Chapter IX. Philip Takes Up The Trail
The letter--the flowers--that one shining golden hair, wound in aglistening thread about their shriveled stems, seemed for a short spaceto lift Philip Steele from out of the world he was in, to another inwhich his mind was only vaguely conscious, stunned by this letter thathad come with the unexpectedness of a thunderbolt to change, in a singleinstant, every current of life in his body. For a few moments he made noeffort to grasp the individual significance of the letter, the flowers,the golden hair. One thought filled his brain--one great, overpoweringtruth, which excluded everything else--and this was the realization thatthe woman he loved was not Colonel Becker's wife. She was free. And forhim--Philip Steele--there was hope--hope--Suddenly it dawned upon himwhat the flowers meant. The colonel had written the letter, and Isobelhad sent the faded violets, with their golden thread. It was her messageto him--a message without words, and yet with a deeper meaning for himthan words could have expressed. In a flood there rushed back upon himall the old visions which he had fought against, and he saw her again inthe glow of the campfire, and on the trail, glorious in her beauty, hisideal of all that a woman should be.
He rose to his feet and locked his door, fearing that some one mightenter. He wanted to be alone, to realize fully what had happened, toregain control of his emotions. If Isobel Becker had merely written hima line or two, a note exculpating herself of what her father had alreadyexplained away, he would still have thought that a world lay betweenthem. But, in place of that, she had sent him the faded flowers, withtheir golden thread!
For many minutes he paced back and forth across his narrow room, andnever had a room looked more like a prison cell to him than this one didnow. He was filled with but one impulse, and that was to return to LacBain, to humble himself at the feet of the woman he loved, and ask herforgiveness for the heinous thing he had done. He wanted to tell herthat he had driven Bucky Nome into outlawry, that he had fought forher, and run away himself--because he loved her. It was Sergeant Moody'svoice, vibrant with the rasping unpleasantness of a file, that jarredhim back into his practical self. He thrust the letter and the flowersinto his breast pocket, and opened the door.
Moody came in.
"What in blazes are you locked up for?" he demanded, his keen littleeyes scrutinizing Philip's feverish face. "Afraid somebody'll walk inand steal you, Phil?"
"Headache," said Philip, patting a hand to his head. "One of the kindthat makes you think your brain must be a hard ball bumping aroundinside your skull."
The sergeant laid his hand on Philip's arm.
"Go take a walk, Phil," he said, in a softer voice. "It will do yougood. I just came in to tell you the news. They've got track of DeBaragain, up near Lac la Biche. But we can talk about that later. Go take awalk."
"Thanks for the suggestion," said Philip. "I believe I'll do it."
He passed beyond the barracks, and hit the sleigh-worn road that led outof town, walking faster and faster, as his brain began working. Hewould return to Lac Bain. That was settled in his mind without argument.Nothing could hold him back after what he had received that afternoon.If the letter and the violet message had come to him from the end ofthe earth it would have made no difference; his determination wouldhave been the same. He would return to Lac Bain--but how? That was thequestion which puzzled him. He still had thirteen months of serviceahead of him. He was not in line for a furlough. It would take at leastthree months of official red tape to purchase his discharge. These factsrose like barriers in his way. It occurred to him that he might confidein MacGregor, and that the inspector would make an opportunity for himto return into the north immediately. MacGregor had the power to dothat, and he believed that he would do it. But he hesitated to acceptthis last alternative.
And then, all at once. Sergeant Moody's words came back to him--"They'vegot track of DeBar again, up near Lac la Biche." The idea that burstupon him with the recalling of those words stopped Philip suddenly,and he turned back toward the barracks. He had heard a great deal aboutDeBar, the cleverest criminal in all the northland, and whom no man orcombination of men had been clever enough to catch. And now this man wasnear Lac la Biche, in the Churchill and Lac Bain country. It he couldget permission from MacGregor to go after DeBar his own difficulty wouldbe settled in the easiest possible way. The assignment would take himfor a long and indefinite time into the north. It would take him back toIsobel Becker.
He went immediately to his room upon reaching the barracks, and wroteout his request to MacGregor. He sent it over to headquarters by arookie. After that he waited.
Not until the following morning did Moody bring him a summons to appearin MacGregor's office. Five minutes later the inspector greeted himwith outstretched hand, gave him a grip that made his fingers snap, andlocked the office door. He was holding Philip's communication when theyoung man entered.
"I don't know what to say to this, Steele," he began, seating himselfat his desk and motioning Philip to a chair. "To be frank with you, thisproposition of yours is entirely against my best judgment."
"In other words, you haven't sufficient confidence in me," added Philip.
"No, I don't mean that. There isn't a man on the force in whom I havegreater confidence than you. But, if I was to gamble, I'd wager ten toone that you'd lose out if I sent you up to take this man DeBar."
"I'll accept that wager--only reverse the odds," said Philip daringly.
The inspector twisted one of his long red mustaches and smiled a littlegrimly at the other.
"If I were to follow my own judgment I'd not send one man, but two," hewent on. "I don't mean to underestimate the value of my men when I saythat our friend DeBar, who has evaded us for years, is equal to any twomen I've got. I wouldn't care to go after him myself--alone. I'dwant another hand with me, and a mighty good one--a man who was cool,cautious, and who knew all of the ins and outs of the game as well asmyself. And here--" He interrupted himself, and chuckled audibly, "hereyou are asking permission to go after him alone! Why, man, it's the verynext thing to inviting yourself to commit suicide! Now, if I were tosend you, and along with you a good, level-headed man like Moody--"
"I have had enough of double-harness work, unless I am commanded to go,Mr. MacGregor," interrupted Philip. "I realize that DeBar is a dangerousman, but I believe that I can bring him down. Will you give me theopportunity?"
MacGregor laid his cigar on the edge of the desk and leaned acrosstoward his companion, the long white fingers of his big hands claspedin front of him. He always took this position, with a cigar smolderingbeside him, when about to say those things which he wished to beindelibly impressed on the memory of his listener.
"Yes, I'm going to give you the opportunity," he said slowly, "and I amalso going to give you permission to change your mind after I have toldyou something about DeBar, whom we know as the Seventh Brother. I repeatthat, if you go alone, it's just ten to one that you don't get him.Since '99 four men have gone out after him, and none has come back.There was Forbes, who went in that year; Bannock, who took up thetrial in 1902; Fleisham in 1904, and Gresham in 1907. Since the time ofGresham's disappearance we have lost sight of DeBar, and only recently,as you know, have we got trace of him again. He is somewhere up on theedge of the Barren Lands. I have private information which leads me tobelieve that the factor at Fond du Lac can take you directly to him."
MacGregor unclasped his hands to pick up a worn paper from a small pileon the desk.
"He is the last of seven brothers," he added. "His father was hanged."
"A good beginning," interjected Philip.
"There's just the trouble," said the inspector quickly. "It wasn't agood beginning. This is one of those peculiar cases of outlawry forwhich the law itself is largely responsible, and I don't know of any oneI would say this to but you. The father was hanged, as I have said. Sixmonths later it was discovered, beyond a doubt, that the law had takenthe life of an innocent man, and that DeBar had been sent to the gallowsby a combination of
evidence fabricated entirely by the perjury ofenemies. The law should have vindicated itself. But it didn't. Two ofthose who had plotted against DeBar were arrested, tried--and acquitted,a fact which goes to prove the statement of a certain great man thathalf of the time law is not justice. There is no need of going intogreater detail about the trials of the three men chiefly instrumental insending their father to his death, and who fled into the North."
"Good!" exclaimed Philip.
The word shot from him before he had thought. At first he flushed, thensat bolt upright and smiled frankly into the inspector's face as hewatched the effect of his indiscretion.
"So many people thought at the time," said MacGregor, eying him withcurious sharpness. "Especially the women. For that reason the firstthree who were caught were merely convicted of manslaughter instead ofmurder. They served their sentences, were given two years each for goodbehavior, and are somewhere in South America. The fourth killed himselfwhen he was taken near Moose Factory, and the other three went what thelaw calls 'bad.' Henry, the oldest of them all, killed the officerwho was bringing him down from Prince Albert in '99, and was afterwardexecuted. Paul, the sixth, returned to his native town seven years afterthe hanging of his father and was captured after wounding two of theofficers who went in pursuit of him. He is now in an insane asylum."
The inspector paused, and ran his eyes over a fresh slip of paper.
"And all this," said Philip in a low voice, "because of a crimecommitted by the law itself. Five men hung, one a suicide, three inprison and one in an insane asylum--because of a blunder of the law!"
"The king can do no wrong," said MacGregor with gentle irony, "andneither can the law. Remember that, Philip, as long as you are in theservice. The law may break up homes, ruin states, set itself a Nemesison innocent men's heels--but it can do no wrong. It is the Juggernautbefore which we all must bow our heads, even you and I, and when by anychance it makes a mistake, it is still law, and unassailable. It isthe greatest weapon of the clever and the rich, so it bears a moral. Beclever, or be rich."
"And William DeBar, the seventh brother--" began Philip.
"Is tremendously clever, but not rich," finished the inspector. "He hascaused us more trouble than any other man in Canada. He is the youngestof the seven brothers, and you know there are curious superstitionsabout seventh brothers. In the first pursuit after the private hanginghe shot two men. He killed a third in an attempt to save his brother atMoose Factory. Since then, Forbes, Bannock, Fleisham and Gresham havedisappeared, and they all went out after him. They were all good men,powerful physically, skilled in the ways of the wilderness, and asbrave as tigers. Yet they all failed. And not only that, they lost theirlives. Whether DeBar killed them, or led them on to a death for whichhis hands were not directly responsible, we have never known. Thefact remains that they went out after De Bar--and died. I am notsuperstitious, but I am beginning to think that DeBar is more than amatch for any one man. What do you say? Will you go with Moody, or--"
"I'll go alone, with your permission," said Philip.
The inspector's voice at once fell into its formal tone of command.
"Then you may prepare to leave at once," he said. "The factor at Fond duLac will put you next to your man. Whatever else you require I will giveyou in writing some time to-day."
Philip accepted this as signifying that the interview was at an end, androse from his seat.
That night he added a postscript to the letter which he had writtenhome, saying that for a long time he would not be heard from again. Themidnight train was bearing him toward Le Pas.