“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 grass, 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 assumes 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 grass. 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 grass and reeds with keenly scrutinizing eyes. At length, however, he approached the others.