CHAPTER x.x.xIII

PLAYING THE GAME

For some moments the two men faced each other in a sort of grim silence. It was already daylight. Sunday morning was breaking under a cloudless sky.

At last McBain rose from his seat at the deal table which served him for a desk. He reached out and turned out the lamp. Its light was no longer needed. Then he stretched himself and yawned.

"Had enough of it?" inquired Fyles, catching the infection and stifling a yawn.

"Just what you might notice, sir." A shadowy smile played about the Scot's hard mouth, but it was gone in a moment.

Fyles nodded.

"So have I," he agreed. "But we've broke the back of things.

And--you'll be kept busy all day to--I was going to say to-morrow. I mean to-day."

McBain sat down again.

"Yes, sir. A couple of hours' sleep'll do me, though. We daren't spare ourselves. It's sort of life and death to us."

Fyles shot a keen look into the other's face.

"I shouldn't be surprised if it were literally so."

"You think, sir----?"

McBain's voice was sharply questioning.

But Fyles only laughed. There was no mirth in his expression, and McBain understood.

"Never mind," the officer went on, with a careless shrug. "Best turn in. We'll know all about it when the time comes."

He rose from his seat, and McBain, with a brief "Good night, sir,"

disappeared into the inner room.

But Fyles did not follow his example for a few moments. He went to the door and flung it open. Then he stood for awhile gazing out at the wonderful morning daylight, and drinking in the pure prairie air.

While he stood thus his thoughts were busy, and a half smile was in his eyes. He was thinking of the irony of the fact that Kate Seton's superst.i.tion had completely taken possession of him.

Two hours after sunrise McBain and his superior were at work again.

They had s.n.a.t.c.hed their brief sleep, but it was sufficient for these hardy riders of the plains. The camp was full of activity. Each man of the patrol had to be interviewed, and given minute instructions, also instructions for the arising of unforeseen circ.u.mstances, where individual initiative would require to be displayed. Then there were rations to be served out, and, finally, messengers must be sent to the supernumerary camp higher up the valley. But there was no undue bustle or haste. It was simply activity.

At ten o'clock Stanley Fyles left the camp. McBain would continue the work, which, by this time, had returned to conditions of ordinary routine.

Peter ambled gently down the valley. His rider seemed in no hurry.

There was no need for hurry. The village was five miles away, and he had no desire to reach it until just before eleven. So he could take his leisure, sparing both himself and his horse for the great effort of the morrow.

Just for one brief moment he contemplated a divergence from his course. It was at the moment when he left the cattle track which led to his camp and joined the old Indian trail to the village. He reached the branching cattle track on the other side of it which would have led him to the mysterious corral, which was possessed of so much interest and suspicion. But he remembered that a visit thither would violate the conditions of his wager with Kate. The place belonged to Charlie Bryant. So he pushed on.

As he rode he thought of Kate Seton's determination to absent herself during the critical events about to happen in the village. On the whole he was pleased with her decision. Somehow he felt he understood her feelings. The grip of her superst.i.tion had left him more understanding of her desire to get away.

Then, too, he would rather she were away when his own big effort came.

Should he fail again, which now he believed impossible, he would rather she were not there to witness that failure. He knew, only too well, from bitter experience, how easy it was for the most complete plans to go awry when made against the genius of crime. No, he did not want her to witness his failure. Nor would he care to flaunt the success he antic.i.p.ated, and consequently the error she had fallen into, before her distressed eyes. He felt very tender toward her. She was so loyal, so courageous in her beliefs, such a great little sportswoman. No, he must spare her all he could when he had won that wager. He would not demand his pound of flesh. He would release her from her debt, and just appeal to her through his love. And, somehow, when he had caught this man, Bryant, and so proved how utterly unworthy he was of her regard, he felt that possibly he would not have to appeal in vain.

He reached the old Meeting House as the earliest of the village folk were gathering for service. He did not ride up, but left Peter, much to that creature's disquiet, tied in the bush some fifty yards from the place.

His interest became at once absorbed. He chatted pleasantly for a few moments with Mr. Blundell, the traveling Methodist minister, and greeted those of the villagers whom he had come to know personally.

But all the while his eyes and ears were fully alert for the things concerning his purpose. He noted carefully all those who were present, but the absentees were his greatest interest. Not one of those who const.i.tuted the gang of smugglers was present, and particularly he noted Charlie Bryant's absence.

Among the last to arrive were Big Brother Bill and Helen, and Fyles smiled as he beheld the careful toilet of the big city man. Helen, as usual, was clad in her best tailored suit, and looked particularly bright and smart when he greeted her.

"Miss Kate not at--service?" he inquired, as they paused at the door of the building.

Helen shook her head, and her face fell.

"No. She's preparing for her journey to Myrtle," said the girl. "How she can do with that noisy old creature Mrs. Radley I--I--well, she gets me beat every time. But Kate's just as obstinate as a fifty-year-old mule. She's crazy to get away from here, and--and I left her about to dope the wheels of the wretched old wagon she's going to drive this afternoon. Oh, dear! But come along, Bill, they're beginning service."

A moment later the police officer was left alone outside the building.

It was not his way to take long arriving at a decision. He walked briskly away, and vanished amid the bush. A minute later he was once more in the saddle, heading for the bridge in front of Kate's house.

Kate was still at her wagon when Fyles arrived. At the sound of his approach she straightened herself up with a smiling, half-embarra.s.sed welcome shining in her eyes.

"Don't you come too near," she exclaimed. "I'm all over axle dope. It truly is the messiest job ever. But what are you to do when the boys clear out, and--and play you such a scurvy trick? I've been relying on Nick to drive me out and bring the wagon back. Now I'll have to drive myself, and keep the wagon there, unless I can hire some one to bring it back, so Charlie can haul his last hay to-morrow."

The policeman ran his eyes over the wagon. At the mention of Charlie Bryant's name, his manner seemed to freeze up. He recognized the vehicle at once.

"It's Bryant's wagon?" he said shortly.

Kate nodded.

"Sure. He always lends it me when I want one. I haven't one of my own."

"I see."

Fyles's manner became more easy. Then he went on.

"Where are your boys? Where's Pete?"

Kate's eyes widened.

"Gracious goodness only knows," she said, in sheer exasperation. "I only hope Nick turns up to drive me. I surely will have to get rid of them both. I've had enough of Pete since he got drunk and insulted Helen. Still, he got his med'cine from Bill all right. And he got the rough side of my tongue, too. Yes, I shall certainly get rid of both.

Charlie's always urging me to." She wiped her hands on a cloth.

"There, thank goodness I've finished that messy job."

She released the jack under the axle, and the wheel dropped to the ground.