After much thinking, pro and con, the corporal came to a decision. He would go. Fontaine would watch over the prisoners. Just as soon as he, Rand, could feed and water his horse and get something to eat himself, he would immediately take the trail south—for that undoubtedly was the direction in which the wily old recluse had gone.
Having made his plans, the policeman proceeded to put them into execution. He cared for his horse, had lunch, gave Fontaine final instructions, and, just before starting out, locked Burnnel and Emery in the room, which formerly had been the private chamber of the road-house keeper himself. He led out his horse, saddled and bridled, and was in the very act of mounting, when a sound came from the opposite side of the road-house. It caused him to hesitate, one foot already in the stirrup, then presently, with an exclamation of surprise, to withdraw that foot and place it firmly on the ground again.
A half-breed woman, quite young, sitting gracefully on a pinto pony, guided by a rope bridle, came around the corner of the house and drew up, less than twenty feet from the spot where the corporal stood.
Seeing a woman there, was not what had interested Rand so much as the fact that he had immediately recognized her. It was “Rat” MacGregor’s wife!
If he had suddenly been brought face to face with her like this at any other place except here, at Frischette’s road-house, he would have thought nothing of it, would have continued about his business, untroubled by a single suspicion.
But here it was different. What was the woman doing here? Surely it was for no good purpose. Her coming had induced a perplexing train of thought in the corporal’s mind, and had made necessary a complete revision of his plans.
Shaking his head, he led his horse back into the stable and advanced to question the woman. Removing his hat, he bowed politely.
“Madam is a long way from home,” he remarked. “May I ask which way you are going?”
“Rat” MacGregor’s wife threw back her head haughtily.
“Police! Bah!” she sniffed.