XVII.
BROOKE ATTEMPTS BURGLARY.
The half-moon Barbara watched from her window floated slowly above theserrated tops of the dusky pines when Brooke groped his way throughtheir shadow across a strip of the Englishman's swamp. The ranch whichhe was making for rose darkly before him with the willows clusteringclose up to that side of it, and he stopped and stood listening when hereached them. The night was very still, so still, indeed, that the deepsilence vaguely troubled him. High above the climbing forests greatramparts of never-melting snow gleamed against the blue, and standingthere, hot, breathless, and a trifle muddy, he felt their impressivewhite serenity, until he started at a faint rattle in the house. Itceased suddenly, but it had set his heart throbbing unpleasantly fast,though he was sensible of a little annoyance with himself because thiswas the case.
There was nothing he need fear, and he was, indeed, not quite sure thatthe prospect of facing a physical peril would have been altogetherunpleasant then. Devine was away, the women were doubtless asleep, andit was the fact that he was about to creep like a thief into a housewhere he had been hospitably welcomed which occasioned his uneasiness.It was true that he only meant to acquire information which would enablehim to recover the dollars he had been defrauded of, but the reflectionbrought him no more consolation than it had done on other occasions whenhe had been sensible of the same disgust and humiliation.
He was, however, at the same time sensible of a faint relief, for theposition had been growing almost intolerable of late, and, though heshrank from the revelation, it seemed preferable that Barbara Heathcoteshould see him in the true light at last. This, it was evident, musthappen ultimately, and now it would, at least, dispense with the hatefulnecessity of continuing the deception. He had also, though that appearedof much less importance then, met with further difficulties at thecanyon, and he realized almost with content that Devine would in allprobability pay him nothing for the uncompleted work. He did not wish tofeel that he owed Devine anything.
In the meanwhile a little bent branch from which the bruised leavesdrooped limply caught his eye, for he had trained his powers ofobservation following the deer at the ranch, and moving a trifle henoticed one that was broken. It was evident that somebody had recentlyforced his way through the thicket towards the house, and he wonderedvacantly why anyone should have done so when a good trail led round thecopse. The question would probably not have occupied his attention atany other time, but just then he was glad to seize upon anything thatmight serve to distract his thoughts from the purpose he had on hand.
He could not, however, stay there considering it, and following the bendof the willows he came to the door of the ranch kitchen, behind whichthe office stood, and once more he stopped to listen. There was nothingaudible but the distant roar of the canyon, and, though nobody could seehim, he felt his face grow hot as he laid one hand upon the door andinserted the point of a little steel bar in the crevice. Devine's officewas isolated from the rest of the ranch, but Brooke felt that if anybodyheard the sound he expected to make he would not be especially sorry. Hewould not abandon his project, but he could have borne anything thatmade it impracticable with equanimity.
The door, however, somewhat to his astonishment, swung open at a touch,and he crept in noiselessly with an even greater sense of degradation.The inmates of the ranch were, it seemed, wholly unsuspecting, and hewhom they had treated with gracious kindliness was about to take ashameful advantage of their confidence. Still, he crossed the kitchencarrying the little bar and did not stop until he reached the officedoor. This stood ajar, but he stood still a moment in place of going in,longing, most illogically, for any interruption. The ranch seemedhorribly and unnaturally still, for he could not hear the sound of theriver now, until there was a low rustle that set him quivering.Somebody, it appeared, was moving about the room in front of him. Then aboard creaked sharply, and with every nerve strung up he drew the door atrifle open.
A faint stream of radiance shone in through the window, but it fell uponthe wall opposite, and the rest of the room was wrapped in shadow, inwhich he could just discern a dim figure that moved stealthily. It wasevidently a man who could have come there with no commendable purpose,and as he recognized this a somewhat curious thing happened, forBrooke's lips set tight, and he clenched the steel bar in a fit ofvenomous anger. It did not occur to him that his own object was, afterall, very much the same as the stranger's, and creeping forwardnoiselessly with eyes fixed on the dusky figure he saw it stoop andapparently move a book that stood on what seemed to be a box. Thatmovement enabled him to gain another yard, and then he stopped again,bracing himself for the grapple, while the dim object straighteneditself and turned towards the light.
Brooke could hear nothing but the throbbing of his heart, and for amoment his eyes grew hazy; but that passed, and he saw the man hold upan object that was very like a tin case. He moved again nearer thelight, and Brooke sprang forward with the bar swung aloft. Quick as hewas, the stranger was equally alert, and stepped forward instead ofback, while next moment Brooke looked into the dully glinting muzzle ofa pistol.
"Stop right where you are!" a voice said.
Brooke did as he was bidden, instinctively. Had there been anyunevenness in the voice he might have risked a rush, but the grimquietness of the order was curiously impressive, and for a second or twothe men stood tense and motionless, looking at one another with handsclenched and lips hard set Brooke recognized the intruder as a man whowheeled the ore between the mine and stamps, and remembered that he hadnot been there very long.
"What do you want here?" he said, for the silence was gettingintolerable.
The man smiled grimly, though he did not move the pistol, and his eyeswere unpleasantly steady.
"I was going to ask you the same thing, but it don't count," he said."There's a door yonder, and you have 'bout ten seconds to get out of it.If you're here any longer you're going to take tolerably steep chancesof getting hurt."
Brooke realized that the warning was probably warranted, but he stoodstill, stiffening his grasp on the bar, for to vacate the position wasthe last thing he contemplated. Barbara Heathcote was in the ranch, andhe did not remember that she had also two companions then. Nor did heknow exactly what he meant to do, that is, while the stranger eyed himwith the same unpleasant steadiness, for it was evident that a veryslight contraction of his forefinger would effectually prevent him doinganything. Then while they stood watching each other breathlessly for asecond or two a door handle rattled and Brooke heard a rustle ofdraperies.
"Look behind you!" said the stranger, sharply.
Brooke, too strung up to recognize the risk of the proceeding, swunground almost before he heard him, and then gasped with consternation,for Barbara stood in the entrance holding up a light. She was, however,not quite defenseless, as Brooke realized when he saw the gleamingpistol in her hand. Next moment his folly, and the fact that thestranger had also seen it, became evident, for there was a hasty patterof feet, and when Brooke turned again he had almost gained the otherdoor of the room. Barbara, who had moved forward in the meanwhile,however, now stood between him and it, and turning half round he raisedthe pistol menacingly. Then with hand clenched hard upon the bar Brookesprang.
There was a flash and a detonation, the acrid smoke drove into his eyes,and he fell with a crash against the door, which was flung to in frontof him. He had, as he afterwards discovered, struck it with his head andshoulder, but just then he was only sensible of an unpleasant dizzinessand a stinging pain in his left arm. Then he leaned somewhat heavilyagainst the door, and he and the girl looked at each other through thefilmy wisps of smoke that drifted athwart the light, while a rapidpatter of footsteps grew less distinct. Barbara was somewhat white inface, and her lips were quivering.
"Are you hurt?" she said, and her voice sounded curiously strained.
"No," said Brooke, with a little hollow laugh. "Not seriously, anyway.The fellow flung the door to in my face, and the blow must have par
tlydazed me. That reminds me that I'm wasting time. Where is he now?"
Barbara made a little forceful gesture. "Halfway across the clearing, Iexpect. You cannot go after him. Look at your arm."
Brooke turned his head slowly, for the dizziness he was sensible of didnot seem to be abating, and saw a thin, red trickle drip from the sleeveof his jean jacket, which the moonlight fell upon.
"I scarcely think it's worth troubling about. The arm will bend allright," he said. "Still, perhaps, you wouldn't mind very much if I tookthis thing off."
He seized the edge of the jacket, and then while his face went awry lethis hand drop again.
"It might, perhaps, be better to cut the sleeve," he said. "Could yourun this knife down the seam? The jean is very thin."
The girl's hand shook a little as she opened the knife he passed her,and just then a cry came down faintly from one of the rooms above.Barbara swung round swiftly, and moved into the corridor.
"Nothing very dreadful has happened, and I am coming back in a minute ortwo, but whatever you do don't come down," she said authoritatively, andBrooke heard a door swing to above.
Then she came towards him quietly, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Keep still, and I will not be long. Katty is apt to lose her head," shesaid.
Her fingers still quivered a little, but she was deft in spite of it,and when the slit sleeve fell away Brooke sat down on the table with alittle smile.
"Very sorry to trouble you," he said. "I don't know much about thesethings, but the artery evidently isn't cut, and I don't think the boneis touched. That means there can't be very much harm done. Would youmind tying my handkerchief tightly round it where I've laid my finger?"
Barbara, who did so, afterwards sat down in the nearest chair, for shefelt a trifle breathless as well as somewhat limp, and there was anembarrassing silence, while for no very apparent reason they now avoidedlooking at one another. A little filmy smoke still drifted about theroom, and a short steel bar, a tin case, and a litter of papers laybetween them on the floor. There were red splashes on one or two of thelatter.
"The man must have dropped them," said Barbara, quietly, though hervoice was still not quite her usual one. "He, of course, brought the barto open the door with."
Brooke did not answer the last remark.
"I fancy he dropped them when he flung the door in my face," he said.
"Of course!" said Barbara. "He had his hands full."
The point did not seem of the least importance to her, but she wasshaken, and felt that the silence which was growing significant would beinsupportable. Then a thought struck her, and she looked up suddenly atthe man.
"But, now, I remember, you had the bar," she said.
"Yes," said Brooke, very simply, though his face was grim. "I certainlyhad."
The girl had turned a little so that the light shone upon her, and hesaw the faint bewilderment in her eyes. It, however, vanished in amoment or two, but Brooke decided that if he guessed her thoughtscorrectly he had done wisely in admitting the possession of the bar.
"Of course! You hadn't a pistol, and it was, no doubt, the only thingyou could find," she said. "I'm afraid I did not even remember to thankyou, but to tell the truth I was too badly frightened to think ofanything."
Brooke nodded comprehendingly, but Barbara noticed that the blood was inhis cheeks and he smiled in a very curious fashion.
"I scarcely think I deserve any thanks," he said.
Barbara made a little gesture. "Pshaw!" she said. "You are not always soconventional, and both I and Grant Devine owe you a great deal. The manmust have been a claim-jumper, and meant to steal those papers. Theyare--the plans and patents of the Canopus."
She stopped a moment, and then, seeing Brooke had noticed the momentarypause, continued, with a little forced laugh and a flush in her cheeks,"That was native Canadian caution asserting itself. I am ashamed of it,but you must remember I was rather badly startled a little while ago.There is no reason why I should not tell--you--this, or show you thedocuments."
Brooke made a little grimace as though she had hurt him physically.
"I think there is," he said.
The girl stared at him a moment, and then he saw only sympathy in hereyes.
"I'm afraid my wits have left me, or I would not have kept you talkingwhile you are in pain. Your arm hurts?" she said.
"No," said Brooke, drily. "The arm is, I feel almost sure, very littlethe worse. Hadn't you better pick the papers up? You will excuse mestooping to help you. I scarcely think it would be advisable just now."
Barbara knelt down and gathered the scattered documents up, while theman noticed the curious flush in her face when one of them left a redsmear on her little white fingers. Rising, she held them up to him halfopen as they had fallen, and looked at him steadily.
"Will you put them straight while I find the band they were slippedthrough?" she said.
Brooke fancied he understood her. She had a generous spirit, and havingin a moment of confusion, when she was scarcely capable of thinkingconcisely, suggested a doubt of him, was making amends in the onefashion that suggested itself. Then she turned away, and her back wastowards him as she moved slowly towards the door, when a plan of theCanopus mine fell open in his hand. The light was close beside him, buthe closed his eyes for a moment and there was a rustle as the papersslipped from his fingers, while when the girl turned towards him hisface was awry, and he looked at her with a little grim smile.
"I am afraid they are scattered again," he said. "It was very clumsy ofme, but I find it hurts me to use my left hand."
Barbara thrust the papers into the case. "I am sorry I didn't think ofthat," she said. "Even if you don't appreciate my thanks you will haveto put up with my brother-in-law's, and he is a man who remembers. Itmight have cost him a good deal if anybody who could not be trusted hadseen those papers--and now no more of them. Take that canvas chair, anddon't move again until I tell you."
Brooke made no answer, and Barbara went out into the corridor.
"Will you dress as quickly as you can, Katty, and come down," she said."I don't know where you keep the decanters, and I want to give Mr.Brooke, who is hurt a little, a glass of wine."
Brooke protested, but Barbara laughed as she said, "It will really be akindness to Katty, who is now, I feel quite sure, lying in a state ofterror, with everything she dare reach out to get hold of rolled abouther head."
It was three or four minutes later when Mrs. Devine appeared, andBarbara turned towards her, speaking very quietly.
"There is nothing to be gained by getting nervous now," she said. "A mancame in to steal Grant's papers about the mine, and Mr. Brooke, who sawhim, crept in after him, though he had only a little bar, and the manhad a pistol. I fancy Grant is considerably indebted to him, and wemust, at least, keep him here until one of the boys brings up thesettlement doctor."
Brooke rose to his feet, but Barbara moved swiftly to the door andturned the key in it.
"No," she said, decisively. "You are not going away when you arescarcely fit to walk. Katty, you haven't brought the wine yet."
Brooke sat down again, and making no answer, looked away from her, forthough he would greatly have preferred it he scarcely felt capable ofreaching his tent. Then there was silence for several minutes until Mrs.Devine came back with the wine.
"You are going to stay here until your arm is seen to. My husband wouldnot be pleased if we did not do everything we could for you," she said.