"I didn't; they live at the back of the house. I put up the horses, slipped in quietly, and went to bed."

"Then you can't fix the time you got back?"

Prescott moved sharply, lifting his head, while an angry color suffused his face.

"Curtis, you can't think--Jernyngham was my best friend!" Then he laughed indignantly. "You always struck me as a sensible man."

The corporal regarded him with scrutinizing eyes, his manner stamped with official austerity.

"I'm forming no opinions--yet. It's my duty to find out all I can about the matter and report. If there's anything you're open to tell me, I'll make a note of it."

Prescott's face grew stern and his glance very steady.

"I can add nothing to what I've said, and I'm busy."

Curtis rode away, but when he was out of the rancher's sight he broke into a dry smile. He was an astute young man and knew his business, which was merely to investigate and follow the instruction of his chiefs at Regina. Unembroidered facts were what they required in the first instance, but later he might be permitted to theorize.

When the corporal had gone, Prescott went on with his plowing, but the crackle of the stubble and the thud of the heavy Clydesdales' hoofs fell unheeded on his ears, and it was half-consciously that he turned his team at the head-land. He had a good deal to think about and his thoughts were far from pleasant. To begin with, the memory of Muriel Hurst had haunted him since she left; he recalled her with a regretful longing that seemed to grow steadily stronger instead of diminishing. He thought she had left an indelible mark on his life. Then there was his impersonation of Jernyngham, which he had rashly agreed to, but did not now regret. If Colston had met Cyril on the night of the riot and had gone to his untidy dwelling, he would have been forced to send home an adverse report.

Prescott was glad to think he had saved his friend from a farther fall in his English relatives' esteem, though, knowing a little of the man's story, he held them largely responsible for his reckless career. Their censoriousness and suspicion had, no doubt, driven him into wilder rashness.

Besides all this, the corporal's manner rankled in his mind. He knew Curtis well and had a good opinion of his ability. It seemed preposterous that such a man could imagine that he had had any hand in Jernyngham's death. Yet the corporal's tone had been significant and the facts had an ugly look. He had seen Jernyngham secrete his money and had afterward ridden on with him, unaccompanied by anybody else. He could not prove when he returned to his farm, and it might be said that he stood to benefit by securing the management of Jernyngham's property.

When he reached the end of the furrows his face was grim, but he steadily continued his plowing.

CHAPTER VII

THE SEARCH

Prescott dismounted and turned loose his horse, short-hobbled, near the muskeg about two o'clock one hot afternoon. He had begun work at four that morning, and, with harvest drawing near, time was precious to him, but he was filled with a keen curiosity to see what progress Curtis had made in his search. He had a strong personal interest in the matter, because it seemed that some suspicion might rest on him; though he was far from sharing the corporal's conviction that Jernyngham was dead.

Stopping at the edge of the ravine, he looked about, taking in the details of the scene.

Though the prairie had lost its greenness and the flowers had died, it stretched away, flooded with dazzling light, a great expanse of silvery gray, flecked with faint lemon and brown. In the swampy hollow, however, the gra.s.s grew tall and green among the shining pools, and Prescott noticed to his astonishment a dozen men working a.s.siduously lower down.

They had discarded most of their clothing, their brown arms were bare, and the stiff, dark-colored soil they flung up with their shovels c.u.mbered the bank of the ravine, which had narrowed in again. Prescott saw that they were cutting a deeper channel for the creek, with the object of draining the swamp.

Moving farther along the bank, he came upon the two policemen, who looked very hot and somewhat muddy, which, as they were usually fastidiously neat, was noticeable. He felt some hesitation in accosting them, as he recalled the corporal's att.i.tude when they last met, but he was curious.

"I suppose you have found nothing?" he said, and when Curtis made a sign of negation continued: "How did you get so many of the boys here?"

Putting his hand in his pocket, the policeman gave him a printed circular which announced that a reward of one thousand dollars would be paid for the discovery of Cyril Jernyngham's remains.

"His people in the old country cabled it over," he explained.

"Well," Prescott said thoughtfully, "I don't believe he's here; but he was a friend of mine, and I'm as anxious to have the question answered as you are."

Private Stanton, who was sitting in the gra.s.s, looked up with a rather significant smile. Indeed, there was a certain reserve in the manner of both men which exasperated the rancher.

"It's quite likely you'll have to wait," Curtis rejoined. "Even when we've run the water out, it may take a long while to search the mushy stuff it will leave, and if we're beaten here, we'll have to try the bluffs." He looked hard at Prescott. "We don't let up until we find him."

"Tell me where I can get a shovel and I'll help the boys."

Stanton brought him one and for the next two hours he worked savagely, standing knee-deep in water in a trench, hacking out clods of the "gumbo"

soil, which covers much of the prairie and grows the finest wheat. When dry it sets like stone, when wet it a.s.sumes a glutinous stickiness which makes it exceptionally difficult to deal with. Fierce sunshine poured down on Prescott's bent head and shoulders, his hands grew sore, and mire and water splashed upon him, but he was hard and leanly muscular and, driven as he was by a keen desire to test the corporal's theory, he would have toiled on until the next morning, had it been needful. At length, however, there was a warning cry from one of the men nearer the swamp.

"Watch out! Let her go!"

Prescott leaped from the trench. There was a roar higher up the ravine, and a turgid flood, streaked with frothy lines, came pouring down the new channel, bearing with it small nut bushes and great clumps of matted gra.s.s. By degrees it subsided, and the men, gathering about the edge of the muskeg, hot and splashed with mire, lay down to smoke and wait, while the pools that still remained grew smaller. They had been working hard since early morning and they did not talk much, but Prescott, sitting a little away from them, was conscious of an unpleasant tension. It was possible that the search might prove Curtis right. The corporal stood higher up the bank, scanning each clump of gra.s.s and reeds with keenly scrutinizing eyes. At length, however, he approached the others.

"I guess you've made a job, boys," he told them. "The soft spots ought to dry out in about a week, but we can't wait till then. You want to remember there's a thousand dollars for the man who finds him."

They glanced at the mora.s.s hesitatingly. It did not look inviting. In places the reeds grew as high as their heads, and one could not tell what depths they hid. In other spots there were tracks of slimy ooze in which one might sink a long way. None of them, however, was fastidious, and they waded out into the mire, shouting warnings to one another, disappearing now and then among the gra.s.s. The search was partially rewarded, for while Prescott and a companion were skirting a clump of reeds they saw part of a soaked garment protruding from the slime. For a few moments they stood looking at it irresolutely; and then Prescott, mustering his courage, advanced and seized the stained material. It came away more readily than he had expected, and he turned to his companion, conscious of keen relief, with a brown overall jacket in his hand. A further examination, shrinkingly made, revealed nothing else, and after marking the place they waded to the bank. The garment was carefully washed in the creek and the men gathered in a ring round Curtis when he inspected it.

"Have any of you seen this thing before?" he asked, holding it up.

None of them would identify it. Thin duck overalls are commonly worn by ranchers and working people, in place of heavier clothing, during the hot weather. Then Curtis turned to Prescott.

"What's your idea?"

"It isn't Jernyngham's," the rancher said decidedly. "It's too old, for one thing; looks as if it had been in the water quite a while."

"Hard to tell," commented Curtis. "But go on."

Prescott took the jacket and held it so that the others could see the inside of the collar.

"No maker's tag," he continued. "Now Cyril always bought the kind they give you a doll with."

One of the others laughed and supplied the name of the manufacturer, which was attached to every garment.

"I've seen three or four of those dolls and golliwog things in his house," the man added. "Used to guy him about keeping them, as he had no kids."

"We can fix the thing by inquiring at the dry goods store," Curtis rejoined.

"Can't see whose it was, if it wasn't Jernyngham's," another broke in.

"There's no homestead anywhere near the creek and mighty few people come up here!"

The policeman took from his pocket a wet envelope, upon which the blurred writing was still legible.

"Well," he said coolly, "there's no doubt about whose this is." He handed it to Prescott. "Ever see it in Jernyngham's possession?"

"Yes," answered Prescott with some hesitation. "I recognize the address, though the English stamp has gone. It was lying near when he was talking to me on the night of the trouble in Sebastian."

He was filled with uneasiness. The police would certainly attempt to read the letter, which was the one Colston had written announcing his arrival.

If they succeeded, they would no doubt wonder why the Englishman had not stayed with Jernyngham, and investigation might lead to a discovery of the part Prescott had played.

"We've begun quite satisfactorily," said the corporal, "and there's nothing more to be done to-night. I guess you can quit and have supper, boys."