"Thank you, sir."
Hector saluted and was gone.
The Inspector had said there was 'no particular hurry.' Hector himself believed that there was 'no particular hurry.' Both were lamentably wrong.
One of Welland's spies had overheard every syllable of the discussion in the Inspector's parlour and, before Hector had saddled up, had left Fort Macleod two good miles behind and was galloping hot-foot for Welland's to warn him of his danger.
VII
On clearing the barracks and turning his horse into the trail to Welland's ranch, sixty miles distant, Hector saw that the moon was rising among the scattered clouds above the distant foothills, and he studied his watch by its radiance: eight o'clock exactly. He planned to reach Welland's before dawn. Setting a brisk pace, if all went well, he should have his enemy under arrest within six or seven hours. The trail was so clearly revealed that he could safely proceed at almost any speed. He settled down for the long ride.
As he went, he found himself unable to put out of his mind the night's startling revelations. Having long suspected Welland of whiskey-smuggling, horse-stealing and cattle-rustling, confirmation of these suspicions caused him no surprise. But that Welland had plotted his disgrace and afterwards his death came home with unexpected force. He saw now that, from the time when they first met, until that moment, Welland's feelings towards him were nothing but sham, maintained for purposes of his own. Welland had recognized him long ago as a man who would probably become dangerous and had gone out of his way from the first to hoodwink him—to produce in Hector's mind an impression strongly favourable to himself. As with Hector, so with the Force generally, to a lesser degree, and so also with the civilians of the district. To discover that Welland's friendship had always been false, that, while apparently well disposed toward him, the rancher had long been plotting against him and had actually attempted to murder him—this was a very bitter pill.
Running over various incidents, Hector, now that his had been opened, could see traces of Welland's deceit everywhere. The warmth with which he had condemned all evil-doers and especially all whiskey-traders when he first came to Fort Macleod had been nothing but hypocrisy, to blind them to his own misdoings. The energy with which he had worked to make their first Christmas a success had been born, not of generous good feeling, but a selfish desire to increase his own popularity with the Force and thus lend further concealment to his real character. He had pushed Hector into prominence on that occasion simply to strengthen the latter's good opinion. The interest he had always shown in Hector's work—as when he enquired so tenderly after the progress he was making with the whiskey-runners when they met in Weatherton's store—that, too, was a sham, an attempt to win useful information. One by one, Hector took these things from their dusty pigeon-holes, examined them in this new light and added them to the damning evidence he had collected against Welland.
So much for that friendship!
Other matters came back to him, bits of evidence of which he had just hinted to Inspector Denton. There was, for instance, the fright displayed by Welland when the party of Police arrived unexpectedly at his house on the way to 'Red-hot' Dan's and asked for shelter. The rancher had been so startled that one might have almost fancied him anticipating arrest. And later, when he endeavored to scare them with wonderful stories of the desperate character of the wanted man—what was this but a sign that he was in league with the trader and desired to gain time to warn him and secure his escape into U.S. territory, while the Police returned to Fort Macleod for reinforcements? They had found 'Red-hot' Dan ready for them, even as it was, and Hector suspected, now, that Welland had obtained means at least to warn him in time to put up a resistance. Hector remembered the shrieks he had heard on the way to the Sun Dance and knew that Randall's tale of Welland beating his squaw was true. It was then that Welland had shown him the buffalo skull used by the smugglers—an effort, that, to put him off the scent. The man had been cunning as the devil; but not cunning enough. These things, together, betrayed him at last as a liar, a traitor, a brute, an arch-criminal.