"I was aboot a second ower lang," he gasped. "He just stepped back and left this in my han'."

Foster, crossing the platform shakily, grasped the rail and looked down. There were rocks and small trees immediately beneath him, but farther back a level white belt indicated a frozen river covered by thin snow. In the middle of this was a dark riband of water where the stream had kept an open channel through the ice. The bridge was one of the long, wooden trestles, flung across rivers and narrow valleys, that are now being replaced by embankments and iron structures. Since the frame, as usual, was open and just wide enough to carry the metals, there was nothing to save anybody who fell off the cars from a plunge to the bottom. Foster thought Daly knew this when he stepped off the platform. Looking back along the curve of the bridge, he imagined that the thing had happened when they were crossing the unfrozen part of the stream. He shivered and then glanced round as a man who had followed Pete closely took the object the latter held.

"His necktie," he remarked. "If it had been stronger, we'd have had him in handcuffs now."

"Weel," said Pete dryly, "it's no certain I wouldna' ha' gone ower the brig wi' him."

There was a hoa.r.s.eness in their voices that hinted at strain, but the man, ordering Foster not to leave the car, hurried away, and soon afterwards the train slackened speed. Then he came back with another man, and telling Foster and Pete to follow him, got down upon the line.

Curious pa.s.sengers were alighting and asking questions, but the leader did not object when several followed the party. They had to walk some distance, and when they reached the end of the trestle it was difficult to get down the rocky bank.

The bottom of the hollow was roughly level, but part was covered with small, stunted trees, many of which had been uprooted and had fallen across each other. In the open s.p.a.ces, rocks and boulders rose out of an inch or two of snow. It was plain that there was no chance of Daly's alighting uninjured there. One of the men had brought a train-hand's lantern, and they followed the curve of the trestle, which rose, black and ominously high, against the moonlight. It was not very dark among the trees and the beam of the lantern flickered across the rocks and fallen trunks, but they found nothing, and presently came to the ice, where the light was not needed.

Nothing broke the smooth white surface, and the party stopped at the edge of the water, which looked black and sullen as it rolled past, streaked by lines of foam. There was a belt of ice on the other side, but it was bare.

"Must have gone plumb into the river," said one. "We'd see him if he'd come down where it's frozen."

"Unless he was able to crawl up the bank," somebody suggested.

"I guess that's impossible," another replied, sc.r.a.ping the snow away with his boot. "See here, it's hardly two inches deep; nothing to soften the blow. Besides, anybody falling through the trestle would strike some of the cross-braces or stringers."

The man who had brought Foster touched his companion. "Nothing doing here. We'll stop at Green Rock and you can raise a posse of ranchers and look round to-morrow. I reckon you won't find anything."

They went back and when the train started the man sat down opposite Foster in the smoking compartment.

"We'll probably want your evidence," he said. "What's your address?"

Foster noted that he did not ask his name. "Perhaps the Hulton Manufacturing Company, Gardner's Crossing, would be best. I'm going there now."

The man nodded meaningly. "That will satisfy me. On the whole, it's lucky the fellow shot at you and Hulton told us how you stood. He didn't miss by much; there's burnt powder sticking to your cheek."

x.x.xII

FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES

Three days afterwards, Foster entered the office of the Hulton Company, where the head and treasurer of the firm waited him. It was late in the evening when he arrived, but the private office was filled with the softened throb of machinery and rumble of heavy wheels. Otherwise it was very quiet and cut off by a long pa.s.sage from the activity of the mill.

Hulton gave him his hand and indicated a chair. "You have got thinner since you took your holiday and look fined down. Well, I reckon we all feel older since that night last fall."

"I do," said Foster, and added: "The mill seems to be running hard."

"She's going full blast. We've had plans for extension standing over until I could give my mind to them. I may be able to do so soon, and expect to consult you and Featherstone. In the meantime, I got your telegram and another that to some extent put me wise. But I want a full account, beginning when you left."

Foster told his story, and when he stopped, Hulton pondered for a minute or two. He somehow looked more human than on Foster's last visit; his stern vindictiveness was not so obvious, but Foster thought he would demand full retribution. Then he said--

"You are keeping something back; I reckon you haven't taken these chances on my account. There's something behind all this that concerns you--or your partner--alone. Well, I guess that's not my business."

He paused and resumed in a curt, businesslike manner: "Daly's tale is plausible and may be true, but I have my doubts. Anyhow, I'm not going to believe it because that doesn't suit my plans. We'll have Walters tried for murder."

"Although you admit he may be innocent!" exclaimed Foster. "It ought to be enough to charge him with trying to kill Featherstone and stealing your bonds. You have no evidence to convict him of the other crime."

Hulton smiled. "I don't care two bits if he's convicted or not. I want to clear my boy's name and put you into the witness-box."

"But you can't make me adapt my story to fit your charge, and the defending lawyer would object to Daly's account as hearsay and not evidence. The judge would rule it out."

"I guess so," Hulton agreed. "For all that, it would have some effect, and the judge couldn't rule it out before it was heard." He knitted his brows and looked hard at Foster. "I'm going to prove that Fred was robbed and was not the thief, and though I don't think Walters will be convicted, he must take his chance. He was one of the gang that caused my son's death, and when he tried to kill your partner knew what he was up against."

Foster thought this was frontier justice and urged another objection.

"After all, the matter's in the hands of the police. You can't dictate the line they ought to take."

Percival, the treasurer, smiled, and Hulton answered with some dryness: "That's true, in a way. But I have some influence, which will be used for all it's worth. Anyhow, I've got to be consulted. If it hadn't been for my agents, the police wouldn't have made much progress yet.

However, we'll let this go. It may interest you to know that Daly's gone for good. Read him the night letter, Percival."

It is usual in Canada to allow lengthy telegrams, called night letters, to be sent at a very moderate charge when the lines are disengaged after business hours, and the treasurer picked up a form. The message related the careful search for Daly's body, which had not been found.

The snow for some distance on both sides of the river was undisturbed; there was no sign that an injured man had crawled away, and if this were not enough, no stranger had reached any of the scattered ranches where he must have gone for food. Daly would not be found until the ice broke up.

"I expect you're glad the fellow can't be brought to trial," Hulton remarked, looking hard at Foster.

"I am," said Foster quietly.

Hulton made a sign of understanding and there was faint amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes.

"Well, you have a good partner. I like Featherstone; he's a live, straight man, and if he had trouble in England, has made good here.

But he has his limits; I reckon you'll go further than he will."

"No," said Foster. "I don't think you're right, but if you are, I'll take my partner along with me, or stay behind with him."

"What are you going to do now?" Percival asked.

"Stop at the Crossing and see about starting the mill."

Hulton nodded. "I guess that's the best thing. When you have got her started, come and see what we want. I think that's all in the meantime."

Foster left them and began work next day. He wrote to Lawrence telling him of his plans, but got no answer for a week, when a telegram arrived.

"Come out if you can leave the mill. You're wanted here," it ran.

Foster was puzzled, because he thought the summons would have come from Lucy if Lawrence was ill. Yet the latter knew he was occupied and ought not have sent for him unless he was needed. On the whole, he felt annoyed. Lawrence, who was sometimes careless, should have told him why he was required, and he could not conveniently leave the mill.

Since he had found his partner, he had realized how wide, in a social sense, was the difference between Alice Featherstone and a small Canadian lumber dealer, and had, with characteristic determination, resolved to bridge the gap. This meant bold planning and strenuous effort, but he shrank from neither and meant his partner to help.

Lawrence, although resolute enough when things went against them, sometimes got slack when they were going well, and Foster understood that Lucy Stephen had money. For all that, if Lawrence was unwilling to keep pace with him, he must be dragged. Foster frowned as he put off matters that needed prompt attention until his return, and then sent a telegram and caught the next west-bound train.

When he got down at the flag station his annoyance returned. If there was any ground for his being sent for, he ought to have been told, and if there was not, he had been caused a loss of time that could have been well employed. He resolved to tell Lawrence his views upon this as he took the road to the hotel, but stopped with a beating heart when he entered the veranda.

Lawrence lounged negligently in a big chair and greeted him with a smile, but his father, Mrs. Featherstone, and Alice sat close by, with Mrs. Stephen and Lucy in the background. It cost Foster something of an effort to preserve his calm, but he advanced to Mrs. Featherstone, who gave him a look of quiet grat.i.tude that repaid him for much.