Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, The Page 30

  November looked at Sally. 'Who is he, Sally?'

  Mrs Rone's pretty forehead puckered into a frown. 'Who?'

  'Pink and grey necker,' said Joe gently.

  A rush of tears filled her red-brown eyes.

  'Val Black has one like that. I made it for him myself long ago.'

  'And he has a rifle of some English make,' added November.

  Mrs Rone started. 'So he has, but I never remembered that till this minute!' She looked back into Joe's grey eyes with indignation. 'And he smokes "Nugget" all right, too. I know it. All the same, it isn't Val!' The last words were more than an appeal; they were a statement of faith.

  'It's queer them bits of worsted on the doornails,' observed Joe judicially.

  Her colour flamed for a moment. 'Why queer? He's been here to see m' – us more'n once this time back; the nails might have caught his necker any day,' she retorted.

  'It's just possible,' agreed November in an unconvinced voice.

  'It can't be Val!' repeated Mrs Rone steadily.

  We walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway looking after us. When we were out of sight and of earshot I turned to November.

  'The evidence against Black is pretty strong. What's your notion?'

  'Can't say yet. I think we'd best join Evans; he'll be trailing the thief.'

  We made straight through the woods towards the spot where the dog's body lay. As we walked I tried again to find out Joe's opinion.

  'But the motive? Haven't Mrs Rone and Black always been on good terms?' I persisted.

  Joe allowed that was so, and added: 'Val wanted to marry her years ago, afore Joe Rone came to these parts at all, but Rone was a mighty taking kind of chap, laughing and that, and she married him.'

  'But surely Black wouldn't rob her, especially now that he has his chance again.'

  'Think not?' said Joe. 'I wonder!' After a pause he went on. 'But it ain't hard to see what'll be Evans's views on that. He'll say Val's scared of her growing too independent, for she's made good so far with her traps, and so he just naturally took a hand to frighten her into marriage. His case ag'in' Val won't break down for want of motive.'

  'One question more, Joe. Do you really think Val Black is the guilty man?'

  November Joe looked up with his quick, sudden smile. 'It'll be a shock to Evans if he ain't,' said he.

  Very soon we struck the robber's trail, and saw from a second line of tracks that Evans was ahead of us following it.

  'Here the thief goes,' said Joe. 'See, he's covered his moccasins with deerskin, and here we have Evans's tracks. He's hurrying, Evans is – he's feeling good and sure of the man he's after!'

  Twice November pointed out faint signs that meant nothing to me. 'Here's where the robber stopped to light his pipe – see, there's the mark of the butt of his gun between those roots – the snow's thin there. Must 'a' had a match, that chap,' he said after a minute, and standing with his back to the wind, he made a slight movement of his hand.

  'What are you doing?' I asked.

  'Saving myself trouble,' he turned at right angles and began searching through the trees.

  'Here it is. Hung up in a snag.... Seadog match he used.' Then, catching my eye, he went on: 'Unless he was a fool, he'd light his match with his face to the wind, wouldn't he? And most right-handed men 'ud throw the match thereabouts where I hunted for it.'

  Well on in the afternoon the trail led out to the banks of a wide and shallow stream, into the waters of which they disappeared. Here we overtook Evans. He was standing by the ashes of a fire almost on the bank.

  He looked up as we appeared. 'That you, Joe? Chap's took to the water,' said the game warden, 'but he'll have to do more than that to shake me off.'

  'Chap made this too?' inquired November with a glance at the dead fire.

  Evans nodded. 'Walked steady till he came here. Dunno what he lit the fire for. Carried grub, I s'pose.'

  'No, to cook that partridge,' said Joe.

  I glanced at Evans, his face darkened, clearly this did not please him.

  'Oh, he shot a partridge?'

  'No,' said Joe; 'he noosed it back in the spruces there. The track of the wire noose is plain, and there was some feathers. But look here, Evans, he didn't wear no pink necker.'

  Evans's annoyance passed off suddenly. 'That's funny!' said he, 'for he left more than a feather and the scrape of a wire.' The game warden pulled out a pocketbook and showed us wedged between its pages another strand of the pink and grey wool. 'I found it where he passed through those dead spruces. How's that?'

  I looked at Joe. To my surprise he threw back his head, and gave one of his rare laughs.

  'Well,' cried Evans, 'are you still sure that he didn't wear a pink necker?'

  'Surer than ever,' said Joe, and began to poke in the ashes.

  Evans eyed him for a moment, transferred his glance to me, and winked. Before long he left us, his last words being that he would have his hands on 'Pink Necker' by night. Joe sat in silence for some ten minutes after he had gone, then he rose and began to lead away southeast.

  'Evans'll hear Val Black's the owner of the pink necker at Lavette Village. It's an otter's to a muskrat's pelt that then he'll head straight for Val's. We've got to be there afore him.'

  We were. This was the first time I had experience of Joe's activities on behalf of a woman, and, to begin with, I guessed that he himself had a tender feeling for Sally Rone. So he had, but it was not the kind of feeling I had surmised. It was not love, but just an instinct of downright chivalry, such as one sometimes finds deepset in the natures of the men of the woods. Some day later I may tell you what November was like when he fell head over ears in love, but that time is not yet.

  The afternoon was yet young when we arrived at Val Black's. At that period he was living in a deserted hut which had once been used by a bygone generation of lumbermen.

  It so happened that Val Black was not at home, but Joe entered the hut and searched it thoroughly. I asked him what he was seeking.

  'Those skins of Sally's.'

  'Then you do think Black . . .'

  'I think nothing yet. And here's the man himself anyway.'

  He turned to the door as Val Black came swinging up the trail. He was of middle height, strongly built, with quick eyes and dark hair which, though cropped close, still betrayed its tendency to curl. He greeted November warmly; November was, I thought, even more slow-spoken than usual.

  'Val,' he said, after some talk, 'have you still got that pinky necker Sally knitted for you?'

  'Why d'you ask that?'

  'Because I want to be put wise, Val.'

  'Yes, I've got her.'

  'Where?'

  'Right here,' and Black pulled the muffler out of his pocket.

  'Huh!' said Joe.

  There was a silence, rather a strained silence, between the two.

  Then November continued. 'Where was you last night?'

  Val looked narrowly at Joe, Joe returned his stare.

  'Got any reason fer asking?'

  'Sure.'

  'Got any reason why I should tell you?'

  'Yes to that.'

  'Say, November Joe, are you searching for trouble?' asked Black in an ominously quiet voice.

  'Seems as if trouble was searching for me,' replied November.

  There was another silence, then Val jerked out, 'I call your hand.'

  'I show it,' said Joe. 'You're suspected of robbing Sally's traps this month back. And you're suspected of entering Sally's house last evening and stealing pelts . . .'

  Val fell back against the doorpost.

  'Stealin' pelts... Sally's?' he repeated. 'Is that all I'm suspected of?'

  'That's all.'

  'Then look out!' With a shout of rage he made at Joe.

  November stood quite still under the grip of the other's furious hands.

  'You act innocent; don't you, you old coyote!' he grinned ironically. 'I never said I suspected you.'

 
Black drew off, looking a little foolish, but he flared up again.

  'Who is it suspects me?'

  'Just Evans. And he's got good evidence. Where was you between six and seven last night?'

  'In the woods. I come back and slep' here.'

  'Was you alone?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then you can't prove no alibi.' Joe paused.

  It was at this moment that Evans, accompanied by two other forest rangers, appeared upon the scene. He had not followed the track, but had come through a patch of standing wood to the north of the hut. Quick as lightning he covered Black with his shotgun.

  'Up with your hands,' he cried, 'or I'll put this load of bird-shot into your face.'

  Black scowled, but his hands went up. The man was so mad with rage that, I think, had Evans carried a rifle he would not have submitted, but the thought of the blinding charge in Evans's gun cowed him. He stood panting. At a sign, one of the rangers sidled up, and the click of handcuffs followed.

  'What am I charged with?' cried Black.

  'Robbery.'

  'You'll pay me for this, Simon Evans!'

  'It won't be for a while – not till they let you out again,' retorted the warden easily. 'Take him off up the trail, Bill.'

  The rangers walked away with their prisoner, and Evans turned to Joe.

  'Guess I have the laugh of you, November,' he said.

  'Looks that way. Where you takin' him?'

  'To Lavette. I've sent word to Mrs Rone to come there to-morrow. And now,' continued Evans, 'I'm going to search Black's shack.'

  'What for?'

  'The stolen pelts.'

  'Got a warrant?'

  'I'm a warden – don't need one.'

  'You'll not search without it,' said November, moving in front of the door.

  'Who'll stop me?' Evans's chin shot out doggedly.

  'I might,' said Joe in his most gentle manner.

  Evans glared at him. 'You?'

  'I'm in the right, for it's ag'in' the law, and you know it, Mr Evans.'

  Evans hesitated. 'What's your game?' he asked.

  Joe made a slight gesture of disclaimer.

  Evans turned on his heel.

  'Have it your way, but I'll be back with my warrant before sun up to-morrow, and I'm warden, and maybe you'll find it's better to have me for a friend than... '

  'Huh! Say, Mr Quaritch, have you a fill of that light baccy o' yours? I want soothin'.'

  As soon as Evans was out of sight, Joe beckoned me to a thick piece of scrub not far from the hut.

  'Stay right here till I come back. Everything depends on that,' he whispered.

  I lay down at my ease in a sheltered spot, and then Joe also took the road for Lavette.

  During the hours through which I waited for his return I must acknowledge I was at my wits' end to understand the situation. Everything appeared to be against Black, the cartridge which fitted his rifle, the strands of the telltale neckerchief, the man's own furious behaviour, his manifest passion for Mrs Rone, and the suggested motive for the thefts – all these things pointed, conclusively it seemed to me, in one direction. And yet I knew that almost from the beginning of the inquiry November had decided that Black was innocent. Frankly, I could make neither head nor tail of it.

  The evening turned raw, and the thin snow was softening, and though I was weary of my watch I was still dreaming when I started under a hand that touched my shoulder. Joe was crouching at my side. He warned me to caution, but I could not refrain from a question as to where he had been.

  'Down to the store at Lavette,' he whispered. 'I was talking about that search-warrant – pretty high-handed I said it was, and the boys agreed to that.'

  Then commenced a second vigil. The sun went down behind the tree roots, and was succeeded by the little cold wind that often blows at that hour. Yet we lay in our ambush as the dusk closed quickly about us, nor did we move until a slight young moon was sending level rays between clouds that were piling swiftly in the sky.

  After a while Joe touched me to wakefulness, and I saw something moving on the trail below us. A second or two of moonlight gave me a glimpse of the approaching figure of a man, a humped figure that moved swiftly. If ever I saw craft and caution inform an advance, I saw it then.

  The clouds swept over, and when next the glint of light came, the dark figure stood before the hut. A whistle, no answer, and its hand went to the latch. I heard Joe sigh as he covered the man with his rifle. Then came his voice in its quiet tones.

  'Guess the game's off, Sylvester. Don't turn! Hands up!'

  The man stood still as we came behind him. At a word he faced round. I saw the high cheekbones and gleaming eyes of an Indian, his savage face was contracted with animosity.

  'Now, Mr Quaritch,' said November suggestively.

  I flatter myself I made a neat job of tying up our prisoner.

  'Thank you. What's in that bundle on his back?'

  I opened it. Several skins dropped out. Joe examined them. 'All got Sally's mark on,' he said. 'Say, Mr Quaritch, let me introduce you to a pretty mean thief.'

  ******

  I noticed that Joe took our prisoner along at a good pace towards Lavette. After a mile or two, however, he asked me to go ahead, and if I met with Mrs Rone to make her wait his arrival, but he added, in an aside, 'Tell her nothing about Sylvester.'

  I reached the village soon after dawn, but already the people were gathered at the store, where every one was discussing the case. Evans sat complacently listening to the opinions of the neighbours. It was clear to me that the public verdict was dead against Black. Some critics gave the rein to venomous comments which made me realize that, good fellow as Val was, his hot temper had had its effect on his popularity.

  As I heard nothing of Mrs Rone, I set out towards her house. When I met her I noticed that her gentle face wore a changed expression. I delivered my message.

  'I'll never speak to November again as long as I live!' she said with deep vindictiveness.

  I feebly attempted remonstrance. She cut me short.

  'That's enough. November's played double with me. I'll show him!'

  I walked beside her in silence and, just before we came in sight of the houses, we met with Joe alone. He had evidently left Sylvester in safe custody. Joe glanced from Sally to me. I read understanding in his eyes.

  'We've got him trapped safe, Sally. Not a hole for him to slip out by.'

  Sally's rage broke from her control. 'You're just too cute, November Joe,' she blazed, 'with your tracking and finding out things, and putting Val in jail! What do you say to it that I've been fooling you all the time? I never lost no pelts! I only said it to get the laugh against ye. Ye was beginning to believe ye could hear the muskrats sneezing!'

  'Is that so?' inquired Joe gently.

  'Yes, and I'm going into Lavette this minute to tell them!'

  Joe stepped in front of her. 'Just as you like, Sally. But how'll ye explain these?' He flung open the bundle of skins he carried.

  Mrs Rone turned colour. 'Where did you find them?' she gasped.

  'On his back!'

  She hesitated a moment, then, 'I gave Val that lot,' she said carelessly.

  'That's queer, now,' said Joe, ''cos it was on Injin Sylvester I found them.'

  Sally stared at Joe, then laughed suddenly, excitedly. 'Oh, Joe! you're sure the cutest man ever made in this world!' And with that she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him.

  'I'd best pass that on to Val Black!' said Joe calmly.

  And Sally's blushes were prettier than you could believe.

  There is no need for me to tell how Black was liberated from the hands of the crest-fallen Evans, who was as nonplussed as I myself had been at the breakdown of the case, which up to the last moment had on the face of it seemed indestructible.

  I have never looked forward to any explanation, more than that which November gave to Mrs Rone, Black, and myself the same evening.

  'It was the carcass of
Rizpah give me the first start,' said Joe. 'As soon as I saw that I knew it weren't Val.'

  'Why?' asked Sally.

  'You remember it was hacked up? Now here was the case up to that. A thief had robbed Sally and all the sign he left behind was a few threads of his necker and an English-made cartridge. The thief goes out and old Rizpah attacks him. He shoots her. Then he cuts her body nigh to pieces. Why?' We all shook our heads.

  'Because he wants to get his bullet out of her. And why does he want to get his bullet? Only one possible reason. Because it's different to the bullet he dropped on purpose in the house.'