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<h2 class="newchapter">XXXII BY THE CAMP-FIRE</h2> In the timber the cold was not very keen and the tired men braced themselves for the effort to pitch camp. Peter and the sergeant took control and soon a big fire burned behind a wall of branches. Against the wall twigs and thin branches were packed for beds. Where the bushman can find fuel and material for building he does not bother about the frost, and in winter the Royal North-West patrols sleep by their camp-fires far out on the snowy wilds. A trooper fried pork and doughy bannocks, Deering brewed a kettle of strong tea, and when all had eaten like famished animals the men, for the most part, went to sleep. For a time, however, Deering, the sergeant, and Jimmy sat by the fire and smoked. On the mountains, they were absorbed by the stern physical effort, and concentrated mechanically on getting down. Animal instinct urged them forward, but now the risk of freezing was gone, they began to think like men. The sergeant and Jimmy were puzzled and imagined they might get some light from Deering. Jimmy's brows were knit and when he looked about he frowned. Although he was warm and the hot tea had revived him, he felt his brain was dull. Sparks leaped up from the fire; smoke tossed about the camp. One heard the wind in the pine-tops and the trunks reflected gleams of flickering light. The mist had blown away, and Jimmy saw far off a dim white ridge cut the sky. Then he turned his head and shivered, for he knew Stannard's broken body was somewhere in the rocks and perhaps nobody would find the spot. Stannard was his friend, a cultivated gentleman and a famous mountaineer; but he had slipped and gone down the precipice like a raw tourist. Moreover, although it looked as if he had killed the game warden, he had said nothing. In fact, it looked as if he were willing for Jimmy to pay. Yet Jimmy was not persuaded; for Stannard to use treachery like that was unthinkable. "You're satisfied I'm not accountable for the shooting accident?" he said to the sergeant. "I guess my chiefs are satisfied. Our orders were to leave you alone." For a few moments Jimmy was quiet. He had carried a heavy load and now the load was gone. He could urge Margaret to marry him and get on with his ranching. Perhaps, if she agreed, he might go back to Lancashire, but he must not yet dwell on this. "When did your officers find out I had nothing to do with it?" he resumed. "Not long since; the day before warden Douglas died. All the time he was at the hospital we waited for his statement, but got nothing. Although I've seen men shot, Douglas puzzled me and I reckon he puzzled the doctors. Sometimes he was sensible, but he didn't talk, and when we asked him about the shooting he looked at us as if he'd plumb forgot. Then, one day, it all came back and he gave us his story." "The night was dark and Douglas could not see much," Deering remarked. "I expect you had something to go on that helped you fill out his statement." The sergeant smiled. "The trooper who measured up the distances and made a plan of the clearing was a surveyor's clerk. Then Douglas was shot in the center of his chest, but the mark at the back was to one side. Besides, we had got Mr. Leyland's hired man; Miss Jardine put us on his track. He sure doesn't like Mr. Leyland but his tale was useful." "In fact, if Mr. Leyland had not pulled out, you would not have bothered him?" "I expect that is so. When Stannard sent Mr. Leyland off, he reckoned to give us a useful clue. Our duty was to try the clue." Jimmy looked up sharply, but Deering said, "Stannard's plan was good, but your officers are not fools. Then another thing is obvious; if you had tried very hard, you might have hit Mr. Leyland's trail before." "It's possible," the sergeant agreed with a touch of dryness. "Maybe the bosses were after Stannard. But I don't get it all yet. Stannard was not a fool. I guess he knew we couldn't put it on him that he meant to shoot Douglas. Since he was using the pit-light, he'd have gone to the pen, but I guess he could have stood for all he got. Yet when he saw he was corralled, he stepped back off the rocks!" "Stannard was an English highbrow. A year or two in a penitentiary would have knocked him out. Perhaps this accounts for it." "Oh, well," said the sergeant, "I guess we'll let it go. For three nights I've shivered on the rocks and I want to sleep." He lay down on the branches and Jimmy waited. The smoke was gone, the fire was clear, and red reflections played about the quiet figures at the bottom of the rude wall. After a time Jimmy thought all slept and he turned to Deering. "I don't know if the sergeant was satisfied, but I am not. You imply that when Stannard stepped back he knew where he went?" Deering pondered. He saw Jimmy was disturbed and puzzled, but he doubted if there was much use in enlightening him. Stannard was gone. Jimmy had trusted the fellow and had already got a nasty knock. Yet if he had begun to see a light, Deering did not mean to cheat him. He was not Stannard's champion. "Well," he said, "it certainly looks like that." "But why? The sergeant thinks they would not have tried Stannard for shooting with intent to kill; he declares Stannard could have stood for all he got." "I expect that is so. Sometimes, however, people are not logical. For example, when you thought you had shot Douglas, you pulled out." "I ought to have stayed. Now I think about it, Stannard rather persuaded me to go," Jimmy agreed and looked at Deering hard. "When you recently found out Stannard had gone to my help, why did you go after him?" "For one thing, I knew he had not got a proper guide. I thought the job a man's job, and Stevens and Dillon are boys." "Somehow I feel that's not all," said Jimmy and for a moment or two was very quiet. Then he resumed: "When Stannard and I were on the ledge you were at the corner. I was going to jump on the slab, but you shouted." "Sometimes you're rash. When you jump on a rock, you want to know the rock is sound." "The slab was not sound," said Jimmy in a hoarse voice. "Still I was on the rope and Stannard knew, if I went down, I might pull him off the ledge——" He stopped and Deering saw he did not want to solve the puzzle. "It's done with and you're a stanch friend," he resumed. "Well, I'm very tired." Deering gave him a sympathetic nod, and pulling his blanket round him, got down on a pile of twigs. Jimmy sat with his back against a log and looked into the gloom behind the black pine-tops. High up on the lonely rocks a rotten slab dropped to the gully, and, but for Deering's stanchness, he might have taken an awful plunge. In the meantime, the cold was keen, his body was exhausted and his brain was dull. He did not know much and did not want to know all. The thing was done with and he resolved to let it go. By and by he got down on the twigs by Deering, stretched his legs to the fire and went to sleep. In the morning after breakfast the sergeant lighted his pipe and stopped the troopers, who had begun to roll up their packs. "We won't break camp yet, boys," he said and turned to Deering. "Mr. Stevens can't stand for a long hike and my orders were to bring Stannard back." "Sometimes the police orders do not go," said Deering dryly. "Until the snow melts nobody will bring Stannard back. He has cheated you." "I've got to try and want your help." "You can reckon on mine," said Dillon and looked at Jimmy. "Laura must be satisfied——" "That is so; I'm going to stay," said Jimmy; and when Deering agreed, the sergeant ordered a trooper and Gillane to start for the railroad. He stated he must send a report, and Jimmy and Dillon gave the packer some telegrams. The men set off and soon afterwards the others, leaving Stevens to watch the fire, began to climb the long steep ridge behind the camp. The effort cost them much. All were slack and tired and knew their labor would not be rewarded. Yet for some hours they struggled across the snow-fields and searched the rocks with the glasses. In the afternoon they went back, and lying about the fire, talked and smoked. At daybreak they started again and reached higher ground. The day was bright and the rocks and gullies were distinct, but when the sun sank behind the range, they had found nothing. All the same, Jimmy saw that when Stannard resolved to try the gully his judgment was strangely good. There was not another line down the rocks and nowhere but at the bottom could the party have reached a slope leading to the trees. At length Deering gave the sergeant his glasses. "Nothing's on the big gravel bank and we can't get up the cliff," he said. "I have had enough and I expect you are satisfied. Maybe you'll find Stannard after the thaw, but when he stepped off the rocks I think he went for good." "I've tried," said the sergeant. "Let's get down. At sun-up we'll pull out for the railroad." They went back, but after supper nobody talked much. Somehow the camp was gloomy and Jimmy fought against a vague sense of horror. To know they would take the trail in the morning was some relief. At daybreak they broke camp and started downhill. All were glad to go, but when they reached the valley Jimmy stopped and looked up at the distant white streak in the rocks. Now he was on level ground, to picture his crawling down the awful gully was hard, and at the top was the snow-bank where Stannard vanished. Jimmy shivered, but after a few moments turned and ran to join the others. He was young, the sun was on the mountains and the doubts and horror he had known melted like the dark. The thing was done with, the load he had carried was gone, and he was free. Perhaps it was strange, but he began to perceive that the freedom he thought he enjoyed with Stannard was an illusion. Stannard's light touch was very firm and he had led Jimmy where he did not mean to go. Laura, not knowing all she did, had helped him to resist, and when he knew Margaret, Stannard's control was broken. It looked as if Stannard had not meant to let him go; but Jimmy refused to speculate about the other's plans. At length, so to speak, he was his own man. He had paid for his extravagance and extravagance had lost its charm. Now he knew no obstacle to his marrying Margaret, and if she were willing, he resolved to resume his proper job at the cotton mill. When he thought about it his heart beat, but Margaret was not yet persuaded, and unless she knew his relations approved, to persuade her might be hard. Well, Sir James was at Vancouver; in fact, he was perhaps at the hotel, and Jimmy was keen to meet him. Progress, however, was slow. Broken trees and rocks from the mountain blocked the way, fresh snow had fallen, and Stevens was lame. He had slept with his wet boots on and his foot was frostbitten. Then Dillon was slack and moody. His fatigue was not gone, and if Gillane had sent the telegrams, when the party reached the settlement Laura would be waiting. Dillon shrank from enlightening her and Jimmy sympathized. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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