EJECTED AND REJECTED
In the main room of the Old Prospector's house some ten or twelve stern-faced men had gathered.The easy, careless manner that was characteristic of the ranchers and cowboys of the district had given place to an air of stern and serious determination.It was evident that they had gathered for some purpose of more than ordinary moment.By common consent Sinclair, a shrewd and fair-minded Scotch rancher who possessed the complete confidence of every man in the company, both for his integrity and his intelligence, was in the chair.
"Where is Mr.Macgregor?" he enquired.
"Gone to the Fort," answered The Kid."He is on duty there to-morrow.He wished me to say, however, that he has no desire to push this matter, as far as he is personally concerned, but that if the committee thinks the public good demands his presence and his testimony he will appear on Monday.""He ought to be here," said Sinclair, and his tone almost conveyed a reproof.
"He'll come if he's wanted, I guess," drawled out Ike, quick to take his friend's part.
"Well, then let us proceed.Let us get the facts first," said Sinclair."Stanton, we would like to hear what you have to say.""Well," said The Kid, "there is not much that I have to tell, but Ishall begin at the beginning and give you all I know." Stanton's air of boyish carelessness had quite disappeared, his voice took a deeper tone than usual, his manner was grave and stern.
"It was six days ago that I happened to call at the Old Prospector's house.""To see the preacher, I guess," interrupted Ike gravely, winking at Macnamara, who responded with a hearty "Ha! ha! Of course!""Quit that, Ike," said Sinclair sternly."We have got business on hand.""As I was saying," continued the Kid; with heightened colour, "Icalled at the Old Prospector's house and found Miss Mowbray in a state of great anxiety in regard to Mr.Macgregor.She told me how the doctor had come to see Mr.Macgregor about a week before, in great excitement, and had informed him that Carroll and Crawley had set off for the mountains two days before, and how, upon hearing that, Mr.Macgregor and Perault had hastily followed, having with them about a week's provisions.""What reason did Miss Mowbray assign for this?" enquired Sinclair.
"Well, I suppose it's no secret, now," said The Kid, with some hesitation."The Old Prospector, you know, before his death had made a very rich find, but died without staking his claim.The secret of its location he entrusted to Mr.Macgregor and the doctor.The doctor, in a fit of drunkenness, gave the secret away to Carroll and Crawley, who, leaving him incapable from drink, set off at once to stake the claim.""Hold on, Mr.Stanton," said Sinclair."We must be careful.How do you know their purpose in setting off for the mountains?""Well, I think--"
"But," interrupted Sinclair, "we must have statements of fact only.""Dat's so!" cried Perault excitedly."Dem feller try to get de Ole Boss show dat mine, for sure.Crawley he's try to mak de Ole Boss tell.I hear heem, me.Dem feller want dat mine bad.""All right, Perault," said Sinclair quietly."That doesn't prove they went to stake that claim.Go on, Stanton.""Well," continued The Kid, "I set off at once, and on my second day out I met these two men, Mr.Macgregor and Perault, exhausted with travelling and faint with hunger.""Guess you'd better tell how you found them, Kid," said Ike, who had heard the story before.
"Well, gentlemen," continued The Kid, his voice shaking, "it was a pretty tough sight, I can tell you.I first saw them a long way down the trail.Mr.Macgregor was carrying Perault on his back and evidently walking with great difficulty.When I came up to them Ifound Perault was almost, if not quite, insensible, and Mr.
Macgregor in the last stages of exhaustion." The Kid paused a few moments to steady his voice.Low, deep oaths were heard on every side, while Perault, still weak and nervous from his recent terrible experience, was sobbing audibly.
"I had plenty of grub," continued The Kid."I did my best for them and helped them home.That is all I have to say."A deep silence fell upon the group of men.
"Now, Perault," said Sinclair, "tell us your story."Perault tried to steady his voice, but, failing utterly, broke into passionate weeping, Sinclair waiting in grave silence for him to recover.Macnamara, the soft-hearted big Irish rancher, was quietly wiping his eyes, while the other men were swearing terrible oaths.
"Give him a drink," drawled Ike."Too much water aint good for no man."Half a dozen flasks were immediately offered.Perault drank, and, after a few moments, began his tale.
"I can' spik much, me," he said, "when I tink how dat beeg feller pack me on hees back twenty mile, I fin' bad pain here," striking his breast, "and den I can' spik at all." And again the little Frenchman's voice broke down in sobs.
"Take time, Perault," said Sinclair gravely."We want to know all about it.Begin at the beginning and tell it in your own way." The grave tone, even more than the whisky he had drunk, steadied Perault, and he began again.
"Dat's twelve or tirteen day, now.De Preachere, dat Prospector, Icall heem, he's jus' lak de Ole Boss, for sure--de Prospector he's sen' dat ole fool doctor, for me queek.I come and fin' de Prospector he's ver' mad; mos' awful mad; never see heem lak, dat before.'Perault,' he say, 'get ponee and grub queek.We go for de Los' Reever.'""By gar! He's mak me scare.I get ponee an' grub and get off queek, toute suite, right away.Well, we go two day hard and come to de camp where de Ole Boss he's die, den we climb over de montin.De Prospector he's got map and show me trail.Oui, I know him bon, fus rate.'Perault,' he say, 'you min' las' year de Ole Boss he's fin'
