A man of quick decisions, his mind was at once made up. Jumping out of bed, he began to dress, throwing instructions at Lizzie the while.
"And don't make a noise, or I'll kill you," he adjured.
Fear lent him swiftness and strength. Already, he fancied he heard Hector's voice, summoning him to surrender. Hector! At thought of him, Welland was possessed with fury. To Hector, he knew, he owed his downfall. With infinite patience and cunning, beginning years before Hector's arrival, the rancher had built up a criminal machine of amazing efficiency, a machine which had made him rich. He had hidden his own connection with the machine so cleverly that, as time went on, he began to consider himself absolutely safe. One by one his vassals were jailed but no evil consequences for himself resulted. He had taken good care, from the first, to see that they were men who knew it best to keep their mouths shut. So, to all the world, he had continued to be Joseph Welland, most respectable of ranchers. The world might have lingered on in this illusion for Heaven knows how long, at least until the day when, made wealthy by the machine, he might have scrapped it and became truly respectable. That day, of late, had seemed near; and he looked forward to it, since, to do him justice, he was not a master-criminal for the love of it nor a secret associate with low-down whites and Indians for any love he bore them. That day had seemed near; and now, thanks to Hector, it was gone forever.
It was no satisfaction to him at this moment to recall that from the first he had recognized the quiet, immensely keen young giant as a dangerous factor. But the knowledge that he had been unable to maintain Hector in ignorance of his real character, that he had failed to realize until too late that Hector was on his track, and that, when realization came, he had made so poor a job of his attempt to 'settle' him—this knowledge tortured him.
Well, he would see to it that he was not taken by Sergeant Adair or any other Mounted Policeman! If he hurried, he might still get away to such a start that no-one could overtake him. But he must hurry. Hector could not have been far behind Lizzie in leaving Fort Macleod.
The black horse stolen from 'Lazy G' was the best in the stable! He ran out into the moonlight to saddle him.
IX
Hector's struggling return to consciousness ended when he felt something soft and warm against his hand and found his horse anxiously nuzzling him. For a minute or two he was powerless to think or move. The moon and stars went wheeling weirdly round and round, while a sticky stream coursed slowly down his cheek. Feeling horribly sick and weak, he yielded to an intense desire to sleep and closed his eyes again.
Meanwhile, precious time was flying.
From this condition he recovered with a start and a dawning sense that something important was hanging in the balance. His next thought was to get to his feet; but, when he tried to rise, agonizing pains shot through him, dragging a groan from his lips and forcing beads of sweat to his face. He sat up gasping, teeth clenched. The spasm past, he tried again, got to his knees, then, catching at the stirrup, dragged himself slowly up and so at last to a standing position. Had he not had the saddle to cling to, he would certainly have fallen. As it was, he reeled drunkenly and only the dim knowledge that he must pull himself together gave him the power to hold on.