“Well, you won’t see it done in this case!” cried Tom, wrathfully. “You’re supposed to protect people. How do I know that the fellow who pitched into me isn’t lying around somewhere ready to tackle the job again just as soon as I stray far enough away from the Mounted Police, eh?”
“There’s reason in that,” said Witmar.
Billy Ashe did not reply. Although the smugglers had escaped there was still much work to be done. The contraband goods would have to be conveyed to the settlement, where a police post was located; and that meant one of them would have to remain on guard while the other went in search of a team.
“Where do you suppose this wagon was bound?” asked Tom.
“That’s what we should have found out but for you,” growled Ashe. “Once these chaps know we’re hot on their trail they’ll keep under cover, maybe for months.”
The two troopers climbed into the wagon, and from bits of conversation which Tom now and then overheard he felt sure they had made a valuable find of contraband goods.
The canvas-covered vehicle, resting motionless upon the prairie, with its deep shadow cutting over the ground, produced a singularly picturesque effect. The soft moonlight, too, added an impressive appearance of size. To Tom Clifton’s mind it vaguely suggested some huge monster brought to bay and rendered helpless.
He wondered in which direction the men and horses had gone. He carefully studied the landscape, the hills, the obscure distance touched with faint lights and delicate shades. Somewhere in that great expanse were concealed the forms so eagerly sought.
Then, in another moment, the channel of his thoughts was rudely changed. A horseman, galloping hard, suddenly appeared. He was headed directly for the wagon.
At the same instant the troopers also discovered him.