“Well, I guess you won’t. You have given us trouble enough already, and you’ll be warmer on your feet.” Then he drew out a paper. “This is my warrant. It’s my duty to arrest you——”
Wandle listened coolly to the formula, in which he was charged with fraudulently selling Jernyngham’s land and forging his name. Indeed, Prescott fancied that he was relieved to find that nothing more serious had been brought against him.
“Well,” he said, “you’ll hear my defense when it’s ready. What’s to be done now?”
“Head back to the homestead where you got the team. Think you can lead one of them? It’s either that or I’ll put the handcuffs on you—make your choice.” Stanton turned to Prescott. “It will be warmer walking, and I’ve ridden about enough.”
The suggestion was agreed to, and after looping up the cut harness awkwardly with numbed fingers, they set off; Wandle going first, holding one horse’s head, Prescott following with two, and the trooper bringing up the rear. When they reached the farm, to the astonishment of its occupants, they were given quarters in the kitchen, where a big stove was burning. Soon afterward, Prescott and Wandle lay down on the wooden floor, wrapped in blankets supplied them by the farmer, and Prescott sank into heavy sleep. Stanton, sitting upright in an uncomfortable chair, kept watch with his carbine laid handy on the table. He spent the night in a tense struggle to keep awake, and when Prescott got up at dawn the trooper’s face was haggard and his eyes half closed, but he was still on guard.
After breakfast, they borrowed a saddle for Wandle and set out on the return journey, meeting Curtis, who had ridden from the railroad, at the first settlement they reached. Prescott left the others there, and rode toward the station the corporal had just left, taking some telegrams Curtis asked him to despatch. He spent an afternoon and a night in the little wooden town, and went on again the next day by a local train.
While Prescott was on the way, Jernyngham drove to Sebastian with Gertrude. The girl had insisted on accompanying him. Soon after they left the homestead Colston, who was trying to read a paper from which his interest wandered, looked up at his wife.
“It’s fine weather and not quite so cold,” he said. “Suppose we go to the settlement and get supper there? I’ve no doubt there’s something you or Muriel would like to buy.”
“As it happens, there is,” Mrs. Colston replied. “But I don’t think that’s all you have in your mind.”
“The fact is, I’m disturbed about Jernyngham,” Colston admitted. “He has been in an extremely restless mood since Prescott disappeared.”