"It strikes me as quite a likely place. I've heard of people hiding things they wanted to get rid of in a bluff. You put it to your father and see how the notion strikes him."

"I'll think of it," Gertrude replied coldly; but Wandle knew that she would do as he had suggested.

He said nothing further until they had crossed another rise or two, when he stopped and pointed to a bluff not far away.

"When you make those trees you'll strike the trail and it's pretty well beaten. It will take you straight in to Leslie's."

Gertrude thanked him and drove on. It was getting dark, and a bitter wind swept the waste, but at first she was scarcely conscious of the cold, for her thoughts were busy. She felt that she had done wrong in allowing the man to make the suggestion. Somehow it seemed to involve her in a plot against Prescott; but of late she had tried to convince herself of his guilt. After all, it was her duty to have the fullest investigation made and the fellow had spoken in a significant manner. One could imagine that he knew more than he had said.

Darkness closed in on the empty plain, the wind stung her face, the loneliness grew intense, and she began to shiver in a mood of black depression. The mystery of her brother's disappearance filled her with keen anxiety; now she could no longer believe Prescott's a.s.surance that he was not dead. A little while ago she had trusted him and her cold nature had suddenly expanded in the warmth of love, but the transforming glow had suddenly died out, leaving her crushed, humiliated, and very bitter. Even if her fears about Cyril proved unfounded, she had nothing to look forward to except a life that had grown meaningless and dreary; the brief pa.s.sion she had yielded to would never be stirred again. She was growing hard and cruel; her keenest desire was to punish the man who had, as she thought of it, deceived her.

At length a light began to blink in the gloom ahead and soon afterward she got down at the homestead, feeling very cramped and cold; but an hour or two pa.s.sed before she had an opportunity for speaking to her father alone. It was easy to lead him on to talk of Cyril's disappearance, and by and by she asked if the neighborhood of Prescott's homestead had been searched. He caught at the idea.

"It's hard to understand why I didn't think of that!" he cried. "I have lost all confidence in Curtis. What he is doing, or if he means to let the matter drop, I don't know; but if Prescott has hidden anything that might tell against him, it will of course be in the bluff! I'll go over and examine every hollow among the bushes, without the police."

His expression grew eager and Gertrude, knowing that she had said enough, left him quietly.

CHAPTER XXII

JERNYNGHAM MAKES A DISCOVERY

A piercing wind swept the lonely waste when Jernyngham left the homestead in the afternoon. He went on foot, because it was no great distance to the Prescott farm, and he had no wish to attract notice by driving up in the sleigh. It was his intention to enter the bluff quietly a little while before it got dark and, after searching it, to walk home. By doing so he would run less risk of being seen, for it was undesirable that he should put Prescott on his guard. He had said nothing about his plan to any one except Gertrude, which was unfortunate, because Leslie, who could read the signs of the weather, would have dissuaded him.

Jernyngham felt uneasy as he glanced across the plain. There was something unusual in the light: every clump of scrub and bush in the foreground stood out with a curious hard distinctness, though the distance was blurred and dim. There was no horizon; the bluffs a few miles off had faded into a hazy shapelessness. The sky was uniformly gray, except in the north, where it darkened to a deep leaden color; the cold struck through the man like a knife. He was, however, not to be deterred; snow was coming and a heavy fall might make an effective search impossible for the remainder of the winter. There was something inexorable in his nature; his views were narrow, but he was true to them and ruled himself and his dependents in accordance with a few fixed principles. This was why he had driven out his son, and was now with the same grim consistency bent on avenging him. He had a duty and he meant to discharge it, in spite of raging blizzard or biting frost. Indeed, if need be, he was willing to lay down the dreary life which had of late grown valueless to him. Yet he was not without tenderness, and as he plodded on over the frozen snow, he thought of the lost outcast with wistful regret.

He reached the bluff, and stopped a few moments, slightly breathless, among the first of the trees. They were small and their branches cut in sharp, intricate tracery against the sky; farther back, the rows of slender trunks ran together in a hazy ma.s.s, though they failed to keep out the wind, and once or twice a fine flake touched the old man's face with a cold that stung. He pulled his fur cap lower down and set about the search. For half an hour he scrambled among thick nut bushes, kicking aside the snow beneath them here and there; and then he plunged knee-deep into the withered gra.s.s where a sloo had dried. The snow was thin in the wood, but it hid the iron-hard ground so that he could not tell if it had been disturbed. It was obvious that the chances were against his discovering anything, but he persevered, working steadily nearer to the homestead, of which he once or twice caught a glimpse where the trees were thinner.

At length he stopped suddenly and cast a quick glance around. He had heard a sharp crack behind him, but it was not repeated and there was little to be seen. While he listened, the wind wailed among the branches and the sloo gra.s.s rustled eerily. The patch of sky above him was growing darker, and the wood looked, inexpressibly dreary; but as the light was going, there was more reason for his making use of it. Though he was getting tired, he pushed on; avoiding fallen trunks and branches where he could, and floundering through thickets, he came to a small hollow which traversed the bluff. As it was nearly filled with drifted snow, he stepped down upon its white surface and, breaking through, sank above his boots in withered leaves. These, he thought, would effectively hide anything laid among them until it rotted and crumbled into their decay.

He followed up the hollow, kicking the snow aside. He fancied that he heard the snapping sound again; but he was too eager to feel much curiosity about the cause of it, and there was nothing to be seen. The light was dying out rapidly, heavy snow was coming, and he must make the best use of his time.

After a while, his foot struck something which did not yield as the leaves had done, and dropping on his knees he dragged it out. A thrill of excitement ran through him as he saw that is was a suit of clothes and made out in the gathering dusk that their color was brown. Then, as he rose with grim satisfaction, he saw with a start two indistinct figures watching him a dozen yards away. They moved forward, and he recognized the first of them as Curtis.

"Mr. Jernyngham?" said the corporal.

"Yes," said Jernyngham. "Who did you think it was?"

"Well," returned Curtis dryly, "we didn't expect to find you. What brought you here?"

"I've been doing your work with more success than seems to have attended your efforts." He pointed to the clothes. "To my mind, this is conclusive."

An icy blast that set them shivering went roaring through the wood, but they were too intent to heed it, and Curtis picked up one of the garments. He could see only that it was a jacket, for darkness was closing in suddenly.

"I'll allow it's kind of suggestive," he admitted guardedly.

Jernyngham broke into a contemptuous laugh.

"How was the man who sold my son's land dressed?"

"Smartly, in new clothes. The land agent remembered that they were a reddish brown."

"That's the color of the thing in your hand. There was more light when I pulled it out of the leaves yonder. Are you convinced now?"

"It's certainly enough to make one think."

"To think, but not to act! You seem strangely content with the former!

Isn't it plain that Prescott sold the land, and then, remembering that he had worn a suit of rather unusual color which might help to identify him, hid it in the bluff? Having other people in the house, he was, no doubt, afraid to burn the clothes."

Curtis folded up the garments and laid them on his arm.

"Well," he said, "it sounds quite probable; but there are discrepancies.

I'll take these things along, and I guess you had better make for the homestead and ask them to let you in. We'll have a lively blizzard down on us very soon."

The trees bent above him as he spoke, the wood was filled with sound, and fine flakes drove past in swirls. Then, as the wild gust subsided, they heard a galloping horse going by outside the bluff and Curtis swung sharply round toward his comrade.

"It's that blamed ranger of yours broken loose!" he cried. "Get after him with my horse!"

The next moment the police had vanished and Jernyngham was left alone, listening to the crackle of undergrowth, which was lost in a furious uproar as the wood was swept by another gust. Then the thrashing trees were blotted out by a white haze which stung his face with an intolerable cold and filled his eyes. For a minute or two he could see nothing, though he was conscious of a tumult of sound and broken twigs came raining down upon him; then, lowering his head, he stumbled forward between blurred trees, ignorant of where he was going. He struck one or two of the trees and blundered into thickets, but at last he struggled out of the wood and stopped for a few moments in dismay.

The light had gone; he could scarcely see a yard ahead, through the thick white cloud that rushed past him. The wind buffeted him cruelly, threatening to fling him down; the awful cold dulled his senses. He had not intended to seek shelter at the homestead--the idea was repugnant--and he hardly thought he meant to do so now, but, overwhelmed by the blizzard, he could not stand still and freeze. Struggling heavily forward, he found himself in the open; all trace of the wood had vanished; he could not tell where he was heading, but he must continue moving to keep life in him. He could no longer reason collectedly. He had not been trained to physical endurance, and he was getting old; in the grip of the storm he was helpless. By and by his steps grew feebler and his breath harder to get.

How long he stumbled on he could not remember; but at length he was sensible of a faint brightness in the snow ahead and he made toward it in a half-dazed fashion. It seemed to die out, leaving him in a state of dull despair, but a few moments later something barred his way and stretching out his mittened hand it fell upon the lapped boarding of a house. There must be a door, he reasoned, and he groped along the wall until his hand fell forward into a shallow recess. Then he knocked savagely.

There was no response. The gale shrieked about the building, flinging the snow against it in clouds, and he realized that any noise he made was not likely to be heard. He fumbled for a latch, and found a k.n.o.b which his numbed fingers failed to turn. Then in a fury he struck the door again, each blow growing feebler than the last, until the cold overcame him and he slipped down into the snow. He could not get up; even the desire to do so grew fainter, and he sank into oblivion.

It did not last, however, and the return to consciousness was agonizing.

A strong light shone about him, though he could see nothing clearly, and he felt as if a boiling fluid were trying to creep through his half-frozen limbs; his hands and feet, in particular, tingled beyond endurance, which, had he known it, was a favorable sign. Then somebody gave him a hot drink and he heard voices which he vaguely recognized, though he could not tell to whom they belonged. A little later, he was lifted up and carried into a different room, where somebody laid him down and wrapped clothing about him. The tingling pain pa.s.sed away, he felt delightfully warm, and that was all that he was conscious of as he sank into heavy slumber.

It was daylight when he awakened, clear-headed and comfortable, and recognized the room as the one he had previously occupied in Prescott's house. It was obvious that he had slept for twelve or fourteen hours; and seeing his clothes laid out, dry, upon a chair, he got up and dressed.

Then he went down to the living-room, where Prescott rose as he came in.

"You don't look much the worse," the rancher said. "You had a fortunate escape."

"How did I get here?" Jernyngham asked, leaning on the back of a chair, for he felt shaky still.

"That's more than I can tell. Svendsen found you outside the door when he tried to get across to the stable. You couldn't have been there long: a few minutes, I guess, though we didn't hear you. Do your feet and hands feel right?"

Jernyngham was glad that his host made no inquiries as to what had brought him into the neighborhood.

"Thank you, yes," he said. "I must a.s.sure you that I had no intention of seeking shelter in your house."

"So I should imagine," Prescott answered smiling. "However, there ought to be a truce between even the deadliest enemies where there's a blizzard raging and the temperature's forty below. Though I can't say you have treated me well, I'm glad you didn't get frozen, and if you'll sit down, I'll tell Mrs. Svendsen to bring you in some breakfast."

"With what there is between us, you could hardly expect me to sit at your table."

"That's a comfortable chair you have your hand on. Bring it nearer the stove and let's try to look at the thing sensibly," Prescott persuaded.