“Then Minnie is not a teetotaler,” I said. “A bottle of whisky has gone.”
Leaving Aline to consider this, I ran to the stable, and found that one of the splendid horses poor Ormond had bequeathed me was also gone. In its place stood a sorry beast, evidently dead lame, and it did not need the scrap of paper pinned to the manger to explain the visit.
“I am running a heavy risk, and you won’t betray me,” the pencil scrawl read. “Tetley of Coulée Rouge will send back the horse and robes. It is a last favor; we won’t trouble you any more.—Minnie Fletcher.”
I was troubled, however. We should need every available beast in the spring, and Tetley was rather more than suspected of being concerned in smuggling whisky and certain contraband commerce, including the shipping of Chinamen over the United States border. It seemed like tempting Providence to leave a horse of that kind in his hands, and yet Coulée Rouge was twenty long miles away. I was also considerably puzzled as to why Minnie should have interfered to save her husband, for it was evident some fresh charge had been brought against him, and he was seeking 308 safety in the republic. Extradition existed, but except in murder cases it was not often that a fugitive who had once crossed the boundary was ever brought back. It seemed impossible that she had not read the reports in the papers, and the charge Fletcher brought against her was a hard one to forgive. Still, papers were not plentiful on the prairie, and the people she lived with might out of kindness have concealed part of the news from her. However that might be, I determined to save the horse, and explained this to Aline, with a brotherly warning not to allow emotion to get the better of her judgment in future. She listened with a docility that promised future reprisals, and then, agreeing that it would be well to secure the horse, said that she should not mind being left alone. Indeed, unless something very unexpected happened, she would be as safe alone at Fairmead as in any town.
So I saddled the next best horse, donned my warmest skin coat, and started for a cold ride across the prairie. The snow was thin and fairly hard—it seldom lies deep about Fairmead; but in view of the return journey I did not urge the horse, and our sleigh had lost a runner. So when perhaps half the distance had been traversed a beat of hoofs grew louder behind me, and four horsemen, riding hard, came up. By the jingle of accouterments I knew they were the wardens of the prairie, and half expected what was to follow.
“Hold up!” the sharp summons came, while I recognized my old acquaintance, Sergeant Angus, as the speaker. “Lorimer o’ Fairmead—good night to ye. Have ye seen a two-horse sleigh? We’ve news of it passing Green Hollow, south-bound, four hours ago!”
“Whom are you wanting?” I asked.
“Thomas Fletcher,” the sergeant answered. “One of his late partners gave him away, and there’s a warrant for him. 309 They wired us on to watch the stations, and a message came from Elktail that he’d been seen heading south in a sleigh. He’s no friend o’ yours; have ye met that sleigh, and where are ye riding at this unholy hour?”
“No,” I said, “I haven’t seen the sleigh; but a woman drove up to Fairmead, where my sister was alone, and borrowed my best horse. There are some business friends of yours on the trail to Dakota, and I’m going south in case they took a fancy to it.”
“Ye’re wise,” said Sergeant Angus. “A woman, are ye sure?”