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Updated: June 7, 2025
It was crudely put, but it showed a rather fine consideration, Prescott thought, for the people who were in part responsible for the man's downfall; perhaps, too, a certain sense of shame and contrition. Jernyngham's desire could not be found fault with. "What are you going to do about it?" he asked. "Nothing," said Jernyngham with a reckless laugh.
This did not so much matter, in a sense, if one could take Jernyngham's death for granted; but Prescott could not do so and had, moreover, no intention of letting his property fall into the hands of a cunning, grasping fellow, who, he was fully persuaded, had no real right to it.
On reaching it, he soon found an iron cash-box in a cupboard and succeeded in forcing it with a screw-driver. It contained a few papers, among which were one or two relating to the purchase of the quarter-section, and Wandle put these in his pocket. The others he threw into the cupboard Jernyngham's carelessness was well known and then hastily studied a railroad time-table.
"By the afternoon East-bound. I'm mighty sorry, Cyril guess you know it isn't a secret in the town." Jernyngham's face grew darkly flushed. "Then you can tell me whom she went with?" "The drummer who was selling the separators. Bought tickets through to St. Paul. Told Perkins he wasn't coming back here; nothing doing on this round."
Telephoned the railroad boss to send up gravel cars for his boys; told the other crowd he'd bring the troopers in if they didn't quit. Ordered all strangers off on the West-bound, and now we're simmering down." "Where's Jernyngham?" The man jerked his hand toward the hotel. "In his room, a bit the worse for wear. Mrs. Jernyngham's nursing him."
Prescott smiled. He had read a good deal about England, and he could imagine Jernyngham's firm control of his property. His rule would, no doubt, be just, but it would be enforced on autocratic and highly conventional lines. His daughter, the rancher thought, resembled him in some respects.
Jernyngham's tone had alarmed him, and it's ominous harshness was more marked when he resumed: "For the last time, I ask you, where is my son?" "I wish I knew," said Prescott quietly. "I believe he's in British Columbia, but it's a big province and I lost trace of him there." "It's a lie!" Jernyngham cried, hoarse with fury. "Your tricks won't serve you; I'll have the truth!" "Be calm, Mr.
I'm afraid they need one after the finding of the clothes." "The clothes? What clothes?" Muriel's faith in Prescott had never been shaken, but his surprise caused her keen satisfaction, and she told him all she knew about Jernyngham's discovery. "Still, I don't see what finding them there could signify," he said when she had finished.
He was silent for the next few minutes, and then, after a few words on indifferent subjects, intended, Prescott thought, to cover his display of feeling, he turned away, leaving the rancher smoking thoughtfully. A week after Jernyngham's arrival at the homestead he sat among the sheaves in the harvest field late one afternoon studying a letter which the mail-carrier had just brought him.
"I suppose you have found nothing?" he said, and when Curtis made a sign of negation continued: "How did you get so many of the boys here?" Putting his hand in his pocket, the policeman gave him a printed circular which announced that a reward of one thousand dollars would be paid for the discovery of Cyril Jernyngham's remains. "His people in the old country cabled it over," he explained.
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