The officer acknowledged the compliment mechanically. He was thinking deeply. Lablache struggled to his feet, and, supporting his bulk with one hand resting upon the desk, gasped out his final words upon the matter.
"I want you to remember, sergeant, this matter not only affects me personally but also in my capacity as a justice of the peace. To whatever reward I am able to make in the name of H.M. Government I shall add the sum of one thousand dollars for the recovery of the cattle, and the additional sum of one thousand dollars for the capture of the miscreant himself. I have determined to spare no expense in the matter of hunting this devil," with vindictive intensity, "down, therefore you can draw on me for all outlay your work may entail. All I say is, capture him."
"I shall do my best, Mr. Lablache," Horrocks replied simply. "And now, if you will permit me, I will go down to the settlement to give a few orders to my men. Good-morning—er—Miss Allandale; good day, gentlemen. You will hear from me to-night."
The officer left in all the pride of his official capacity. And possibly his pride was not without reason, for many and smart were the captures of evil-doers he had made during his career as a keeper of the peace. But we have been told that "pride goeth before a fall." His estimation of a "hustler" was not an exalted one. He was accustomed to dealing with men who shoot quick and straight—"bad men" in fact—and he was equally quick with the gun, and a dead shot himself. Possibly he was a shade quicker and a trifle more deadly than the smartest "bad man" known, but now he was dealing with a man of all these necessary attainments and whose resourcefulness and cleverness were far greater than his own. Sergeant Horrocks had a harder road to travel than he anticipated.
Lablache took his departure shortly afterwards, and "Poker" John and his niece were left in sole possession of the office at the ranch.
The old man looked thoroughly wearied with the mental effort the interview had entailed upon him. And Jacky, watching him, could not help noticing how old her uncle looked. She had been a silent observer in the foregoing scene, her presence almost ignored by the other actors. Now, however, that they were left alone, the old man turned a look of appealing helplessness upon her. Such was the rancher's faith in this wild, impetuous girl that he looked for her judgment on what had passed in that room with the ready faith of one who regards her as almost infallible, where human intellect is needed. Nor was the girl, herself, slow to respond to his mute inquiry. The swiftness of her answer enhanced the tone of her conviction.
"Set a thief to catch a thief, Uncle John. I guess Horrocks, in spite of his shifty black eyes, isn't the man for the business. He might track the slimmest neche that ever crossed the back of a choyeuse. Lablache is the man Retief has to fear. That uncrowned monarch of Foss River is subtle, and subtlety alone will serve. Horrocks?" with fine disdain. "Say, you can't shoot snipe with a pea-shooter."
"That's so," replied John, with weary thoughtlessness. "Do you know, child, I can't help feeling a strange satisfaction that this Retief's victim is Lablache. But there, one never knows, when such a man is about, who will be the next to suffer. I suppose we must take our chance and trust to the protection of the police."
The girl had walked to the window and now stood framed in the casement of it. She turned her face back towards the old man as he finished speaking, and a quiet little smile hovered round the corners of her fresh ripe lips.
"I don't think Retief will bother us any—at least, he never did before. Somehow I don't think he's an ordinary rascal." She turned back to the window. "Hulloa, I guess Bill's coming right along up the avenue."