And it was with this man—no petty law-breaker but a foeman worthy of his steel—that Hector had his quarrel. He was almost glad that such a man had chosen him as a special enemy, had in fact forced him to take up as a personal fight what otherwise would have been only a matter of duty. He leaped to meet the challenge. 'This is a personal fight between Welland and myself,' he had told the Inspector. 'He's made it so; and I must see it through. Besides, he's my meat, anyway. I trailed him. I showed him up. I must see it through. And I'd rather do it single-handed....' The words came back to him as he rushed through the night and he looked forward, keen as mustard, to the moment which should bring them face to face, in the struggle which had been approaching year after year and was now at hand....
He was so absorbed in these pleasant anticipations that, in spite of the bright moonlight, he failed to notice a hole in the trail. His horse, half asleep, though cantering, was as blind as himself. Somersaulting heels over head, horse and rider fell. The horse stumbled wildly to its feet. But Hector lay stunned.
And the spy ahead went galloping on.
VIII
At three o'clock in the morning Joe Welland woke from a sweet dream to find his squaw beside him. On the arrest of Wild Horse, he had sent Lizzie to Fort Macleod to watch and report developments. Her return was now sufficient evidence to tell him that something momentous had happened.
A horrible fear swept over him and, sitting up in bed, he frantically ordered her to speak.
In her halting English, Lizzie obeyed. Long a familiar and pathetic figure in barracks, no-one had suspected her and she had been able to maintain a close watch on Wild Horse's prison. When she saw him brought to Inspector Denton's quarters, she guessed that vital developments would follow. Going round to the Inspector's kitchen, she begged for food. Mrs. Denton knew her quite well and thought her harmless. She gave her a seat in the kitchen and a bite of supper. Lizzie, when left for a moment alone, slipped into a hiding-place under the stairs, whence she overheard everything going on in the parlour. As soon as she learned that Sergeant Adair was to start for Welland's, she escaped from barracks unobserved, mounted her pony, which was tethered in a gully not far off, and had ridden over the sixty miles at the best speed possible.
Then she gave the rancher full details of the conference.
It was typical of Welland that he had no word of thanks for the woman who had dared and endured so much for his sake. Day in and day out, through the years, he had used her as a slave, working her to exhaustion and often flogging her. Yet, with the dumb devotion characteristic of the Indian woman, she had borne it all, content to suffer his injustice if only she might dedicate her life to him. And now, in his great need, when she might have left him to the fate he well deserved, when circumstances had offered her an opportunity for retribution, she had unhesitatingly done her best to save his wretched hide. Years of selfish brutality had made him incapable of gratitude for the greatest of services, and he would have regarded the sacrifice of her life for him as a matter of course.
It did not take him long to see that flight was his only refuge. His day was done. The Police—represented, in his view, by Hector—had at last unmasked him, had gathered conclusive evidence against him and were at that very moment on their way to take him. When they had him safely in jail, he realized, they would set about gathering more information. With the Chester murder against him, it would be at least a life sentence. To attempt to bluff it out was madness. If the Police laid hands on him, he was doomed. The United States boundary was only a few miles away. Once on American soil, he could quickly hide himself so that not even the Yankees could find him. After that, he could begin life over again somewhere. This life, the life of Mr. Joseph Welland, rancher—had crumbled to pieces round him and only instant action could save him from burial in the ruins.