Rivals of Sherlock Holmes, The (39 page)

  '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.'

  'By Jove!' I cried.

  'From that it all fits in. It seems funny that the thief should drop a cartridge, funnier still 'at he shouldn't notice he'd left a bit of his necker stuck to the nails on the door. Still, I'd allow them two things might happen. But when it came to his having more bits of his necker torn off by the spruces where Evans found them, it looked like as if the thief was a mighty poor woodsman. Which he wasn't. He hid his tracks good and cunning. After that I guessed I was on the right scent, but I wasn't plumb sure till I come up to the place where he killed the partridge. While he was snaring it he rested his rifle ag'in' a tree. I saw the mark of the butt on the ground, and the scratch from the foresight upon the bark. Then I knew he didn't carry no English rifle.'

  'How did you know?' asked Sally.

  'I could measure its length ag'in' the tree. It was nigh a foot shorter than an English rifle.'

  Val's fist came down on the table. 'Bully for you, Joe!'

  'Well, now, there was one more thing. Besides that black fox Sally here missed other marked pelts. They wasn't much value. Why did the thief take them? Again, only one reason. He wanted 'em for making more false evidence ag'in' Val.'

  He paused. 'Go on, Joe,' cried Mrs Rone impatiently.

  'When Mr Quaritch and I came to Val's shack we searched it. Nothing there. Why? 'Cos Val had been home all night and Sylvester couldn't get in without wakin' him.'

  'But,' said I, 'wasn't there a good case against Black without that?'

  'Yes, there was a case, but his conviction wasn't an absolute cinch. On the other hand, if the stolen skins was found hid in his shack ... That's why you had to lie in that brush so long, Mr Quaritch, while I went in to Lavette and spread it around that the shack hadn't been searched by Evans. Sylvester was at the store and he fell into the trap right enough. We waited for him and we got him.'