got
into the end compartment of the next coach. They must not know he had
spotted them, and they might walk along the corridor.

When the train rolled out of the station Garnet knitted his brows. The
men were going to Hexham, and he imagined they would stop at his hotel;
Basset had met them there another time. In about half an hour the train
would arrive and he ought to have a plan----

He thought somebody had fixed to meet the men; Basset, perhaps, and they
might ask the hotel clerk for a letter or telegram. If they did so,
Garnet must be about, and somehow he must get the letter. If there was
no other way, he might steal into their rooms and search their clothes.
A professional crook would use caution, but something must be risked.

Garnet wondered who the gang had thought he was, and on the whole
concluded they knew he had nothing to do with the police. Since Basset
had found him at Copshope, they might take him for a Canadian inquiry
agent whom the bank or Harden had privately employed. All the same, it
was possible they knew him for an amateur and a friend of Keith's. Well,
since he had carried off the bonds, he hoped they admitted he had some
ability. Anyhow, they had grounds to think him dangerous, but so long as
they did not know Keith was in Scotland he was not much concerned.

The locomotive whistled, the roll of wheels got slack, and station
lights slid by. Garnet lowered a window, and waited for Burke and Lang
to get down. They looked about for a porter, and Garnet, stealing off
behind some passengers, started for the hotel, as fast as he could go.
He thought the landlord's bus met the train, but he must get there
first.

One or two lights yet burned in the hall and dining-room, and a porter
leaned against the shelf at the office window. A small parlor across the
hall was dark, and Garnet, advancing noiselessly, crept into the room
while the drowsy porter looked the other way. Although the door was but
two or three yards from the office, the fellow obviously did not expect
to be disturbed until the bus arrived.

After a few minutes Garnet heard wheels. The porter hurried to the steps
and the men Garnet expected came in. One went to the dining-room, as if
the light attracted him, but stopped at the door.

"The waiter's gone? Oh, well, we got dinner on the train," he said. "We
telegraphed for rooms."

"Numbers eight and nine, sir," said the porter. "I'll take up your bags,
but if you'll wait a moment, I'll get the book, and there's a telegram
for you."

He pushed up the office window, and putting the register and an envelope
on the shelf, went off with the bags. Burke tore open the envelope and
looked about. Nobody was in the dining-room, the hall was empty and the
house was quiet.

"From Johnny at Harwich," he remarked. "He will join us at Dakershall,
Wednesday evening, and will take delivery. Moss has found a market for
the Canadian goods."

"I'd sooner not wait, but I suppose we must," Lang grumbled. "Anyhow,
I'm tired. Let's go to bed."

They went upstairs, and Garnet, going to the dining-room, lighted a
cigarette. He knew all he had wanted to know, and he thrilled
triumphantly. Oakshot, the supposititious tinhorn, was coming for the
stolen certificates, and would arrive in something less than forty-eight
hours; it was now ten minutes past twelve on Tuesday morning. Oakshot's
telegraphing from Harwich implied that he had recently landed, and Moss
was perhaps the name he used for a confederate at a foreign exchange.

Keith must know as soon as possible, but there was not a train until
about seven o'clock in the morning. Garnet doubted if he could engage a
car, and his leaving the hotel at midnight and wakening the people at
the garage might excite some curiosity. On the whole, he thought the
proper line was to wait for daybreak, and when the porter came
downstairs he said he might start early, and went off to bed.




XXIV

THE WATERSHED


At six o'clock in the morning Emerson got up quietly and went to his
bedroom door. The house was dark and quiet, and it looked as if nobody
was going by the early train. Getting a light, he took his candle and
started for the bathroom.

Burke and Lang's rooms were numbers eight and nine, and Garnet thought
the last fronted a corner where the passage to the bathroom turned; but
the fellows had arrived at midnight, and were, no doubt, asleep.
Besides, they had lost his track for five or six weeks and had no reason
for thinking he was at the hotel. For all that, Garnet went up the few
steps at the corner as quietly as possible. The door opposite the bottom
was not quite shut, and he heard a window-shade rattle.

He got his bath, although he was annoyed because the hot water gurgled
rather noisily in the pipe, and he used the other tap. When he was
coming back a cold draught touched his skin. A window at the corner was
open and the candle-flame slanted. Garnet curved his hand to shield the
light, and his foot missed the bottom step.

His bedroom slipper went under a mat, and, stumbling awkwardly, he
struck the door across the passage. The door swung back, and a bedstead
cracked, as if somebody were going to jump up. Garnet did not stop and
apologize. He sped noiselessly along the passage, but when he reached
his room and shut the door he frowned.

Had he risked a glance, he might have seen who was in the other room;
anyhow, he ought to have looked for the number. Then he had left his
slippers by the mat. To get away was all he had thought about. His room
was number two, but he had not counted the others and he was afraid to
go back.

Pulling on his clothes as fast as possible, he went downstairs. His
train did not start for half an hour and there was time to get some
coffee; but since he did not know whom he had disturbed, to stop was
rash. He gave the porter some money, and said if he was not back in the
evening he would send for his bill.

When he was in the street, day began to break and his uneasiness
vanished in the fresh morning. He rather thought the door he struck was
number seven, the jolt had almost extinguished the candle, and in a
moment he was gone. In fact, there was no need for him to worry. Burke
and Lang would wait for Oakshot at Dakershall, a village not very far
off, and Keith must get there before the fellow arrived. The only
drawback was, Keith was perhaps not at Copshope. In a letter Emerson had
got a few days since, he stated he thought about joining a shooting
party at a country house near Jedburgh. Oakshot, however, would not
arrive until Wednesday evening, it was now half-past six on Tuesday
morning, and although the train went by Carlisle, Garnet ought to be at
Copshope in the afternoon. Besides, he might telegraph to Anne from
Carlisle. In the Old Country the post-office controlled the telegraphs
and the office would not yet be open.

Garnet did not go directly to the station, and until he heard the train
coming up the valley he waited in the street. Only five or six
passengers were on the platform, and he got into an unoccupied
smoking-compartment. At the last moment somebody ran across a
footbridge, but a loaded truck rather blocked Garnet's view, and when he
hurried to a window along the corridor the train started. Anyhow, he
thought the fellow was too late and he lighted his pipe.

Thin mist floated about the fields by the river, but the sky behind the
roofs and trees on the hill was blue, and the high moors in the
background were a soft, hazy gray. The day was going to be fine and
Garnet's spirits rose. In the afternoon he would walk up the dale to
Copshope and Anne would congratulate him on his good luck.

By and by the train stopped. Across the river, brown hill-slopes shone
in the rising sun, and the smoke from colliery-stacks stained the sky;
then Garnet went to the window on the other side and got a nasty knock.
A man at a door in the next coach watched the platform, and when for a
moment he turned his head Garnet saw he was Burke. He drew back from the
window and the train started.

Garnet clenched his fist. When he stumbled against the bedroom door
Burke had recognized him, and Lang was, no doubt, on board the train. So
long as he was not alone, Garnet knew he was safe, but they must not
find out where he went and he dared not steer for Copshope. If the gang
knew Keith was in the Old Country, all hope of his recovering the bonds
was gone.

Garnet studied his time-table, and by and by got his stick and rucksack.
The train slowed, ran under a bridge, and stopped. The corridor was next
the platform, and Garnet went to the window on the other side. He saw a
high bank but nobody on the line. Trying the door handle, he found it
turned, and he threw out his pipe. Then he waited for the guard's
whistle and quietly jumped off the foot-board.

A louder whistle screamed; the ballast shook, and he saw a locomotive's
black front and a row of rocking cars swing round a curve. Smoke and
dust tossed about him, the rails bent and sprang straight when the
clanging wheels leaped the joints. Garnet, turning his head from the
blast of the cars' swift passage, was very still, and when he looked up
the last car roared in the gloom under the bridge, and the
passenger-train was gone.

"Come off the line," shouted the station-master. "What were you doing
there?"

"I dropped my pipe," Garnet replied. "I didn't hear the freight, and my
train went before I knew."

He held up the pipe. "A pretty good piece of amber and the briar's the
proper stuff. One hates to lose a favorite pipe. But when can I get on
to Carlisle?"

"You must wait three hours," said the station-master.

Garnet shrugged resignedly. The train stopped at another station a short
distance up the line, but he did not think Burke and Lang had seen him
get down. In fact, he doubted if they knew he knew they were on board
the train. At Carlisle they would find out that he had cheated them; but
there was not a train back for some time and he hardly thought an
automobile could reach the spot in an hour. Besides, if they did know
where he had got down, they would not expect him to wait for them.
Anyhow, he must telegraph Anne and inquire if Keith was at home.

The village was not attractive. Modern brick cottages, stained by smoke,
seemed to indicate a coalpit in the neighborhood. The line and the black
trunk road curved along the narrow valley, and behind the trees across
the track, a heathy waste rolled north. Garnet found an inn and got some
breakfast. When the post-office opened he wrote a telegram to Anne.

"Wire where Keith is. If possible recall. Garnet waiting."

He gave the name of the village, and telling the post-mistress he would
call for the reply, steered for a bank across the valley and sat down in
the sun.

The spot commanded the tableland where the Pennine range breaks down and
lonely moors run back to the Cheviots' foothills. On the bleak divide's
western side the ground slopes to the Solway, and the railway and trunk
road cross the plain to Carlisle. Copshope was north of the village, but
there was no direct road, and Garnet had reckoned on going west to
Carlisle, where he would steer back obliquely into the Border hills. His
pursuers, however, blocked that route.

In the east, shadows between the rounded summits implied a valley
running north, and Garnet knew it for the dale down which the loop-line
had carried him to Hexham. Roughly, the Carlisle-Hexham road was the
base of a triangle, of which Copshope was the apex and the
railway-tracks were the sides. For the most part, the ground the
triangle enclosed was a high, trackless, waste of peat and bog. Garnet
thought his line was now along the eastern side, but he must cut out
Hexham, since Burke and Lang might return and search the town.

A short distance north of the village, a small road went east, and
Garnet believed it would carry him to the loop-line on the other side of
Hexham. The trains were not numerous, but when he looked up his
time-table he reckoned he could make Copshope late in the evening. The
drawback was, he could not start until he got a reply from Anne.

He went back to the post-office, but the telegram had not arrived, and
for two or three hours he waited in anxious suspense. While he loafed
about the village, time was going, and Oakshot had fixed to meet his
confederates on the next evening. Garnet reckoned they would not stop at
Dakershall; as soon as Oakshot had got the documents the gang would
vanish, and to find them another time might be impossible. Moreover,
Oakshot expected to negotiate the bonds.

In the meantime, a stopping train went east, but so far as Garnet,
lurking about the waiting-room windows, could see, Burke and Lang were
not on board. Afterward an express for Hexham and Newcastle sped through
the station, and Garnet hurried back to the post-office. Anne had not
yet telegraphed, and he found a quiet spot from which he could watch the
trunk road.

At length he resolved he would not wait. Anne was perhaps not at
Copshope, and he must find Keith before morning. He bought some food at
a little shop, fastened on his rucksack, and took the northern road
across the watershed.

Garnet started briskly. A fresh wind swept the moors, the sun was
bright, and to get going was a relief. Sometimes he saw a green rampart,
topped by stones a Roman emperor had raised. Where he went the legions
had marched, and long afterward, General Wade had used the stones to
pave a road for his artillery when Prince Charlie seized Carlisle. He
saw broken mile-castles and the Nine Nicks where the Picts breached the
Wall, but he was not much interested. His object was to reach Copshope,
and the sun was going west. Keith, as soon as possible, must know all he
knew about the gang.

The straight white track was quiet. Sheep fed in the short grass and
calling grouse skimmed the heathy slopes. Sometimes distant guns
cracked. In the south, a plume of coalpit smoke trailed across the sky;
north-ward, only soft cloud shadows floated about the lonely hills.

Where the road went over a splashing beck Garnet stopped and looked
about. The deep channel in the peat curved southeast, but the last creek
had gone the other way. He was on the height-of-land, and the valley for
which he steered was not very far in front. Yet the shadow behind a
battered thorn was getting long, and, as far as he could see, the road
wound like a gray riband across the Waste. The afternoon was going, and
his breakfast at the inn was not good. Since he might be forced to use
some speed, he must eat, and, stopping by a wall, he opened his pack.

The heather was soft, he had carried his pack for some distance, and
behind the stones the sun was warm, but when Garnet had satisfied his
appetite he pulled out his watch. He did not yet know where Keith was,
and in the evening he must get the train up the valley.

He took the road, and an hour afterward stopped by a gate on the flat at
the top of a hill. His shadow was long, and when he looked west the
moors were black against dazzling yellow light. Well, he must go faster,
but for a few moments he waited by the fence. An engine throbbed in the
hollow from which he had climbed. He could not yet see the car, and he
pushed a stone against the open gate. The long bent-grass would hide
him, and until he knew who was on board he would sooner the car did not
stop.

The front of a baker's van topped the hill, and Garnet smiled. It looked
as if he were getting nervy. When the van slowed he signaled the driver.

"I'll shut the gate. Don't get down."

The van rolled by and stopped.

"Are you for Hexham?" the driver asked.

"I am not," said Garnet. "The town's interesting, but I've been there
before. I thought I'd head farther north for the Border Counties line
and see the Cheviots."

"Then, Gunnerston's your station. You have a good walk in front of you,
but if you jump up, I'll give you a lift."

Garnet was glad to get up, and when the van went rocking down the hill
he lighted a cigarette and gave the friendly driver his case. He ought
to get the train up the valley, and for the rest he must trust his
luck.




XXV

THE VALLEY ROAD


The short train stopped at a lonely station and Emerson got down. A
noisy river flowed through the dale and mist drifted about the flats
along the waterside. Black moor-tops cut the sunset's melting
reflections and daylight was nearly gone. The station-master's windows
shone and a lantern twinkled by a farmstead in a clump of ash-trees, but
that was all, and when the river's turmoil drowned the rattle of the
train Garnet knew himself tired and rather forlorn.

The moon would not be up for an hour or two, and he must cross the boggy
hills in the dark. His map showed a track, but the hill tracks were hard
to find and keep. Sometimes they vanished in belts of rushes, and
sometimes they stopped at a peat moss. Moreover, he must climb for
sixteen hundred feet and the valley where he would join the road to
Copshope was seven miles off. Anyhow, there was no use in grumbling, and
to make inquiries might put Burke on his track. Garnet pushed his coat
through the pack-straps and set off.

Crossing the river, he took a stony road. For a mile or two he must keep
the road, and he pushed on as fast as possible. Had he gone on to the
railway junction at the top of the valley, he must have waited two or
three hours for a train. Copshope was some distance from the line and
speed was important.

By and by he stopped for a moment by a fence. In the southwest the sky
behind a hill gap was green and gold; in front, the moors' tops faded
into dusky blue. Above a broken summit a pale star began to shine. The
station lights had vanished; all Garnet heard was the river, and when he
let the gate swing back the clash of the fastening was startlingly loud.

He went downhill into a belt of quiet mist. At first, its level top was
waist-high, and the battered thorns on one side looked like islands in a
silver pool, but where the road dipped steeply the vapor closed above
his head. Now he could not see the thorns, Garnet took the other side.
On that side there was no fence, and he heard the river, about a hundred
yards away.

A branch cracked, and Garnet stopped. Then stones rattled, as if
somebody jumped into the road, and he started for the waterside. Two
dark figures loomed in the mist, and a fresh noise indicated that
another man was somewhere about. It looked as if he must hustle, and he
went across the tangled grass and boggy peat like a deer.

Garnet had steered for the river instinctively, but he began to
reflect--As a rule, a crook was not athletic, and to labor across the
stones along the channel might tire his pursuers before it tired him.
Anyhow, he was a few seconds in front, and since the river curved away
from the road, they could not send one ahead over the smoother surface
to cut his line. All the same, the fellows were going fast, and he
pulled off his pack and threw down his fishing-coat. He imagined he must
run for his life, but he kept his thick stick. Unless he was forced, he
must not use Anne's pistol.

Stumbling across rattling stones, he saw the gleam of a pool. He had
reached the waterside, and he wondered whether the others would follow
if he swam across; but if he did so he must steer away from Copshope
into the lonely moors, and time was going. The river went nearly
straight up the valley, but he thought the road curved around a hill.
The mist had rolled away, and he reckoned the moorland track he meant to
take was not far off. When he rejoined the road he must be in front.

For some time he stumbled along the stony bank. Three men were behind
him and he doubted if he could shake them off. For one thing, they were
fresh, but for the most part he had been on his legs since breakfast and
he had not had much food. The third man's joining the others was
ominous. If Burke, as Garnet thought, had telegraphed for help, it
implied that the fellow was resolved he should not escape. Finding out
at Carlisle that he was not on the train, Burke and Lang had reckoned on
his going back to the Border Counties line. He wondered whether they
knew he was bound for Scotland and they had engaged a car at Hexham.

Anyhow, the dale was lonely and the river pools were deep. So long as
Garnet kept his freedom, the gang risked theirs. They, no doubt, had had
enough and meant to be rid of him for good. Well, to think about it
would not help, and he must concentrate on keeping ahead.

The river's turmoil got louder and the ground began to rise. It looked
as if a lynn pierced the foot of the hill, and if Garnet kept the water,
he might be stopped by whirlpools in the rocks. Scrambling up across
rough ledges, he reached a level spot where small mountain-ashes grew
and saw the road thirty yards off. Behind the wall on the other side was
a glen, up which he thought the track to Copshope went, but he dared not
take it. The gang was at the bottom of the rocks and they must not know
where he went. Besides, on the map he had noted another track that
crossed a hill some distance farther on and joined the first.

Stopping for a moment, Garnet got his breath. The others were coming up;
he heard their boots rattle on the stones, and one fell against a rock
and swore. They meant to stick to him, and he was alone. Garnet stole
away behind the mountain-ashes, and when he reached the road went as
fast as possible downhill. At the bottom he jumped a little burn and
braced up to climb the rise in front. The hill was long, and unless he
had increased his lead when he reached the top, he must stop and fight.

Garnet was not hopeful. Now he was getting exhausted, he must face three
antagonists, who meant to put him out. His heart beat and his side hurt,
but, setting his mouth grimly, he labored up the hill.

In the dark behind him pursuing feet beat the stones; he heard heavy
breathing, and by and by a splash. Somebody had plunged into the burn,
and perhaps it was significant that the fellow had not jumped; but
before Garnet heard another splash some moments went. At length, the
gang was tiring, and two began to drop behind. Well, the hill would try
their pluck, but one was not yet flagging much.

Garnet strained and sweated. His side hurt worse and his knees were
getting slack, but he reached the top of the hill and ran down an
incline into light mist. Somewhere in front, another burn throbbed in a
ghyll; the throb got loud and presently drowned the noise Garnet's
pursuer made. All the same, he knew the brute was not far off, and when
a wall loomed in the mist he clenched his fist. The wall implied a gate,
and sometimes one must lift a gate from the sinking post; anyhow, one
must feel for the fastening, and while he did so the man behind him
might arrive.

A plan flashed across Garnet's brain. The road was carrying him away
from Copshope and he could not go much farther; but the mist got thick,
and since he could not hear the others for the burn, they could not hear
him. Seizing the gate, he lifted his body to the top bar, swung his legs
across, and dropped noisily on the other side. The crash and rattle were
louder than the waterfall, and he hoped they suggested headlong flight.
Garnet, however, stopped behind the gate.

Leaning against the wall, he got his breath and grasped his stick by the
lower end; the other end was a useful knob. If his aim were good, he
might put his fastest pursuer out of action before the rest came up.
Although he carried Anne's pistol, he did not think they would stop for
a random shot, and to shoot straight might have awkward consequences.
Besides, the mist was thick, and his hand shook.

The gate rattled and swung back. Garnet measured the distance and braced
his muscles. Somebody jumped through the gap, and swinging his stick, he
aimed for the dark figure's head. The tough wood jarred; the man
staggered, and lurched awkwardly across the road. Garnet stopped him
with his fist and knocked him savagely against the wall. Then he flung
the gate against the post, and jambing a stone from the loose wall under
the bottom rail, started for the river.

Crossing the noisy burn's deep channel, he dropped in the heath on the
other side. Angry voices pierced the clamor of the waterfall, as if the
two slower men had found their comrade by the gate. Garnet imagined they
wondered where he had gone, but he hardly thought the fellow he had
knocked out could enlighten them. Well, he had now one less to deal with
and he might risk giving them a lead. If they kept the road, they would
soon find out he was not in front, and the track across the hill was
perhaps marked by a post. Pulling a large stone from the peaty soil, he
rolled it over the bank.

The block struck a ledge and splashed noisily in a pool. Garnet crawled
away for a few yards, and waited behind a clump of tall bent-grass. Two
indistinct figures loomed in the mist and began to run along the burn.
Garnet hoped they took it for granted he had gone for the river, but
when they vanished he went the other way.

Rejoining the road, he kept the grassy border and pushed on up the
valley. By and by the mist melted and pale stars shone above the vague
hill-slopes. A hundred yards off, the river brawled in the rocks and
sometimes a glimmering pool reflected the sky. Garnet's pursuers had
melted like the mist and all he heard was angry water.

After a time he saw a bank of gravel in a hollow where the hillside was
torn by winter storms. The stones were tossed about, as if by horses'
feet, and, outside a central channel, were plowed up in roughly parallel
ridges. Garnet stopped and examined the ground; the stone-boats, on
which the dalesfolk hauled their peat, made marks like that. He thought
the track was the fork from the Copshope path, and, leaving the road, he
began to climb the hill.




XXVI

WHITRIGG FLOW


Half an hour after he left the road, Emerson sat down in the heath and
lighted a cigarette. The spot was four or five hundred feet above the
valley and on the top of a long ridge running down from a dark hill. The
heather was not remarkably wet, and after a strenuous, exhausting day,
Garnet thought himself entitled to take a rest.

For a time he had baffled the gang, and he reflected with grim humor
that three carried his mark. One he had knocked out with a stone in a
field by the Solway. Ivison and he had flung another into a marsh creek,
and he doubted if the third had yet got up from the grass by the gate.
They were perhaps cleverer crooks than scouts.

All the same, his job was not yet finished and to boast was premature.
He must find Keith Harden, and time was going. Since he had alarmed
Basset's lot, they might not wait at Dakershall for their leader; but
Garnet reckoned they did not know where to warn Oakshot and they would
risk it. At all events, when their business was transacted they and the
certificates would vanish, perhaps for good. It was now about nine
o'clock, and Keith must keep the rendezvous in something less than
twenty-four hours. Since Keith was not at Copshope, Garnet must get
there as soon as possible and find out where he was.

He was frankly tired and the night was rather dark. The valley he
steered for was four or five miles off, and then Copshope was four miles
up the dale. On a good road, when one was fresh, nine miles was not much
of a hike, but to push across dark bogs and tangled heather was another
thing. Garnet frowned and began to look about.

The ridge sloped to a deep hollow, on the other side of which a hill
went up. Its top did not join the main ridge; a belt of thicker gloom
marked a gap. The glen below Garnet curved into the moors, and he
thought it flattened out in the wet slopes near their summits. Anyhow,
where there was a glen one found running water, and on the map the
dotted line for some distance followed a burn. Garnet got up stiffly and
fronted the descent.

For three or four hundred feet, he plunged down across sharp stones and
through long heather. He had lost the sledge-track, but that did not
bother him; the stream was his guide and he heard water splash. The
bottom of the glen was very dark and the gloom exaggerated the steepness
of the hill in front. Garnet, searching its vague crest, however, saw it
sloped toward the road he had left. It was a sort of spur, that
projected from the main range, and the faint throb of a cataract
indicated a burn on the other side. Garnet had not reckoned on finding
two burns, and he considered.

To climb the steep, dividing spur was unthinkable; he had begun to feel
he could not hold on for long. The black main rampart of the moor,
however, cut the sky, and either glen would lead him to the top, where
he ought to see the dale up which the road to Copshope went. Yet for a
minute or two he did not start. He was getting exhausted and had not had
much food. The dark hills were daunting and his impulse was to go back
to the valley and take the firm dry road.

Burke had obviously lost his trail and perhaps had returned to Hexham;
Garnet reckoned he had hidden a car behind a wall. He ought to find a
farmstead where he could stop for the night; anyhow, if he followed the
railroad-track, he would reach a station. In the morning he could get a
train and reach Copshope soon after breakfast, which would allow Keith
eight or nine hours to get to Dakershall. The village was on the
Carlisle line, not very far from Hexham.

Garnet knitted his brows. The argument was plausible, but he was arguing
for himself, permitting bodily instincts to conquer his resolution. He
really shrank from the dark and the fresh effort he must make. Keith was
not at Copshope; Garnet did not know where he was, but he must be at
Dakershall on the next evening. Garnet braced up and began the long
climb.

For a time a rough sledge-track followed the stream, but it stopped at
a small, level flat in a bowl-like hollow. Dark moors curved round three
sides and the ground was soft. Water shone in holes where the dalesfolk
had cut peat, and Garnet saw small piles of crumbling blocks, left
perhaps to rot when the autumn rains began. Behind the flat, a long,
broken slope went up, and he hoped it would carry him to the summit of
the moor.

The heath was wet and tangled, and as he advanced the ground got
boggier. He tried the edge of the burn, but his boots sank deep in
spongy moss, and sometimes dead fern covered sharp limestone blocks.
When his boots were soaked and his legs were bruised, he left the water
and plowed stubbornly up the breast of the hill.

By and by the pitch got less steep and the glen got wider. The slopes
rolled back and curved round a sort of shallow basin. Garnet thought
basin the proper word, for the ground was soft and very wet. In some
places it would not bear his foot, but for the most part the surface was
dotted by hummocks of grass and peat, standing, rather like short,
broken pillars, in the bog. Jumping from one to another, he made
progress, but to measure the distance was awkward and sometimes a
hummock sank under his weight. Then water began to shine in the holes,
and Garnet pushed down his stick.

Finding no bottom under the mud, he went cautiously and studied where he
jumped; but the gaps got wider and now and then his foot went through
the rotten peat. At length he stopped, and, balancing awkwardly, looked
for a safer line. He was near the middle of the basin and had thought to
push straight across; but, twenty or thirty yards ahead, the surface was
smooth and livid, and pale reflections seemed to indicate a pool.
Although Garnet heard the burn, the noise was faint, and he thought it
oozed by miry channels from the quaking bog. For a few moments, the
reflections puzzled him, and then he saw the sky behind a hill was
bright. The moon was rising, and soon he ought to see his way.

Garnet pulled out his watch and rubbed a match. Ten o'clock! Since he
got off the train three pretty strenuous hours had gone, and he reckoned
he was not much nearer Copshope. Anyhow, he was not going back
laboriously to firm ground. He had started to cross the bog, and he must
make the other side.

His advance was slow and tortuous. Near the pool the hummocks melted in
slimy ooze, and when he tried to circle round he must take long jumps
and probe with his stick for ground that would carry him. Sometimes, for
a minute or two, he found none and balanced on a sinking tussock. Where
he pulled out his stick bubbles of marsh-gas rose and broke. Yet he was
resolved he would not go back; he dared not own himself beaten.
Moreover, if he could but find firm ground, the effort his return would
cost ought to carry him up the hill.

He pushed on, and by and by jumped for a tall clump of grass. The grass
sank and cold slime closed about his legs. Garnet had broken the
treacherous crust before, but now the mud was round his knees and held
his feet like glue. Yet it was soft and bubbled noisily. The surface
heaved and he felt it slowly pulled him down.

He dared not use much effort. To plunge about would sink him in the
mire, and, leaning gently forward, he seized at arm's length a
heather-bush. The tough stalks held, and although he heard the roots
crack, he got enough support to help him pull his legs near the top. His
chest now touched the mud, but he saw the risk was worse when he was
upright, and, studying every movement, he slowly dragged himself toward
the bush. At length, he got a fresh hold on stalks he could trust. The
strain on his arms was almost intolerable, but he felt the mud let him
go and he crawled on to a bed of heather-roots. His skin was wet by
sweat and chilled by the ooze. His knees were slack, his hands shook,
and he frankly dared not attempt the bog again.

After a time he looked up. The moon had topped the hill behind him, and
on the basin's other side the broken limestone on a summit shone in
silver light. Garnet knew where he was. Harden's gamekeeper had talked
about Whitrigg Flow. The sparkling limestone was the white rigg, and a
_flow_ was a dangerous bog. In Canada _muskeg_ was the word. Well, the
light was creeping down the hill, and he must not yet acknowledge
defeat. When he could see where he went, he might find a way across.
Beating his hands, he lighted a cigarette and waited for the moon to
creep across the hill. His clothes were wet and the night got very
cold----

By and by the pale illumination touched shining water and patches of
smooth green bog. Round the ominous level belts, little mounds, covered
by risp grass and heath, were scattered unevenly, and Garnet hoped he
might find a way over the thickest clumps. Anyhow, he must try before he
was numbed by damp and cold.

He set off. Sometimes his foot slipped and he fell on hands and knees
into the grass for which he jumped; sometimes the treacherous hummock
broke and his leg went down into the mire. For all that, turning and
twisting where the blocks were most numerous, he slowly neared firm
ground, and at length felt stones and dry heather under his squelching
boots. He had crossed the flow, the numbing cold was gone, and he
thrilled triumphantly. The moor-top was now but two or three hundred
feet above.

Gasping and stumbling in the netted heath, he struggled up, and stopped
by a cairn on the flat top. In front was a valley, and far down the
rugged slope he saw a twinkling light. Where there was a light there was
a house, and its occupants were not yet in bed. Garnet nerved himself
for a last effort, and went down the hill.

The twinkle vanished, but after some time he saw a steady yellow glow.
It looked as if a lamp burned in a farmstead kitchen, and, steering for
the spot, he stopped by a gate in a dry-stone wall. A dog barked, and a
man carrying a lantern came from a byre.

"Weel?" he said. "What are ye wanting?"

"I'd like a hot drink and some food; but in particular, I want somebody
to carry a message to Copshope," Garnet replied.

"Ye're acquaint wi' Mr. Harden?" said the farmer, and raised his
lantern.

Garnet's clothes bore the stains of conflict and his scramble through
the bog, and he thought the other's surprise was not remarkable.

"I was his son's pal in Canada and was on my way to Copshope when I got
into the flow."

"Then ye were lucky to win oot," said the farmer dryly. "But that I'm
watching a sick coo, ye would not have found us up. Come ben the hoose."

He showed Garnet into a flagged kitchen where a peat fire burned. A
woman got up and gave Garnet a curious glance. Then she turned to her
husband.

"Hoo's the quey? Will ye save her?"

"I thought she was away wi' it, but she'll maybe live. If I'm wantit,
Jock will call me."

"And wha's yon man?"

"A freend o' Mr. Harden's. He got mired in the flow."

Something like that was obvious. When Garnet went to the fire he left a
wet track across the flags. The woman nodded and fetched him a chair.
Now she knew about the cow, she could think for her guest; but Garnet
knew the Scots were practical.

"Tak' off your boots; it's no lang since the floor was washed," she
said, and lifted a kettle from a hook in the chimney. "Noo, if ye'll
light yon candle, I'll get ye a change."

Garnet went with her to another room, and when she had given him hot
water and dry clothes she pulled a rug across the carpet.

"Ye'll no' leave they clarty things to seep. Bring them back wi' ye."

When Garnet returned to the kitchen a plate of mutton ham and a teapot
were on the table. His appetite was keen, but by and by he pushed back
his plate.

"I ought to start for Copshope, but I doubt if I could get there and I'd
sooner send a note. Has your hired man got a bicycle?"

The woman brought him some note-paper. The farmer went to the porch and
shouted, "Jock!"

A young fellow arrived from the byre, and when Garnet had fastened the
envelope he went with the lad to the courtyard.

"You perhaps know Mr. Harden's butler?"

"Mr. Syme?" said the lad. "Oh, aye; I ken him fine."

"Very well. You must knock until somebody comes down, and tell the
servant to inform Mr. Harden where I am and that I hope to get across in
the morning. Then I want you to give Syme this envelope; if possible,
when nobody is about. Anyhow, you must know he has got it. I think a
neat job deserves some reward."

The lad's grin implied that Garnet could trust him, and pushing his fee
into his pocket, he got on his bicycle. Garnet went back to the kitchen
and thought he had taken the proper line. He must not disturb Mr. Harden
and he did not know if Anne, or Keith, was at home. Old Syme, however,
was a model of discretion, and Garnet imagined Anne had not boasted when
she declared the servants were her friends.

"The Copshope folk may send a car for me, and if they do not, I'll push
off at daybreak," he said. "In the circumstances, a chair by the fire,
is all I want."

His host shouted to his wife upstairs, and pulled an old couch from the
wall.

"The mistress was redding up a room for ye--Well, there's peats in the
basket, and I must away and mind the coo."

He went off, and Garnet, stretching his legs on the couch, was soon
asleep. After some time, his host touched him and he jumped up and
looked for his stick. For a moment he imagined the Basset gang had found
him.

"A car frae Copshope's at the gate," the farmer remarked.

Garnet thanked him and stumbled across the yard. Somebody pulled him on
board the car, the wheels began to turn and the headlamps searched the
uneven road.

"Keith?" he gasped.

"Yes," said Harden. "When your telegram arrived, Anne had gone to a meet
of otter hounds, and she was late for lunch; but as soon as she arrived
she wired you and went off for me. I was shooting and we did not get
back until dark. We had no fresh news from you and were anxious when
your messenger knocked us up. Syme at once gave us your note."

"Oakshot will be at Dakershall in the evening," said Garnet and narrated
his escape from the gang.

"Very well," said Keith, "in the morning we will fix our program, but
you have had enough and I am not remarkably fresh. As soon as we get
home you are going to bed."




XXVII

KEITH GETS BUSY


After breakfast Emerson went with Keith and Anne to the library. He had
not yet seen Mr. Harden and he supposed Mrs. Harden was not up. Anne had
fixed on the library because they would not be disturbed there, and as
they stole along the passage, Garnet felt they had something of the look
of furtive conspirators. He had felt at other times that he plotted
against his host, and he was satisfied that Harden would not like their
plan. Moreover, he saw its weak points and admitted that much must be
left to chance.

The morning was gloomy, and although Anne had ordered a fire to be
lighted, the spacious room was cold. In the woods the long windows
commanded, naked branches tossed in a dreary wind; the moors behind the
trees were dark and forbidding. Garnet thought the reaction after the
strain and fatigue he had borne accounted for his moodiness, but he was
persuaded their risking a fresh encounter with the gang was rash. All
the same, to hesitate now was ridiculous, and he saw the others did not
share his doubts.

Anne was highly strung, but sometimes she smiled with a sort of queer,
triumphant satisfaction. Keith's look was grimly resolute. His mouth was
set, his glance was fixed, and one got a sense of dour Scottish calm.

"To begin with, I'd like you to recount all you heard and saw and did
since you found Burke and Lang at the hotel," he said.

For five or ten minutes Garnet gave him particulars; and then resumed:

"Perhaps Oakshot's fixing Dakershall for the meeting is strange, but all
I know about it is, I saw the village from the Carlisle road."

"Oh, well," said Keith, "we have admitted that, from Oakshot's point of
view, the Hexham neighborhood has some advantages, particularly since it
is not the place where one would look for a gang of crooks. Then, if
Oakshot is anxious to arrange for a quick get-away, it gives him the
choice of three or four routes. The town, of course, is not populous,
but it is a town and the police patrol the streets; and if the fellow is
nervy, he'd sooner take the bonds at a quiet spot. Well, Dakershall is
not far off. In summer, it's a tourists' haunt, and although probably
the holiday folks have gone, two or three strangers stopping for the
night would not attract much notice."

"They would go to Cherry Garth," Anne remarked.

Keith nodded and turned to Emerson. "The Garth is an old-fashioned house
that has recently been used for a hotel. Since the excursionists' season
is over, I expect nobody but two or three servants is about; the gardens
are large and the house stands back from the road. In fact, I don't
know a better spot for a thieves' rendezvous."

"Its loneliness might be awkward for us," Garnet rejoined, and
hesitated. "I don't think the fellows suspected I was in the parlor when
Burke read Oakshot's telegram," he went on. "In fact, I expect they will
chance waiting for him, and they will bring the bonds. Well, our luck
perhaps has been strangely good; but I begin to feel the police ought to
finish the job."

Anne looked up in surprise.

"To imagine you daunted would be absurd. After your last exploit you are
not remarkably fresh, and when one is tired and dull hopefulness is
hard."

"It's possible," Garnet agreed. "All the same, I'm not yet played out.
The trouble rather is, I know where I ought to be satisfied."

Keith turned and gave him a humorous glance.

"You're not logical, Garnet. You yourself urged me to take an
independent line, and the time to ask for the police's help is gone. The
job is not one for a village constable, and we could not get to
headquarters until afternoon. Our tale is not very convincing, and the
chiefs might refuse to move before they made inquiries--Then, you see,
all the evidence implies that I carried off the bonds, and the police
would want to know why I did not enlighten them before. To do so at the
last moment would look like a thieves' quarrel; they'd imagine I was
_ratting_ in order to save myself. Suspicion clings, and I doubt if
anything would afterwards altogether exculpate me."

"It's obvious! You mustn't hesitate," said Anne.

"I dare not hesitate. Unless I get the bonds, I cannot go back to
Canada, and, for all I know, the chiefs at Ottawa have cabled the London
police to search for me. Well, this evening Burke will carry the
documents to Cherry Garth, and somehow I am going to seize the packet."

Garnet's doubts remained, but he admitted Keith was logical. Anyhow,
since he was resolved, one could not move him. They must go through with
it, but some caution must be used.

"You are going to pretend to be a man you do not know, and the likeness
may not cheat folks who know him well. Then you must fix the time to
correspond with the arrival of a train from the south at Newcastle; but
we don't know whether Oakshot will wait for a local train or engage a
car. Suppose he came along before you pulled out? There's another thing:
when he does arrive, the gang will at once start after you. The hill
roads are bad and you could not make Copshope in the dark for two or
three hours. Where are you going to put the bonds?"

"I know," said Anne. "They must go to Hexham. Matthews, the bank
manager, will lock them in his safe."

"You have got it!" Garnet agreed. "But Keith must not go to Hexham. He
will give me the packet and start another way."

"But I must go alone to Dakershall," Keith objected. "If the gang
spotted you, they would see the trick."

Garnet smiled. "They will not spot me; we knew something about scouting
in the Royal North-West. You will give me a note for the banker, and you
might perhaps pick me up after I have handed him the bonds. Now let's
study the time-table and fix our program."

They were occupied for some time; and then Keith got up.

"I think the plan will work. There is, of course, a chance the men may
know I am not their confederate; and if the interview were long, an
inquiry I could not answer might bowl me out. All the same, they expect
Oakshot, they have some grounds to be uneasy, and I must work upon their
fears. In fact, I must get the bonds and get away as soon as possible.
Well, we start after lunch, and in the meantime I'll see if the car's
all right."

He went off and Anne crossed the floor. Her color was rather high and
when Emerson got up she gave him an apologetic smile.

"One takes one's courage for granted; but when I need mine, I find it's
gone. You see, I persuaded Keith to come across, and now we must front
the consequences I'm horribly anxious. Then, I feel I have entangled
you. You were our guest and I ought to have left you alone."

"Then I'd have been hurt," said Garnet. "Before I was Mr. Harden's
guest I was your brother's pal; and afterwards----"

He hesitated, and Anne gave him a queer, challenging glance.

"Afterwards, you were, for example, my indulgent confederate? Well, that
was something, because I expect you really thought me rash."

"So long as you know I'm your servant, we perhaps can let it go," said
Garnet in a quiet voice. "For one thing, I have not yet put across my
job. Anyhow, you mustn't be disturbed. I think tonight's encounter is
the last and in the morning we'll be justified to boast. When one is up
against it, temperament counts for much, and Keith's as steady as a rock
and as hard to daunt."

"Keith is like that," Anne agreed, with a touch of pride. "In a sense,
he is not red-blooded, as you use the words in the West. Like a Scot, he
weighs the obstacles, but when he thinks the venture justified he does
not stop. However, not long since I thought you doubted."

"I did not doubt Keith's nerve, and I admitted he might seize the
documents--Well, I expect I was ridiculous----"

Anne nodded, sympathetically, as if she understood.

"You declared our luck was strangely good and one must know where to
stop! Perhaps the caution's instinctive; sometimes one is afraid to
seize all one wants. Although you were willing to fight, you felt
victory might be expensive. In fact, to win might cost us more than we
knew?"

She turned her head for a moment, and then gave Emerson a level glance.

"Well, I myself have felt something like that, but I dared not let it
frighten me. We cannot turn back, and if somehow I am hurt by our
triumph, I have a noble champion."

Garnet said nothing. He saw Anne was moved by queer emotion, and
although she was frank, he thought she did not want him to talk. All the
same, he thrilled, and Anne, smiling as if she approved his reserve,
went off.

Lunch was rather dreary, and Garnet sensed the queer strain that
sometimes marked the function when his hosts were about. He had felt a
puzzling shadow rested on the house. Keith's triumphant return from
Dakershall ought perhaps to banish the gloom, but Garnet wondered----

He thought Anne's efforts for cheerfulness cost her much and he knew her
highly strung. Keith was quiet and his look was grim. Harden was
preoccupied, and Garnet wondered whether he was hurt because his son did
not enlighten him about the undertaking in which he was rather obviously
engaged. All Harden knew was that they had some business to transact at
Hexham and might not be back until nine or ten o'clock. Since he had
grounds to infer Keith's going about was rash, the statement did not
reassure the old man much. Mrs. Harden was frankly curious. In fact,
Garnet thought her disturbed and perhaps antagonistic; but she did not
make any direct inquiry about her stepson's excursion.

To get up was some relief, and a few minutes afterward a servant brought
Anne's small car to the steps. Harden went to the door and Garnet
thought his giving Keith his hand significant.

"Although I don't know your business, I hope it's satisfactory," he
said.

"If all goes as I expect, you will know when we are back, sir, and I
believe you'll like my news," said Keith.

He got on board and started the engine, and Emerson, turning his head,
saw Mrs. Harden at the door. Her pose was queerly stiff, and she looked
straight in front; but Garnet was not much interested, for Anne, on the
bottom step, smiled pluckily and waved them good luck. Then the car
swung round a curve and Copshope vanished behind the trees.




XXVIII

CHERRY GARTH


The afternoon was bleak, and dark clouds rolled across the hills. Keith
did not talk much and Emerson cogitated rather moodily. His adventures
were almost over and that was something, for he admitted the part he had
been forced to take was not properly his. Keith's misfortune and Anne's
resolve to help her brother had entangled him.

Garnet did not regret his rash compliance, but he had felt from the
beginning he was not the stuff of which one could shape a theatrical
conspirator. Keith certainly was not; yet he was going to Dakershall,
and Garnet knew he would play up. After all, he reflected with dry
amusement, they had so far made good. It looked as if Anne knew how to
handle an awkward team.

Stopping for food at an inn on the moors, they got out the time-table
and reviewed their plans. Keith must arrive at Cherry Garth some time
before the train they reckoned Oakshot would get reached Dakershall. He
would explain that he did not want to wait at Newcastle and had another
object for using a car. Then, working on his supposititious
confederates' fears, he must get the bonds, and vanish when he had
given Emerson the documents. Garnet had a note for Matthews, the
banker, and would join a train for Hexham that arrived not long after
Oakshot's, but from the opposite direction. The plan looked workable,
but much, so to speak, depended on all synchronizing.

For a time they smoked by the fire; and then Keith pulled out his watch
and they got in the car. Garnet mechanically braced up. When they next
stopped, the last encounter would begin. So far as they could arrange
it, the stage was set, and they knew their parts, but they could not
altogether foresee how the act would go.

In the early dark the car rolled quietly through Dakershall. It looked
as if the tourists were gone, for nobody was in the long street. Two or
three shop windows were dimly illuminated, and Garnet marked the station
lights at the top of the hill, and a gate opening to a path across the
fields. Anne had told him the path went to Cherry Garth. At the end of
the village, they crossed a noisy river and took a road under a grove of
oaks. A few stars shone behind the branches, but the moon was not up,
and the evening was rather dark and cold. Dead leaves crackled beneath
the wheels and Garnet noted their faint aromatic smell.

By and by Keith steered the car on to the grass in the opening to a
lane. They got down, and for a few minutes followed the road under the
trees. Then, fifty or sixty yards back, they saw lights behind the
trunks and Keith stopped by a stone gate-post.

"You will be on the terrace in about ten minutes; I mustn't stay much
longer. Watch the door and the ground-floor windows," he said coolly,
and went up the drive.

Emerson waited. By contrast, his part was an easy part, but when he
weighed the chances Keith took he was anxious for his friend. All the
same, he must not dwell on things like that; and, reflecting that Keith
was not the sort to get rattled, he began to look about.

Cherry Garth was an old Georgian house, and since Anne had stopped
there, he knew its ground-floor plan. The rooms the guests used fronted
the terrace, and one or two long windows opened on the flags. The roof
was low, and in the background naked trees cut the sky. The lawn was
bordered on one side by dark Scots firs, and broken by yews and
cypresses. Under the Scots firs Garnet had remarked a wicket-gate.

Wide steps went up to the middle of the terrace, and a beam of light
touched the pillars at the porch. The big main door was open, and Garnet
thought a glass door protected the hall. Lights shone behind three or
four window-shades, but that was all. The house was quiet, as if the
last summer guests and most of the servants had taken their departure.
Garnet studied the gravel by the gate and saw but few wheel-marks. In
fact, for a minute or two the quiet was rather daunting, and when the
branches shook in the wind to hear the noise was some comfort.

Then heavy, measured steps echoed in the gloom, and Garnet pulled out a
cigarette and rubbed a match. If the man passed the gate, he would
sooner it looked as if he had strolled down the path for a smoke. The
steps, however, stopped, and a dog barked. Garnet, noting a faint
reflection farther along the road, imagined a field laborer had gone
into a cottage. The fellow's boots were thick and his stride was slow.

Garnet waited for another minute or two, and then started for the house;
but although he kept the grass edge, he smoked his cigarette. If
somebody came to the door, he must carelessly inquire for an imaginary
guest. Nobody came, and when he was near the steps he threw his
cigarette into a clump of cypress and stole across the lawn.

The terrace wall went up from a low bank, and he got down quietly on the
other side. The top reached a few inches above his waist, and urns for
flowers, spaced at even distances, occupied the wide coping. If he stood
behind an urn, he thought nobody would see him. He knew where the
smoking-room was, and creeping along the terrace, he counted the
windows. On the whole, he thought Burke and Lang would take Keith there.

The room was large. Two long windows opened to the terrace, and in front
were short iron steps. Garnet crouched on the bottom step and thought
the room dimly lighted. Perhaps they used oil, and since the guests were
obviously not numerous, the servants had not bothered to light all the
lamps. Anyhow, Keith would not ask for much illumination.

Garnet thought the windows modern. Half-way up in the one he faced, he
noted a curved lever fastening. Thin shades covered the glass, and
heavier curtains, looped across, left a gap in which human figures were
silhouetted. Two men were at a table, and one or two more stood a short
distance behind the others. All the same, the picture was not sharp; the
lights were not at the proper spot to give all the shadows
individuality.

Using some caution, Garnet straightened his back and brought his head
nearer the glass. The men were talking, and although the thick curtains
muffled their voices, he thought one was Keith's. Anyhow, he must try to
hear. So far, Keith had put across his bluff. His nerve was very good,
and he would see he did not front a strong light; the trouble was, he
could not be silent, and men's voices differed. If he were forced to
talk much, the others might find out the cheat. Garnet wondered whether
he could push back the fastening, and he felt for his knife.

The blade jarred on iron. One of the shadows wavered, as if somebody
looked up, and Garnet crouched on the step. If the fellow came to the
window, he must pull up the shades and throw back the frame; and then
the light would probably shine over Garnet's bent head. Moreover, when
the night is dark, to look out from an illuminated room is puzzling.

For all that, Garnet presently crawled away for two or three yards. He
must not make another attempt to open the fastening, and one could see
the terrace from the road. When he had stood nearly upright his figure
was no doubt visible against the glass. He had heard steps, and if the
fellow had not stopped at the cottage, his thinking Garnet's movements
suspicious would not be strange.

Garnet admitted he was anxious. Although he could not see his watch, he
knew some time had gone since Keith left him at the gate, and the train
from Newcastle would presently arrive. Unless Keith got the bonds soon,
he and the man he impersonated would meet. Garnet supposed he would hear
the train run down the valley, but so far all was quiet.

A stick cracked by the hedge across the lawn and he turned his head. He
had not heard fresh steps; but a belt of grass went along the hedge
bank, and if somebody were in the road his silent advance was ominous.
For a few moments Garnet concentrated--All he heard was the branches
shaking in the wind and dead leaves blown about the road. Well, he must
not indulge his imagination, and, until he knew Keith did not want him,
he must keep his post. All the same, time was going, and the suspense
was hard----

Garnet jumped to his feet. A voice in the room got sharp and a shadow
flickered across the glass. Garnet clenched his fist. The gangsters,
perhaps, had found out they were cheated, but he could not get in.

The puzzling shadow disappeared and he heard a crash. Somebody had
knocked down the lamp and he thought it was Keith. When one could not
fight, to get away was easier in the dark. Then the window rattled and
swung back. Somebody jumped out, and pushed a packet into Garnet's hand.
The man vanished, and Garnet ran along the terrace. Keith had given him
the bonds and he must carry out his job.

Another man sprang from the window and, jumping the wall, sped across
the lawn. Garnet saw somebody run up the path, and he pushed the packet
under his coat. Then, stopping at the porch, he faced a breathless
policeman. He hoped it looked as if he had just come from the house, and
the constable did not remark that the glass door was shut.

"A man jumped from the smoking-room window; I thought somebody lurked
about," gasped the constable. "Did you see him? Where did he go?"

"I heard a noise," said Garnet. "Come in, and we'll inquire about it."

"Tell the manager!" shouted the policeman, and hurried along the
terrace.

Garnet let him go and started for the gate. A bright beam shone from the
hall door, and he thought people ran about in the house. The constable
had seen him at the window and thought he broke in. Garnet imagined he
had not seen Keith steal off; the man he inquired about was the fellow
who jumped the wall. Keith had got away a moment or two before. The
hedge by the road was thick and perhaps blocked the officer's view.

When Garnet reached the gate, dead leaves rustled in the grass border
and boots rang on stones. Three people were in the dark road. Keith was
first, and Garnet thought he took the grass; he ought to keep in front,
and his car was at the corner of the lane. Basset's man tried to
overtake him, and the constable followed Basset's man. He kept the road,
and for all his thick boots, his speed was good. Garnet imagined that
none but he knew who the others were. Basset's man, no doubt, thought
the fellow behind him his confederate, and might soon get a jar. Garnet
himself rather cautiously followed the constable. To some extent, he
felt the situation was humorous.

An engine rattled; dazzling light swept the hedge rows, and he knew
Keith had reached his car. One pursuer stopped, but the other did not,
and it looked as if the constable would seize his man. Then a whistle
pierced the car's receding throb, and Garnet knew the train from
Newcastle had arrived. In a few minutes, Oakshot would take the road for
Cherry Garth.

Garnet stopped and pondered. If he joined the constable and they got
help, it might be possible to round up the gang; but he saw some
obstacles. He had engaged to carry the bonds to Hexham and meet Keith at
a spot they had fixed. If he did not arrive, Keith would return to look
for him and might be arrested for another of the gang. Anyhow, to
enlighten the constable implied his being forced to give the fellow's
officers all his confidence. Moreover, the packet he carried was rather
bulky and might be lost in a struggle with Basset's man.

On the whole, Garnet thought he must leave the job for the police, and
since the constable was on the road in front, he resolved to take the
fields.




XXIX

GARNET DELIVERS THE BONDS


After a time Garnet stopped at the top of a rocky bank. Alders spread
their branches across the precipitous slope, and the night was dark, but
he heard an angry current break against the stones. The river had
bothered him; in the dark he could not find a spot to cross and he dared
not go back to the bridge. For one thing, a noise in the road had seemed
to indicate that the constable had seized Basset's man. Then, since he
did not want to be conspicuous, to arrive at the station with the water
draining from his clothes had obvious disadvantages.

Garnet wondered where the gang was. He was satisfied two men, besides
Keith, were in the smoking-room, and he rather thought there was
another. The constable perhaps had arrested one, but Oakshot had, no
doubt, joined his friends, and Garnet reckoned they would use some
effort to recover the bonds. Anyhow, his business was to get to Hexham,
and he pulled out his watch and rubbed a match. The time was later than
he thought and his train would soon start. He must get across the river,
and he ran along the bank.

A path went down to some stepping-stones, but when Garnet got across he
clenched his fist. The lights in the village were some distance off and
the station was at its other end. Then the path was uneven; he stumbled
over roots and ledges, and plunged into holes, but he thought he heard
the train and he savagely pushed ahead.

When he reached a gate and jumped into the street the roll of wheels was
loud, and fiery reflections lighted a plume of steam. Gasping and
sweating, Garnet went up the hill, shouted for a ticket, and leaped into
a compartment where other people were. A jolt threw him against the
cushions, the station-lights slid back, and, sitting down in a corner,
he labored for breath.

"You were nearabouts too late," a passenger remarked. "When you sprinted
along platform, I thowt I'd seen worse running at Moorend sports."

Garnet laughed, and his laugh struck a triumphant note. He had made it!
If Basset's lot were on board the train, they dared not meddle with him
so long as people were about, and when he reached the banker's office
the strain would be over.

"Sometimes speed is useful, and I wasn't keen about waiting for another
train," he replied, and felt he did not exaggerate. "I expect I can get
to Bellingham tonight?"

"A motor-bus goes from Hexham. You'll have half an hour to wait," the
passenger agreed.

Garnet leaned back in his corner and lighted a cigarette. Anne, in the
library at Copshope, had fixed the time-table; Garnet pictured her
balancing her pencil and knitting her brows. All went as she
calculated, but he had known Anne's staff-work was good. In fact, but
for her, Keith and he might not have bluffed the gang and carried off
the bonds. Perhaps, if when he first met Basset, they had called the
police, the officers might, some time since, have seized the bonds and
the gang; but Garnet was not going to dwell on things like that, and,
after all, he did not know.

In the meantime, he was safe in the corner of the smoking-compartment,
and two big Northumbrians occupied the other seat. Moreover, one
presently stated that he was going to Bellingham, and Garnet, noting his
muscular arms and heavy shoulders, thought if the gang did hit his
track, he might find a useful champion.

When the train stopped at Hexham he waited for a moment by the carriage
door and looked about. Nobody he knew got down, but the gang might use a
fast car and he must see the bonds locked up as soon as possible. The
bank was near the hotel at which he had stopped, and when Garnet
knocked, Matthews himself let him in. The banker was tall and strongly
built; his hands were large and his shoulders were rather bent.

"You are Mr. Emerson?" he said. "I got Mr. Harden's telegram and heard
your train arrive. You were not long on the road from the station."

Garnet noted the faint Northumbrian burr and inferred Matthews sprang
from yeoman stock. He had some grounds to like North Country folk, and
he knew he could trust the fellow.

"Oh, well," he said, "the packet I've brought is important, and I felt
when I had delivered it I'd be happier."

Matthews signed him to come in, and they went to an office where he got
a light. Garnet saw old-fashioned shutters covered the window fronting
the street, and he knew the banker had remarked his glance, but he
opened an iron door. A lock clicked, steel jarred on steel; and then the
door clanged and Matthews was back.

Garnet sat down rather slackly. The documents were safe and he began to
feel that Keith and he had really won. Sometimes he had thought it
impossible, and now the reaction bothered him.

"I expect you want an acknowledgment?" Matthews remarked.

"No, thanks," said Garnet firmly. "You might post a receipt to Keith
Harden at Copshope. I'd sooner not carry the paper."

Matthews' glance was keen, but he nodded carelessly.

"Very well. There is a fire in my sitting-room and I'm not occupied."

Garnet went with him, and when the banker gave him a drink he drained
his glass.

"Then Keith Harden is at home? I supposed the telegram was from his
father," Matthews resumed.

"Keith is not anxious for anybody but his friends to know he is at
Copshope."

"For a number of years Mr. Harden has been my customer and I think I
enjoy his confidence," Matthews remarked in a meaning voice. "You are
evidently his son's friend. The telegram stated you were a trustworthy
messenger, and you perhaps wonder how much I know. Well, I know the
Canadian bank was robbed and it looked as if Keith Harden was
implicated."

"Then, I hope you're satisfied the men who suspected him are fools!"

"I have met none and do not know," said Matthews with a touch of humor.
"I have, however, met your friend, and to doubt his honesty would be
absurd. Up-rightness is a tradition of his house. Perhaps I must not ask
you for particulars; but, if I can help, you can reckon on my doing so."

"Thanks," said Garnet. "You can guard the documents. If it were known
that you had them, I rather think one or two first-class crooks would
look you up. However, I have stopped some minutes and must get the bus
for Bellingham."

"Our safe is good; but in the morning I must send some securities to the
Newcastle office, and the manager will lock up your packet in his
thief-proof vaults. Would you like me to walk down to the bus with you?"

"I think not," said Garnet with a smile. "For one thing, the Hexham
people know you, and if an interested stranger spotted me, I'd sooner he
did not find out I was at your bank."

Matthews nodded. "Yes, of course! Well, I'll see the police officer
whose business it is to patrol the street, and by noon tomorrow your
packet will be at Newcastle."

Garnet thanked him and went off. But for a few young men and women, he
met nobody in the street, and a few minutes after he reached its
starting-place the motor-bus took the road. The farmer he had met and
two or three more were on board, and Garnet lighted his pipe and let
himself go slack. Now he had carried out his job, he was strangely
tired, and all he wanted was to indulge his rather languid satisfaction.
The bonds were in the banker's safe, and so far as he knew, nobody had
spotted him. In fact, he believed the gang had scattered at Dakershall.

The bus jolted noisily along the road. Sometimes farmstead lights
twinkled in the gloom; sometimes the rattling wheels stopped and a
passenger got down, but nobody got on board and no car sped by. For the
most part, all outside the shaking windows was indistinct; the dull
rumble and rocking were soothing, and when at length the engine stopped,
Garnet thought he had slept.

A cold wind blew up the village street; the moon was hidden and the
stars were dim. Where the white houses were separated by gardens, vague,
dark hills cut the sky. The passengers went the other way, and when
their steps got faint Garnet mechanically grasped his stick. He admitted
he had begun to be afraid in the dark. After a time, shining windows
marked an inn. Garnet stopped and saw Keith at the door.

"Well?" said Harden quietly.

"All's right. Matthews has the documents. Were you followed?"

"I think not. At all events, nobody tried to stop me."

"We have made it!" said Garnet in a triumphant voice. "Anne has put her
scheme across!"

Keith smiled and took him to a small, old-fashioned room. A cheerful
fire burned in the grate, food was on the table, and Keith signed Garnet
to a chair.

"I think we have earned our supper and a short rest."

Garnet's appetite was keen, but by and by he lighted his pipe and
stretched his legs to the fire.

"Now I want to know all about your exploit. When you left me at the gate
I was horribly anxious."

"Oh, well, I had tried to calculate the chances and thought I might make
good. To begin with, the fellows expected the man whose place I took.
Then the landlord was closing down for the winter and had sent off most
of his servants. Some rooms were shut, the lamps were not all burning,
and where the light was good I allowed the others to go in front."

Garnet nodded. Keith did not get rattled; he pictured his coolly
maneuvering for the proper spot.

"Who was there?"

"Burke and Lang. I think another was Basset, but I did not get his
name."

"Three!" said Garnet. "But for the gang, the house was almost unoccupied
and you were alone. You surely have some gall!"

"So long as I was at the house, I reckoned I was comparatively safe. The
gang might be willing to put me out; but I did not think they'd risk it
where somebody would find me very soon afterwards. Then, of course, a
shot would bring the landlord. Besides, I thought them nervy and anxious
to finish the job. In fact, it looked as if the police at length began
to push them hard."

"You were there _soon_," said Garnet. "And then your voice----"

"My voice helped. They had fixed to meet a Canadian and I talked like a
Westerner. My arriving rather soon was useful, and helped me scare the
gang. The police were getting busy and I had got one or two nasty jars.
If I waited at Newcastle, I might be spotted, and I hired up a car. The
explanation went; but I must get away before the proper man arrived, and
I had not much time--Well, we went to the smoking-room. The fire was
low, the room was cold, and all the light was a tall pillar lamp. A
waiter followed us and wanted to put things straight, but I sent him off
for drinks and stated that we were not stopping long. I chanced the
others' noting I was keen to quit. To some extent, I had accounted for
my eagerness----"

Keith lighted a cigarette and Garnet pondered his narrative. Its reserve
and concentration were typical of the narrator. He saw Keith coolly work
on the others' nervousness and use all the advantage it gave him.

"I needed a drink," Keith resumed. "You see, if somebody asked for
particulars I could not supply, I was done for. Two, I think, were
satisfied and wanted to be off; I feel the other was not. My chair was
some distance from the passage and near the lamp, but not where the
light touched my face, and I wondered if the fellow had noted my
choosing the spot. I took him for Basset, and hoped he had not remarked
the lever fastening of the long iron window behind the thin shade----

"At all events, I felt he studied me, and for some minutes the strain
was fierce. Then Burke pulled out the certificates, and since I'd seen
Walthew's list at Miscana, I was able to state the sums and numbers.
Perhaps I was too keen and something of my control went, for I made a
fool inquiry. Burke turned and asked a challenging question in a sharp
voice, and when I looked at Basset I saw he knew who I was----"

Keith unconsciously set his mouth, as if the tension had not yet
altogether relaxed.

"Well, Basset had perhaps an object for waiting; but I had not. Although
he said nothing, he commanded my line to the door, and in a few minutes
Oakshot would arrive. I leaned back, as carelessly as possible; away
from the documents on the table, but nearer the lamp. I believed I could
reach it, and I did not see another plan. The lamp crashed, my hand met
Basset's on the table, but I got the bonds. He was on the other side,
and in the dark I jumped for the window. When the first man got out, I
was on the lawn, and I reached my car a few moments ahead. Well, I
think that's all you did not know."

Garnet narrated his part, and then got up.

"I expect the country policeman knew nothing about the gang; but I
rather think he got the man who followed you. Since the others did not
bother me at Hexham, they were not on board my train. Looks as if they
pulled out for Carlisle. But I reckon we ought to start."




XXX

GARNET SHUTS THE GATE


A shower beat the streaming glass, and Harden slowed the car. The
unfenced road was loose and stony, and the curves were sharp. On one
side, a burn splashed in a deep hollow.

By and by the rain stopped. Wet stones flashed in silver light and water
sparkled in the rocks. Dark shadow veiled the moor's steep slopes, but
the moon was on the valley that opened in front, and Emerson knew the
woods and fields. Copshope was three or four miles off, and he imagined
Anne anxiously awaited her brother's arrival. She would soon know they
had conquered, and when he pictured her satisfaction he thrilled. The
triumph was Anne's and Keith's; but, after all, he had helped.

Yet, until they were at Copshope, Garnet felt he must not boast. All had
gone better than he had had much reason to hope, and somehow he was
nervous. He wondered whether Keith's exculpation would banish the gloom
that seemed to haunt the old house, but he doubted. Moreover, they had
three or four miles to go and the car did not run smoothly. A back tire
was getting soft, but Keith thought he could reach the house before it
went down. When he let the engine go Garnet touched him.

"Watch out for the gate near the bottom of the hill."

"If we stop, I may be forced to change the tire," Harden grumbled.

A minute or two afterward, the car sped round a curve and they saw the
gate across the road. Harden swore, the brakes jarred, and Garnet,
jumping down, threw back the gate. He used some force, for the post was
not upright and the spring was stiff, and he had already opened a number
of gates. The car rolled ahead, and when it stopped behind the dry-stone
wall Garnet crossed the road. The gate had swung back into the heather
and the bottom rail was jammed. He began to kick some turf from under
the bar, but Harden called him.

"Perhaps you can fix the pump on the valve. My hands are stiff."

Garnet left the gate and attached the pump. Keith beat his hands and
resumed:

"The tire is going down; but I expect she will carry us home and I don't
want to bother with the spare tire."

Garnet looked up. The engine was running quietly, and he thought he
heard a measured beat some distance off.

"A motorcycle?" he said.

"The burn in the stones," said Keith, and laughed. "Anyhow, a motorcycle
is a common object, and at the most carries two passengers. If Basset
had wanted to load up his friends, he'd have got a car."

He began to pump, and Garnet refastened the spare tire. The motorcycle
was perhaps behind the hill, but he rather thought he had only heard the
noisy burn. A cold wind blew across the moors, and, forgetting the gate
was yet open, he began to walk about.

By and by he turned his head. The thudding noise was distinct, and when
he looked uphill, a swift refulgence touched the heather on one side of
the curve. He had not been cheated: a motorcycle was in the road. The
moon was bright, the wet stones sparkled, and Harden, his head and
shoulders bent, labored at the pump, a foot or two from the wheel. He
was on the near, his proper, side, and although the road was narrow,
Garnet thought there was room for a cautious driver to pass the car. On
the other side, the stones did not, for two or three yards, run into the
heather.

Garnet afterward decided that he had noted the particulars
subconsciously. When one is highly strung one does not measure
distances; but when he recaptured the scene at Copshope all was as
distinct, and went as swiftly, as a moving-picture.

A motorcycle, snorting explosively, leaped round the curve. Garnet saw a
man's bent figure, and water splash about the wheels. The fellow was
going very fast, and obviously did not mean to stop for Harden's car.
Garnet was on the unoccupied side of the road, and rather behind the
wall. He supposed the motorcyclist did not know he was about. The gate,
however, was open, and since the fellow did not pull up when he saw
Harden, Garnet inferred he had nothing to do with Basset's lot.

Then the motorcycle swerved. The driver was not going round the car, as
he ought. His body got straight, as if he braced himself against a
shock, and he steered for Harden, who was still occupied with the pump.
Garnet saw his object. The brute was going to run down Keith; and,
plunging across the road, he shut the gate.

The fastening held, but rails and braces crashed. Splintered wood was
thrown about, the motorcycle went on end, and a man, hurled across the
shattered bars, struck the stones. He groaned, and then was quiet, his
bent arm thrown forward in front of his head. When Garnet reached him,
his face was stained with blood. A small pistol, jolted from his pocket,
sparkled in a pool. Garnet got down in the road and lifted the other's
head.

"Oakshot!" he gasped.

"The tinhorn I met at Vancouver," Keith agreed. "Steady him for a few
moments. I don't think he's dead."

They examined the unconscious man. Although Keith was awkward, Garnet
had helped injured men before. Oakshot's skin was cold and his pulse was
very slow, but it had not stopped. By and by Garnet got up and looked
about. He saw the broken gate and sweep of lonely, shining road; and
then the moon went behind a cloud. But for the burn's turmoil, all was
quiet.

"I suppose the shock accounts for his unconsciousness; he was going for
you at full speed. Nothing seems to indicate a broken arm or leg, but I
don't know about his ribs. Anyhow, we cannot leave him in the road."

"He is going to Copshope," said Harden grimly. "We'll send for a doctor,
and as soon as the fellow is able to talk, I'll force him to give us a
statement about the robbery. Let's get him in the car."

To do so was awkward. Anne's car was small, and the unconscious man was
a heavy load. At length, however, they put him on the cushions, where
Harden could squeeze between his legs and the wheel.

"You must sit on the running-board," he said to Emerson.

Garnet ran back to the gate and dragged the broken motorcycle down the
bank. Then he jumped up, and Keith, warning him to hold on, let the
engine go.

When they rolled under the beeches at Copshope the moon was behind a
cloud and rain beat the trunks. One or two dim lights glimmered behind
the trees, and Garnet thought Mr. Harden and Madam had some time since
gone to bed; they knew nothing about the object for Keith's excursion.
Slowing the car, he touched Emerson.

"Until somebody helps you move the fellow, I cannot get down. Anne will
be waiting for us. Tell her to call Syme."

He drove quietly, but when he stopped in front of the house a beam shone
from the door and a slim figure cut the light. Garnet ran up the steps,
and when Anne gave him her hand he felt it shake, although her pose was
firm.

"All's right!" he said. "We have got the bonds."

"That's splendid! But Keith----"

"He's in the car and wants you to send Syme. You see, we have got the
gang's leader, and he's hurt."

"I kept Syme up. Wait a moment," said Anne, and was gone.

Garnet thought her coolness cost her something, but she was cool and
efficient. In a few moments she returned with Syme, and Garnet and the
old fellow went to the car. Keith put his arm round Oakshot, who tried
to get up.

"I'm not yet all in. If you steady me, I guess I can walk," he gasped.

They got him from the car and up the steps. Syme and Keith supported
him, and although he leaned against them awkwardly, they went along a
passage to a small room on the ground floor. The room was warm; thick
curtains covered the windows and a brass kettle steamed by the fire.
Keith put Oakshot on a couch and Syme pulled off his boots. His head was
cut, and by contrast with the smear of blood, his face was blanched, but
his eyes were open.

Anne, standing by the couch, gave him a searching glance. Her look was
rather surprised than pitiful, and a touch of haughtiness marked her
pose.

"The likeness is extraordinary," she said in a queer, level voice. "Get
the brandy, Syme. I doubt if we can carry him quietly upstairs."

"If you don't mind, I'd sooner you left me alone. I rather think one or
two of my ribs are broken," Oakshot remarked.

"Can we get Doctor Scott?" Anne asked Syme.

"The doctor's at Myrtoun. I'm thinking he will not be back before the
morn."

Anne nodded, as if she had some ground to believe the butler's surmise
accurate.

"It's awkward! Well, bring the brandy and some rugs."

Syme brought the rugs, made up the fire, and went off. The old fellow
knew his job; moreover, he knew Anne. She mixed a hot drink and gave it
to Oakshot, who drained the glass.

"We will get the doctor as soon as possible," she said. "I don't know if
you ought to talk; but how did you get hurt?"

"As a rule, a broken rib is not a dangerous injury and I have been worse
hurt before. The knock I took when I came off my motorcycle perhaps
explains my slackness. Your friend shut a gate in front of me."

Garnet looked up. Oakshot's reply was rather labored, but he did not
talk like the ruffianly adventurers one met at red-light
gambling-joints. His voice had a touch of cultivation, and his crooked
smile indicated ironical humor.

"You meant him to hit the gate?" Anne said to Emerson.

"That is so. He was steering for Keith, who pumped up a tire, and did
not see him."

"I expected Keith, rather than me, would be hurt," Oakshot resumed.
"Anyhow, I was resolved to get back some documents he had carried off;
but until I swerved and could not stop, I did not know the other was
about. He probably saw I meant to force a collision."

Anne turned to Garnet, and although she said nothing, he thrilled when
he met her glance. Then she knitted her brows.

"There is no use in sending for the doctor; he cannot leave his
patient," she said to Oakshot. "I believe we ought not to move you from
the couch. At all events, you cannot run away."

"I am resigned to stop," said Oakshot, and although his voice was
uneven, his queer smile was rather marked. "For one thing, the police
will soon begin a careful search for me; but I think I'm as safe at
Copshope as at any spot I know."

Anne turned abruptly and fronted him. Her glance was very keen and
somehow disturbed. Garnet thought she, like himself, began to see a
light.

"I do not understand," she said. "What do you imply?"

"In the circumstances, perhaps you ought to know. The strange thing is,
you really seem to need the explanation. Although you may not be proud
to own me, I am your half-brother."

The blood came to Anne's skin, and then her face got white. Keith
jumped up, his fist firmly clenched; and Garnet looked straight in
front. All shrank from the illumination they had got, but none could
doubt.

"You are younger than Keith?" said Anne, in a rather breathless voice.

"Two years, I believe," Oakshot agreed. "In a way, the time is
important. You see, your mother was not mine; I am the second Mrs.
Harden's son."

Anne crossed the floor and sat down at the other end of the room. Keith
leaned against the table, and Oakshot was quiet. His face was wet by
sweat, as if his efforts to talk had exhausted him, but Garnet thought
he indulged a sort of malignant triumph.

Then they heard steps in the passage and Anne got up.

"Father!" she said, rather hoarsely. "Well, he must know, and I hope he
will not make me accountable--but, after all, I was justified. Keith is
innocent; he could not be allowed to carry a load that is not his----"

"Your meddlesome friend is accountable," Oakshot rejoined. "When he shut
the gate he did not know all he did."

The door was pushed back and Harden and Mrs. Harden came in. Harden
stopped and his look got very stern; Mrs. Harden gasped and trembled,
but she crossed the floor to Oakshot's couch. Oakshot's effort to brace
up was obviously painful; he had not long since taken a nasty knock. It,
however, had nothing to do with Garnet, and he stole away.




XXXI

A TRUE BILL


In the morning Garnet had breakfast alone. Syme served him, and stated
in a confidential voice that the doctor had arrived and, Syme
understood, was not disturbed about his patient. Garnet wondered how
much the old fellow guessed, but he imagined Mr. Harden could reckon on
his discreet support.

After breakfast, he went to the terrace. The morning was calm, and,
sitting down where pale sunshine touched the old house's front, he
lighted his pipe. His business called, and now the bonds were recovered,
Keith and he ought to start for Montreal. Moreover, Mr. Harden and Madam
would be willing for them to go. All the same, Garnet frankly did not
want to start. Miscana was four thousand miles from Copshope, and this
time there was nothing to justify his coming back. Anne no longer needed
him; he had finished his job.

For a time he brooded; and then Anne came from the house. Garnet noted
that she was pale, but when she joined him on the bench she was not
embarrassed. Well, he knew her pluck; Anne would not want him to
pretend.

"I am afraid you got an awkward shock," he said.

"Well, I must take my punishment. But for my meddling, Keith would not
have come home. Yet I don't know that I am sorry. Keith is my brother; I
feel the other is not. In fact, I think I hate him. When you shut the
gate he meant to drive his motorcycle over Keith, and after we put him
on the couch, although he was faint and shaken, he wanted to hurt us."

Garnet nodded. He had thought Oakshot malignant; at all events, if
_malignant_ was not the proper word, the fellow was glad he yet had
power to humiliate his relations. The ground, however, was awkward, and
although Anne's frankness moved him, he said nothing. She noted his
reserve and gave him a kind look.

"You are not a stranger, Garnet. You are my friend and Keith's, and
Father trusts you."

"Mrs. Harden cannot reckon me her friend," said Garnet, with a touch of
embarrassment.

"If she were revengeful, I am the proper subject for her dislike, but I
do not think she is revengeful. Although Madam and I have jarred, she is
better stuff than I thought, and when she saw Oakshot on the couch she
was fine--She did not think about all that her acknowledging him would
cost. It frankly did not matter. He was hurt and beaten; she went to her
son."

"I thought his consciousness was going," Garnet remarked. "A fellow like
that is pretty hard, but he had got a smashing knock, and after his
interview with us, I expect he'd had enough."

"He fainted, and I believe he has not talked much since," said Anne.
"Syme waited on the doctor and declares he's not at all anxious. That is
something, but it does not help Father much----"

She stopped for a moment, and although she gave Garnet a level glance,
warm color flooded her pale skin when she resumed:

"I have boasted I am up-to-date, and one must try to face life as it is,
honestly. Well, I'm horribly sorry for Father--and I'm sorry for Madam.
The old rules stand; they must stand. And you see the dreadful
entanglement!"

Garnet thrilled. Anne's reserve was gone. In her distress and, in a
sense, her humiliation, she, perhaps instinctively, trusted him. He
wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he dared not yet.

"You think Mr. Harden knew who Oakshot is?" he said.

"Madam knew for some time. He was here before; he stole past us one
evening in the glen. I do not know if Madam told Father; but when you
and Keith talked about the tinhorn he must have guessed. Well, one can
picture his emotions. If our plan worked, Keith must implicate his
brother and humiliate Madam. Yet he did not try to dissuade Keith.
Although he knew the consequences, he saw he must be just."

"Perhaps we were very dull," said Emerson.

For a moment Anne hesitated; and then she looked up.

"Sometimes I felt as if I might solve the puzzle; but I hated myself for
my shabbiness. I was afraid to dwell upon it--the thing was impossible!"

Garnet saw her humiliation, and he touched her gently.

"We are flesh and blood; and, after all, Mr. Harden agreed for Keith to
try his plan. He owned the debt was his and he was willing to pay."

"Ah," said Anne, "Keith did not trust you rashly. You never let one
down----"

She turned her head and Syme advanced.

"If convenient, Mr. Harden would like to see you, sir."

Anne signed Garnet to go, and he followed Syme to the room Oakshot
occupied. Oakshot was on the couch, his chest firmly bandaged, but the
color had come back to his skin, as if he had recovered from the shock.
Keith brooded by the fire, and when Syme went Mr. Harden crossed the
floor. His look was worn and his shoulders were bent.

"I believe my son, to some extent, will give us his confidence, and
Keith asked for you," he said to Emerson. "He thought you ought to know
all we knew, and I agreed."

Oakshot turned his head awkwardly, but he was not embarrassed.

"Keith's resourceful pal was the combine's driving-force, and but for
him I very much doubt if you'd have got the bonds, Keith certainly
would not have kept them."

"Then, you admit you meant to run down your brother by the gate?" said
Harden sternly.

Oakshot's mouth curved in an ironical smile.

"I certainly meant to seize his load, and if he had got hurt I would
have been resigned. The drawback was, I did not see his friend--However,
I engaged to tell you about the robbery at the bank----"

Oakshot's narrative was short, but it supplied the particulars the
others had wanted. At the beginning, a confederate of his had found out
the Brockenhurst securities would be deposited at Keith's office,
although Oakshot refused to state how they got the information. They
resolved to steal the documents and use Oakshot's likeness to Keith in
order to help them make their get-away. One had lurked about the camp at
the lake, and when Keith went fishing, swam the rapid and carried off
the canoe. In the meantime, one or two more occupied the Miscana folks'
attention with the supposititiously broken-down car while Oakshot and
another opened the safe. He declared he expected Keith would presently
be able to exculpate himself, but admitted that he did not think it very
important.

"For me to carry the blame for your knavery was not enough?" said Keith.
"When you thought I had got the bonds, you tried to put me out for
good!"

"It was not altogether my object," said Oakshot coolly. "Anyhow, I had
not much grounds to love you. For one thing, you had all that I had not
and thought I ought to have had. You went to a first-class school and
were properly started on an honorable career, and when you had made good
Copshope would be yours. Well, I guess you'll make a model Scottish
laird!"

"Keith will not inherit Copshope," Harden remarked with some dryness.
"When I gave up business I was not rich, and to free you from your
criminal entanglements helped to impoverish me."

"Ah," said Oakshot, "you talk like a merchant! Poverty was not my worst
handicap; from the start I carried a heavier load. My relations dared
not acknowledge me; all the care I got was from my foster mother at a
moorland farm. She was kind but primitive; I learned to cheat and poach.
They do not put a disowned boy on the Loretto waiting-list, and I went
to a school where my sort go and questions are not asked. Our defense
against the parsimonious head's brutality was to lie and steal. Then I
was smuggled off to Melbourne, and in order not to starve I must report,
like a ticket-of-leave man, at a lawyer's office."

"You had another choice," said Harden. "My agent found you a useful
post."

"The talents you forced me to cultivate were not for labor," Oakshot
rejoined. "I knew a better plan; but it's done with, and we'll let it
go. All the same, when you refused to acknowledge me you disowned a debt
that has got heavier ever since. Because you were afraid, I hated Keith,
and when I robbed the bank to think he might bear the consequences was
some satisfaction. You forced us to be antagonists, and I hope you like
your reward----"

He stopped. His breath was rather labored and beads of sweat glistened
on his skin. Harden's face was lined and gray, and his head was bent.
The bill, so to speak, was a true bill, but Garnet was sorry for the old
man. For Mrs. Harden's sake, he had denied their son, but he had
obviously borne his punishment. Moreover, he knew he had forced Keith to
pay.

"You were at Copshope before," he said to Oakshot.

"That is so; I stopped about ten minutes, and, in the circumstances, my
looking up my respectable relations was humorous. I had carried off
bonds for a large sum, but I needed money, and my mother must help me
finance a gang of thieves. Well, I did not get all I wanted; she was
pluckier than I thought!"

"You take advantage of your helplessness," Keith remarked grimly. "Your
nerve is pretty good, but perhaps you ought to use some caution. Anyhow,
you did not negotiate the securities."

For a few moments Oakshot said nothing. He had talked for some time and
it looked as if physical effort rather than emotion accounted for his
quietness.

"On the whole, I think my confederates in this country were a
third-class lot," he resumed. "Your pal, however, bothered us; we did
not know who he was, and when time was valuable, we were occupied
watching him. Then people on whose help we had reckoned were shy or
scared. We got up against obstacles we did not foresee, and I began to
feel we had not properly allowed for the cleverness of the Old Country
police. In fact, the others' nerve began to go, but at length I found a
tougher agent, who reckoned, if I could get the stuff across to Holland,
he'd help me unload. Well, I fixed with Basset and Burke to bring the
bonds to Cherry Garth, and at Newcastle I found the police were on my
track. But for an accident, they'd have got me. All the same, I resolved
to go ahead and trust my luck. If you had not arrived ten minutes ahead
of me, I might have made good----"

"Then, you imagine the police will soon know where you are?" said Harden
in a dreary voice.

"I imagine they found out I hired a motorcycle. The broken machine is in
the road, a few miles off."

"The motorcycle is in the burn," Emerson remarked.

"The burn is small and but three or four yards from the road," Oakshot
rejoined, and turned to Harden. "For some time I cannot walk. If I move,
I must be carried. What are you going to do about it?"

"You expect me to help you escape?" said Harden moodily.

"You must. It's rather obvious."

Harden frowned and crossed the floor, and stopped irresolutely.

"I ought to give you up and bear the consequences."

"It might be awkward," said Oakshot, with a cruel smile. "For one thing,
Mrs. Harden must bear the consequences. To do so would hurt her worse
than you."

Harden turned his head from the others. When he looked up his skin was
wet and his hands shook.

"I expect you have a plan. What help do you want?"

"Until I can get about, you must find me a place to hide. Then I expect
you can smuggle me on board a ship for South America. Where there are
casinos and sporting _rastoqueres_ I will not starve. At Monte Video,
for example, I'd soon find some use for my talents. Anyhow, since I dare
not come back, you'd be rid of me for good."

"We will talk about it again," said Harden, and signed the others.

They went to the smoking-room, and Keith asked: "Can you hide him, sir?"

"It might be possible; in a day or two, perhaps, we could move him by
car. In the meantime, he must see nobody but Syme. The old fellow will
not talk, and we can trust the doctor. Yet, the risk is daunting; to
give him shelter makes his mother and me his accomplices, and the police
may soon arrive."

Keith smiled and touched his father's arm.

"You mustn't bother, sir. If the police do arrive, I think Garnet and I
can baffle them. Suppose you concentrate on the other part of the
scheme?"

Harden went off and Keith turned to Emerson.

"You have joined the clan, Garnet, and you'll agree that my business is
to support the chief. Well, frankness hurts, but if you do not yet
altogether see the complication, I must enlighten you. My half-brother
was born when _my_ mother was alive. The second Mrs. Harden married my
father some time afterwards."

"You must see the old man out," said Emerson. "I'll help where my help's
possible; and then we must start for Montreal."




XXXII

KEITH PLAYS OUT HIS PART


After Keith left the smoking-room, Emerson asked Syme to get him quietly
an old shooting-coat and a cartridge-bag. Then he put on his thickest
boots and crossed the courtyard to the gardener's tool-house. The
gardener was sweeping up dead leaves on the other side of the lawn, and
Garnet tied a small crowbar to a narrow draining-spade. When he threw
them on his shoulder he reckoned anybody who might see him on the hills
would think he carried a gun.

Garnet imagined nobody was about, but when he stole away behind a
rhododendron bank he stopped. Anne was in the path, and her faint
twinkle implied that she had watched his cautious advance.

"To frown when you meet me is not polite," she said, and studied him
thoughtfully. "I do not like your tailor; your shooting-coat is horribly
old-fashioned. Then if you are going to dig for rabbits, you ought to
carry a ferret and a net."

"I am not going to dig for rabbits," Garnet rejoined. "The coat you have
probably recognized for Mr. Harden's; but I don't know the proper outfit
for Old Country sports. My job's to bury a motorcycle----" He hesitated,
and resumed with a touch of embarrassment: "You see, I'd no particular
grounds to hide the thing before, and Keith, of course, ought not to do
so."

Anne nodded. "Yes--Keith has told me. You are very keen, and we know you
are faithful."

"At one time I was a police trooper. A broken motorcycle with a
number-plate is a useful clue."

"It looks as if you do not mean us to forget you were a mounted
policeman," Anne remarked. "Well, I suppose the Royal North-West are
famous; but you do not boast about your contractor's exploits, although
Keith declares Miscana begins to wear your stamp."

"One must sometimes be modest," Garnet replied.

"Ah," said Anne, "you are rather obvious; but you are a very useful
friend and I must not banter you. Besides, to be humorous just now is
hard. Well, go and bury the motorcycle; and perhaps you had better take
the path across the peat-moss."

Garnet did so, and an hour afterward climbed the hill above the broken
gate. For three or four miles the road curved about the moors, but all
he saw was a flock of sheep, and he descended to the gate. After
studying the ground, he reckoned nothing had disturbed the loose wet
stones since Keith started his car. Moreover, it looked as if heavy rain
would soon sweep the glen and wash away the marks the wheels had left.
Garnet pulled off his coat and got to work.

He had used spade and grub-hoe in the Canadian woods, and before long he
had cut a deep hole in the boggy turf and levered out some big limestone
blocks. Then he dragged the motorcycle from the burn and buried the
number-plate in a soft bog some distance off. When he got back he pulled
off the wheels, and using his crowbar on the frame, threw the wreck into
the hole. Twenty minutes afterward he beat down the turf and rolled the
limestone blocks on top. He was splashed with mud and wet with sweat,
but he thought he had made an artistic job and he must get home before
the rain.

Garnet was back for lunch. Mrs. Harden had kept to her room, but none of
the others was free from embarrassment, and although Harden was
laboriously polite Garnet felt he would be happier when his host got up.
By and by Syme came in and gave Harden an apologetic glance.

"Sergeant Monroe and the Cleugh-head polisman, sir."

Harden pushed back his plate, but Keith stopped him.

"Garnet and I will see the officers. You might follow us in a minute or
two."

They went to the hall, and a big police-sergeant pulled out some
documents and put his hand on Keith's arm. Garnet saw a constable kept
the door.

"I have instructions to arrest you, John Oakshot, also known as John
Bethune, recently of Taminisqua in western Ontario----"

Keith laughed. "The Taminisqua is a Canadian river, sergeant. I don't
dispute the fiscal's authority, but you have the wrong man. Anyhow, I am
Keith Harden. My father, whom you know, and my Canadian friend, Mr.
Emerson, will identify me."

He turned. The dining-room door opened, and Mr. Harden gave the sergeant
a rather haughty glance. Garnet thought his calm cost some effort, but
the old fellow played up nobly, and the officer began to look
embarrassed. Mr. Harden of Copshope was an important gentleman.

"Perhaps you will state why you again disturb us, Sergeant Monroe?" he
said.

"I have the fiscal's orders, sir," Monroe replied, and opened a
document. "Acting on instructions from London, the Northumberland police
followed John Oakshot from Newcastle, and our inquiries lead us to
believe he stopped at your house. His description, given us on another
occasion, applies correctly to the man I find here----"

"You may put up your papers. This gentleman is my son, Keith Nichol
Harden."

Monroe frowned in awkward surprise. Keith smiled.

"The mistake is not flattering, but I imagine we can put all straight.
If you will allow me to send for a few letters and so forth, I'll go
with you to the fiscal's office."

"It is not usual."

Mr. Harden shrugged. "Oh, well, we must not urge you to agree; but I
doubt if Mr. Carmichael will approve your refusing. For one thing, he
knows me. Then I expect your locking up my son would soon be a
first-class joke."

The sergeant hesitated, but after a moment or two he said, "Very well,
sir. If Mr. Harden is ready to start----We have a car."

Keith rang a bell, and when he had given Syme some orders lighted a
cigarette.

"Mr. Emerson must go with me. His business is to satisfy Mr. Carmichael
I am Keith Harden."

Emerson said he would get his coat, and, going off, looked for Anne.

"Oakshot must be moved at once," he said. "I suppose the servants have
not yet seen him?"

"Only Syme was in his room," said Anne, and when Garnet narrated the
interview in the hall she nodded. "Yes; it may hurt him, but we must
smuggle him away."

Garnet got his coat, and, returning to the hall, said to Harden:

"I suppose a _fiscal_ is a sort of magistrate?"

"A Scottish fiscal is something like an American district attorney,"
Harden replied. "He has powers an English magistrate does not possess.
Our criminal laws are not the laws in force across the Border."

"Oh, well, I reckon we can satisfy him," said Garnet cheerfully, and
added in a quiet voice: "Put your patient in a car as soon as we start."

In a few minutes, Syme, carrying a small parcel, arrived. Keith took the
parcel, signed the sergeant, and giving Harden a smile, went down the
steps. A car waited, and for some time they sped by winding roads
across the hills. All were quiet. The sergeant perhaps wondered whether
the fiscal would approve his allowing the interview. Keith was
preoccupied, and Garnet admitted his thoughtfulness was not remarkable.
Keith was going to fight for an unscrupulous antagonist who had come
near to breaking him. He, no doubt, felt he must not let Mrs. Harden
down; but perhaps it did not account for all. The half-brothers must be
enemies, but Keith was a Borderer and Oakshot belonged to the clan.
Anyhow, Garnet knew Keith would not be resigned to be beaten. He meant,
if possible, to win.

At length, at the top of a green valley, the sergeant touched the
driver.

"We'll need to find Mr. Carmichael before he's away home."

They sped down from the moors and Garnet saw a shining river and an old
red abbey. Then the car rolled through a quiet town and stopped at an
office door. The sergeant went in, and, returning in a few moments,
convoyed the others along a passage. The room into which he showed them
was furnished like a lawyer's office, and a gray-haired gentleman
occupied a desk at the other end. Signing the sergeant to go, he
indicated chairs, and for a few moments quietly studied Keith. His look
was imperturbable, but Garnet doubted if he himself could baffle the
Scottish lawyer. Yet Keith had, perhaps, some advantage in the intricate
game.

"You claim you are not the man we want?" Carmichael said by and by.

"That I am not is rather evident," Keith rejoined. "The sergeant heard
my father state who I am, and you knew me when I was a boy."

"Since I saw Keith Harden fourteen years have gone," said Carmichael,
and took a small portrait from the papers on his desk. "The picture was
sent from Calgary. It is faded and perhaps the photographer was not very
good; but I think it justifies our arresting you."

"The likeness is rather evident," Keith agreed. "All the same, if you
study it carefully, I think you will see it is not my portrait. Then,
since you have received Mr. Emerson, you will perhaps hear his
statement. He is a contractor at Miscana whose business I have for some
time transacted."

"We know something about your friend," Carmichael replied in a meaning
voice. "Well, Mr. Emerson?"

Garnet stated that he had first met Keith in the Rockies seven or eight
years since and had hauled him on a sledge a hundred miles across the
snow. Afterward he had regularly visited at his house and office. The
fellow whose portrait he now examined certainly was not Keith Harden. He
was, no doubt, the crook who robbed the Miscana bank.

The fiscal's face was expressionless. Garnet thought he could not doubt
Mr. Harden's statement, supported, as it was, by his; but he said
nothing, and Keith resumed:

"Since you have Oakshot's photograph, I expect you have his
finger-prints, and although I don't know the proper material for the
experiment, we might try the inkpot."

Carmichael reached for another paper and pushed the inkpot across his
desk. Keith smeared his thumb and pressed it firmly on a blotting-pad.
The print was not very sharp, but it differed from the other. Garnet
thought the experiment conclusive. In fact, he imagined Carmichael had
not really doubted; but Keith had not finished his job. He must yet
persuade the keen Scots lawyer the police had not followed two men to
Copshope, but one. He waited calmly, and by and by Carmichael inquired:

"Were you at home yesterday evening?"

"I was not. Mr. Emerson and I were at Hexham. Our errand was to lodge
some documents at the bank."

"In the _evening_?" Carmichael remarked.

"That is so. We could not get there before the office shut. I
telegraphed the agent, and Mr. Emerson gave him the packet between eight
and nine o'clock."

"You used the road?"

"The trains were not convenient. I drove my sister's small car and we
came back across the hills."

Carmichael nodded. "A small car was on the road; but the police report
the tracks of lighter wheels, and a motorcycle with the Newcastle
register went through Hexham shortly after you state you were in the
town."

"We certainly were not at Newcastle, and when we stopped for supper at
Bellingham the landlord of the inn saw us get down from the car. Have
you found the motorcycle?"

"The police followed the wheel-marks to a broken gate," said Carmichael
dryly.

"I broke the gate," said Emerson in an apologetic voice. "You see, we
had opened quite a number and I was annoyed about getting down again.
Then the bottom rail jambed on some stones, and I threw the gate back
angrily before the road was clear."

For a few moments Carmichael pondered, and then Keith remarked:

"It is, of course, possible that the fellow whose portrait you have and
I were on the Hexham road at much the same time; but if so, the
coincidence is rather extraordinary."

"Then, you imply----"

Keith smiled. "The business is not mine, sir; but the fellow seems to
have vanished, and it looks as if the police were cheated by the
likeness and followed me. Seeing the wheel-marks, they perhaps jumped to
the conclusion that I used the motorcycle."

"They had some grounds to think the man was at Copshope another time!"

"I was at Copshope," said Emerson. "You see, I had arrived from
Montreal, and I expect the dalesfolk knew me for a Canadian. Your
officers were looking for a Canadian. That perhaps accounts for
something."

The fiscal was quiet for nearly a minute, and then he got up and turned
to Keith.

"Although you must agree that your arrest was justified, I am sorry we
bothered you, and you will, I hope, carry my apologies to Mr. Harden. If
we get fresh information, I may send for you again."

"I must start for Winnipeg very shortly," Keith replied.

"Then, you are returning to the bank?" said Carmichael, looking at him
hard.

"On the whole, I think the directors will allow me to keep my post,
sir."

Carmichael let them go, and when they were in the street Keith turned to
Emerson.

"Well? My job was awkward. Do you think I made good?"

"The old fellow is clever," said Garnet in a thoughtful voice. "He's
puzzled; I doubt if he is altogether satisfied."

Keith nodded. "I felt something like that. We will get the _Herald_ at
the station and look up the steamship advertisements."




XXXIII

HOMEWARD BOUND


On the valley branch line trains were not frequent, and Emerson and
Keith arrived at Copshope late in the evening. Syme himself let them in,
and when he took their coats he said:

"I hope your visit to Mr. Carmichael was satisfactory, sir."

"On the whole, I was satisfied," Keith replied rather dryly. "But what
about your patient?"

"Mr. Harden thought we might venture to move him and he started twenty
minutes after you went. We made him comfortable in the car, and I do not
think the journey will harm him much."

"Well, that's all right," said Keith. "You are something of a treasure,
Syme, and if I were rich, I'd very much like to take you back with me to
Winnipeg. Still, my father would certainly refuse to let you go."

"Thank you, sir," said Syme, and carried off their coats.

Garnet felt he liked the old fellow. The Scots were an efficient lot,
and their reserve was a useful quality; but a door opened and he saw
Mrs. Harden was in the hall. Her look was strained and hard, as if she
tried for control. Garnet saw she had forgotten she was the laird's
lady; she was but a woman, anxious for her son.

"All's well," said Keith in a quiet voice.

The blood leaped to Mrs. Harden's skin; her stiff pose relaxed and she
signed them to advance. Her gesture included Emerson, and he knew she,
at length, acknowledged him her friend.

They went to the old-fashioned drawing-room. Harden crossed the floor,
but when he saw his wife and son he stopped as if he knew all he had
waited in suspense to learn. Garnet, however, hardly noticed him, for
Keith's was the dominant figure. Fronting Mrs. Harden, he stood squarely
upright; now Garnet thought about it, Keith's unconscious pose was
seldom careless. One knew him for a sober and rather fastidious
gentleman. Yet, for all his calm, his look was kind.

"For a time, I think my step-brother is safe, ma'am," he said. "At all
events, Garnet and I used our best efforts to put Carmichael off his
track."

Mrs. Harden's relief was poignant. Her color came and went and her eyes
shone with a queer gentle light. Now she had done with pretense, she was
touched by dignity.

"You are very generous to me, Keith. When you baffled the fiscal I
expect you ran some risk."

"Oh, well, one cannot always think about safety first; and for my
father's sake--and yours--I imagine all the risk I did run was
justified. Then Garnet nobly played up."

Emerson began to think he had not yet really known his friend. Although
Keith's English was colloquial, he did not at Copshope talk like a
Miscana bank clerk. One felt he was another man. In fact, Garnet vaguely
sensed a touch of haughtiness Keith had perhaps inherited. He implied
that Mrs. Harden was his relation, and since she was the lady of
Copshope, he was her servant.

"You are all a Borderer, and I think you know I am not," she said with a
queer smile. "For long I was jealous of you; but you saved my son. Well,
when you did so, I suppose you acknowledged me your father's wife."

"It weighed," said Keith. "For all that, it perhaps did not tip the
beam. A woman's business is to think for her own child. To be just was
not easy for you, but when I was a boy you tried to be kind----"

"And then it is not important? A man does not revenge himself on a woman
who needs his help?" Mrs. Harden rejoined, but she was not ironical.
"Well, we must let it go. You are fine stuff, Keith. Only that we were
entangled by circumstances, I might have loved you----"

She turned to Garnet. "I tried to thwart you, Mr. Emerson. It looked as
if you were dangerous, and I was afraid----Now I hope you'll agree it's
done with."

Garnet, with some embarrassment, did agree, and Harden said, "But for
Mr. Emerson, Keith might be in jail."

"I expect Garnet would sooner we talked about something else, and we
must begin to do so," Keith remarked. "You see, I doubt if Carmichael is
baffled, I rather think he's puzzled; but that's another thing, and
he'll soon get busy. Can you hide my step-brother?"

"When we put him in the car only Anne and Syme knew he was going,"
Harden replied in a thoughtful voice. "The servants had not seen him and
I fancy the doctor will not talk----He has gone to the lonely sheep-farm
where he went when he was a child. The people are primitive moorfolk and
they are getting old; but I can trust Herries, and I do not think his
wife has forgotten the boy she brought up."

"Ah," said Mrs. Harden, "a woman does not forget!"

"Herries is as secret as a badger and as cunning as a fox," Harden
resumed with a faint smile. "I do not see an inquisitive policeman
finding out much from him. Then his farm is far back in the moors, and
if he can hide his guest for a week or two, I expect to get him on board
ship."

"Very well," said Keith. "Where our help was useful Garnet and I have
helped, but I doubt if I could bluff Carmichael another time. Then the
bank must get the bonds and Garnet's partner needs him. We have fixed to
sail from Liverpool in three days."

Harden looked up, but hesitated. The lines in his face got deeper, as if
his thoughts distressed him, and his pose was tired and slack. Then he
said quietly:

"The managers doubted you and your post was not very good. I might get
you another; the merchants and manufacturers have not yet forgotten me,
and if you went to Glasgow, I would know you were not far away. That
would be something, Keith."

"Ah!" said Keith, "I'd like to indulge you, but I cannot. In the
circumstances, the bank's doubting me was not surprising. The directors,
however, are just, and when I give them back the certificates, I expect
they will try to make some amends. In fact, I expect I shall not wait
long for promotion----"

He stopped, but when Harden gave him a searching look, he resumed with a
touch of firmness:

"When I started for Montreal I knew I had done with the Old Country; I
hoped I might sometimes visit you, but I would not stop. The old ties
were broken and could not again be joined. Well, I am going to marry a
Canadian girl, I am a Canadian, and Canada is home----"

For a moment or two both men were quiet, and Emerson was conscious of
the strain they bore. Keith was not revengeful; Garnet knew him strongly
moved, and saw Harden understood. When Keith went from Copshope, Harden
himself, for his fresh wife's sake, had broken the ties. He had let the
boy go, and now he was a man he could not call him back.

Keith, however, got up and smiled, as if to banish the emotional stress.

"The day has been pretty strenuous, sir. Garnet and I will smoke a pipe,
and then I think we'll go to bed."

They went off, and when they were in the hall saw Anne on the stairs.
She ran down swiftly and kissed Keith.

"You have put Carmichael off the track! Syme told me all I wanted to
know. Now I'll own I was afraid; Carmichael is very shrewd----But I
suppose you will not stay?"

"We start in three days," Keith replied in a quiet voice.

Anne looked at him hard and nodded.

"Yes----You have generously done all that was possible, and I expect to
refuse hurt Father; but I think you ought to go. Although we might
pretend, nothing will be as it was, and one cannot forget. But you are
tired. We still talk about it in the morning." She left them and they
went to the smoking-room. In the meantime, Harden brooded, and by and by
said to his wife:

"I must not grumble because Keith was firm. Perhaps he was forced to
refuse me; but I have lost both my sons."

"Ah," said Mrs. Harden, "although I am his mother, I have not known
mine! I gave him to strangers, and I think he hates me. After all, you
are luckier; Keith yet loves you. But I think you may lose your
daughter."

For a few moments Harden looked straight in front. His shoulders were
bent and he shivered.

"If Anne goes, I must try for resignation; but when one gets old, to be
alone is hard. Copshope is drearily quiet, and no children's voices
will banish its gloom. Then, for my fault, my sons are enemies--as long
as one shall live."

"Our punishment is just," said Mrs. Harden. "The old law stands, and we,
who broke it, must bear the consequences. So far, the others were forced
to pay for us; but they are young and their life is yet in front. By and
by they will forget, although we cannot."

She got up, but for a time Harden brooded by the sinking fire.

After dinner two days afterward, Emerson packed his trunk, and then,
coming down for some labels, found Anne in the hall.

"All's ready for our start in the morning," he remarked with an effort
for carelessness.

"Your holiday was rather strenuous," said Anne. "To return to your
proper business will perhaps be some relief."

"The business certainly waits. In Canada one is not allowed to loaf; but
I'd sooner you gave me another job. For one thing, when I leave Copshope
I cannot come back. For Mr. Harden and Madam to receive me would be an
embarrassment."

"Yes," said Anne, "that is so. For Keith's sake, Father owes you much,
and he does not disown his debts. Madam, at length, is your friend; but
they must try to forget all that's gone. There's the trouble, Garnet! I
meddled, perhaps rashly, and so long as I am at Copshope, _I_ must
embarrass them."

She turned her head. Although she felt Emerson's sympathy, she could not
meet his glance. He knew her father's humiliation and Mrs. Harden's
shame. For long Anne was quietly proud of her inheritance, but her
house, so to speak, had gone down like a house built on sand. Garnet
rather vaguely understood, and he touched her gently.

"There is a way out, Anne! Come back with me to Canada. I need you, and
I think you know I love you."

Anne looked up and blushed like a rose. In the ruin she felt she
fronted, he was a sure support. Where all on which she had reckoned
melted, he, at least, stood firm. Anne was young and perhaps she
exaggerated. Moreover, she was very proud, and her look got resolute.

"No," she said, "I must not. I'm afraid----"

"You afraid? My dear, I know your pluck; but, after all, I am not the
sort you perhaps thought to marry. Yet, I think if you did risk it----"

"Now you are ridiculous," said Anne, and smiled, but hot color again
touched her face when she resumed: "Well, your rashness moves me, but I
must think for you. Keith, for his brother's fault, must long carry an
awkward load. The load is his and mine; you have nothing to do with it.
I am Anne Harden and my relations' disgrace touches me."

"Anne Harden is the girl I want. She is all I want, and I cannot be
satisfied with another."

"Sometimes you are very obstinate," said Anne, as if she dared not
indulge her emotion. "But if you urge me now, I must refuse and let you
go for good."

"In the morning I start for Canada."

"Ah," said Anne, "you start for home; but I have none. Madam and I are
not enemies; but for me to be where she is would hurt us both----" She
hesitated, and giving Garnet a swift shy glance, went on: "Although you
cannot come back, I am going to Winnipeg, and when Keith is married I
shall stay with him. Perhaps if you waited, the obstacles would not look
so large. Besides, you'd have time to ponder, and if you were not
daunted and you urged me very much----"

Garnet kissed her. Anne's hand gently brushed his bent head; and then
she pushed him back. A door jarred and Garnet was alone, but his heart
beat and he thrilled triumphantly. A few moments afterward Keith came
into the hall.

"Hallo! Haven't you got the labels? I told you where to look."

"It's possible. I was thinking about something else," said Emerson.

He found the labels, and Keith sent a servant to carry down their
trunks. Soon after daybreak in the morning the car came to the steps,
and the last thing Emerson saw at Copshope was Anne's light figure by
the opening in the terrace wall. She waved to him, and vanished when the
car rolled under the trees; but she had signaled, and Garnet was
satisfied.


THE END

       *       *       *       *       *

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_


    THE BROKEN TRAIL
    PINE CREEK RANCH
    PRAIRIE GOLD
    CROSS TRAILS
    CARSON OF RED RIVER
    GREEN TIMBER
    THE WILDERNESS PATROL
    THE BUSH-RANCHER
    NORTHWEST!
    THE MAN FROM THE WILDS
    KIT MUSGRAVE'S LUCK
    LISTER'S GREAT ADVENTURE
    THE WILDERNESS MINE
    WYNDHAM'S PAL
    PARTNER'S OF THE OUT-TRAIL
    THE BUCCANEER FARMER
    THE LURE OF THE NORTH
    THE GIRL FROM KELLER'S
    CARMEN'S MESSENGER
    HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
    THE INTRIGUERS
    RANCHING FOR SYLVIA
    THE LONG PORTAGE
    A PRAIRIE COURTSHIP
    THURSTON OF ORCHARD VALLEY
    THE GREATER POWER
    THRICE ARMED
    DELILAH OF THE SNOWS
    FOR JACINTA
    THE DUST OF CONFLICT
    ALTON OF SOMASCO
    THE CATTLE BARON'S DAUGHTER


[The end of _The Broken Trail_ by Harold Edward Bindloss]