The Lady of North Star
by Ottwell Binns · English · Gutenberg #48237 · 414,768 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Lady of North Star
Author: Ottwell Binns
Release date: February 11, 2015 [eBook #48237]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF NORTH STAR ***
THE LADY OF
NORTH STAR
_BOOKS BY_
_OTWELL BINNS_
A MATING IN THE WILDS
THE LADY OF NORTH STAR
THE LADY OF
NORTH STAR
BY
OTTWELL BINNS
[Illustration: LOGO]
NEW YORK ALFRED · A · KNOPF MCMXXII
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE END OF A TRAIL, 1
II A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE, 12
III THE CORPORAL FINDS A LETTER, 24
IV A PUZZLING SCENT, 35
V A REVELATION, 45
VI THE CORPORAL HEARS A STORY, 58
VII JOY MAKES A REQUEST, 71
VIII KOONA DICK, 80
IX THE HUSKS OF THE PRODIGAL, 92
X A DESPERATE SITUATION, 106
XI AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, 116
XII A DASTARDLY DEED, 129
XIII TWO PROPOSALS, 140
XIV MISSING, 154
XV AN ENCOUNTER AT THE LODGE, 164
XVI THE CORPORAL HEARS NEWS, 174
XVII A LONELY CABIN, 186
XVIII ADRIAN RAYNER’S STORY, 199
XIX HUSBAND AND WIFE, 210
XX DICK BRACKNELL LEARNS THE TRUTH, 221
XXI UNDER COVER OF NIGHT, 235
XXII TO THE RESCUE, 245
XXIII PRISONERS, 258
XXIV THE PRODIGAL MAKES GOOD, 269
XXV A SNOW-BLIND MAN, 279
THE LADY OF NORTH STAR
CHAPTER I
THE END OF A TRAIL
THERE was a smell of burning spruce in the sharp air, and Corporal
Bracknell, of the North-west Mounted Police, threw back his head and
sniffed it gratefully. His team of dogs had been conscious of it for
some time, and now, quickening the pace, they broke into joyous yelps
as they turned inward towards the Saskatoon bushes on the left bank of
the frozen river. The corporal smiled to himself.
“They’re wise dogs,” he muttered, “but not wise enough to know the
trail’s end. I wonder if I shall find the man here.”
He followed the well-marked track towards the bank. The aromatic smell
of the spruce grew stronger, but there was nothing to be seen save the
shadowy woods, and the packed sled-road between. The road had been cut
through the trees, and here and there a stump bearing the mark of the
ax protruded above the snow. For perhaps three hundred yards it ran in
a bee-line between the tall trunks, and then turned abruptly to the
right. He reached the turning, and looked about him curiously. The
road still continued, but the end of it was not in sight, for again it
turned, as it seemed to him into the very heart of the forest.
“There’s a house or encampment somewhere about,” he said to himself,
“but--”
He broke off abruptly as something caught his eye. It was a new-marked
sled-trail debouching from the main track, and he stooped to examine it
carefully. When he straightened himself there was an eager light in his
eye, and curbing his impatient dogs he stood considering for a full two
minutes.
“He may have a shack here,” so his thoughts ran, “but if there’s more
than that, why this broad road?”
He considered the avenue made by the sombre pinewoods on each side of
the road, and then shook his head. “Too much style for Koona Dick.
There must be a homestead somewhere about, but if those are not the
marks of his sled-runners I’m a dutchman.”
He spoke a word or two to his well-trained dogs, and slipping off his
snowshoes turned towards the trail which led into the wood, and began
to follow it carefully. As he walked, he unbuttoned the pistol-holster
at his waist, and gripped the handle of the weapon in preparation for
action. The man whose trail he believed that he was following was not
given to being over-scrupulous. He had pursued him for nearly four
hundred miles, and now that the end of the chase was in sight, it
behoved him to be cautious, for if Koona Dick suspected his presence
his resentment of it might even go to the extreme length of a rifle
bullet. He left the trail, and began to move cautiously from tree to
tree.
The short Northland day was almost over. Dusk was coming on apace, and
the gloom under the trees deepened, little misgivings awake in his mind.
Was it wise to follow the track into the heart of the wood? His dogs
were good dogs, but--
The sudden sharp crash of a rifle echoed through the stillness,
followed immediately by a second, and that by the sharp cry of a woman
assailed by mortal terror, and then there came the quick yelp of dogs.
He turned in his tracks and began to run back under the trees.
How long it was before he reached the main trail he never knew, but
never in his life had he run so fast before. Fear was pounding at his
heart. His dogs? If they were gone--
He reached the edge of the wood to find them still where he had left
them, and his relief found expression in a quick “Thank God!” He looked
round him, up and down the road and into the dark woods on either hand.
There was nothing to be seen, and the coming of night had already
shortened the range of vision. He stood listening intently. No sound
broke the awful silence that had followed the shots and the curdling
cry of fear. His hand, resting on the gee-pole of the sled, shook a
little.
“It was a woman,” he whispered, “a white woman, at that. There’s some
infernal mystery about. I wonder if Koona Dick--”
He did not finish the thought. Setting his face to the turn in the
road, he gave the dogs the word and they moved forward. Somewhere at
the end of the road there was a human habitation. Of that he was
convinced. He would find it, and perhaps at the same time find Koona
Dick and the solution of that mysterious cry which had so suddenly
startled the silent woods.
But he was not destined to reach the end of the road without further
adventure. As he reached the turn he became aware of a narrow road on
the left hand cut at right angles from the main track, and as he looked
down it, saw a shadowy figure moving swiftly between the trees straight
towards him. Against the fading light and the white background of snow
he made out the form of a woman, and instantly halted his dogs with the
intention of speaking to her. She was perhaps five and twenty yards
away when he first saw her, and the distance between them she covered
at a run, approaching him apparently without seeing him. Her line of
progression brought her within four yards of the place where he stood
waiting in the shadow of a giant spruce. Still she did not see him, and
he was about to make his presence known, when the sight of her face
checked him.
It was a young face, and beautiful, but as he saw it, it was a picture
of incarnate terror. The eyes were staring as in horror. There was a
stony look about the cameo-like features, and he caught the gasping
intake of breath as she passed him. He had seen terror in feminine
faces before, once when a drunken half-breed had lifted a knife to
slay, and once on the face of an Indian girl, swept towards the White
Horse Rapids on the Yukon in a frail canoe, and he had no doubt
whatever as to the emotion which found expression in that stonily
beautiful face. The girl was badly frightened. He was quite certain of
that, and the fact of her passing both himself and his team without
observing them was further evidence that she was in great stress of
mind. As she hurried by something in her hand caught his eye. It was a
rifle carried at the trail.
For a moment he stood there undecided what to do. Once he made as if to
follow the girl, and then checking himself again, stood considering.
Those two shots which he had heard--what did they mean? They had
sounded quite close, and now there came this girl, clearly badly
frightened, carrying a rifle and hurrying from the wood. He looked
up the narrow path between the gloomy pines, his trained mind and
his instincts working together. Something had occurred in the wood,
something tragical, or it had not brought that look on the girl’s face.
What was it?
Tired as he was with the day’s travel, and certain though he was of
the nearness of some house of rest, he could not leave the problem
unsolved. For the moment he even forgot Koona Dick, and again leaving
his dogs he turned into the path from which the girl had emerged. He
moved cautiously, with the service pistol in his hand. He did not know
what to expect, and he was not inclined to be caught unprepared. Once,
as he walked in the darkness of the trees, he paused, and throwing back
the ear-flaps of his fur-cap, stood listening. No sound reached him,
though a moment before he had caught a noise which had seemed like the
snapping of a dry twig. Thinking he must have been mistaken, he resumed
his way. As he did so, a shadowy form behind him slid from one tree
trunk to another; and as he progressed the form in the wood followed,
evidently stalking him.
Corporal Bracknell, however, remained unconscious of the shadow, and
moving quickly but silently on his way, came suddenly upon something
which brought him to an abrupt halt. In the snow not three yards from
where he stood lay the huddled form of a man. For a moment he stared
at it as if fascinated, and as the man did not move, when the moment
had passed he stepped swiftly forward, and bent over the inanimate
form. The man was lying on his side, and a dark stain in the snow the
corporal divined was blood. Apparently the man was dead, and as it
was now too dark to see his face, the corporal felt in his pouch and
produced a tin box of sulphur matches. Striking one, he waited until
the sulphur had finished spluttering, and when the wood was fairly
alight, he bent over the prostrate form, shading the match with his
hands so as to throw the light upon the man’s face. Then suddenly he
dropped the match and stood upright.
“Koona Dick!” he muttered, and then whistled softly to himself.
He struck another match and looked again in order to make sure. As for
the second time the flickering light fell on the face in the snow,
every doubt vanished. The man who was lying there was the man whom
he had followed for _four_ hundred miles through the waste, the man
whom he had hoped to make his prisoner, but who now, if appearances
were to be trusted, had finally escaped him. Dropping the match as it
burned towards the end, he thrust his hand inside the man’s fur parka
to feel if the heart were beating. He could detect no movement, and as
he withdrew the hand, he stood upright, and as he considered question
after question went through his mind at the gallop.
Who had killed Koona Dick? The girl whom he had met with that look of
frozen terror on her face? Who was she? Had she shot the man lying at
his feet? Why had she done so? Where did she live? As the last question
shot in his mind he knew that the answer to it was in his grasp. He
had seen the direction she had followed, and he guessed that whatever
homestead lay at the end of that road cut through the forest would be
her dwelling place. As this conviction surged into his mind the whining
of his dogs came to his ears. They were evidently growing restless, and
since he could do nothing by lingering there, after one glance at the
still form lying in the snow, he swung on his heel, and made all speed
back to where his team awaited him. They yelped with delight as he
appeared, and when he gave the word, bounded impatiently forward along
the well-beaten track.
Four minutes later, a turn in the road unexpectedly brought into view
the homestead that he was seeking. It was set in the midst of a large
clearing, and from its outline in the darkness was of considerable
proportions for a Northland lodge. Lights shone in three of the
windows, and just as he reached the wooden fence which ran round the
house, a door opened, and a light within streaming through outlined the
form of a man in the act of entering.
Corporal Bracknell shouted to him, and the man turned round and peered
into the darkness, then he rested something against the wooden wall of
the passage, shut the door, and moved towards the policeman.
“Who are you?” he asked, as he came nearer.
“Corporal Bracknell--on Dominion service,” replied the policeman.
“Corporal Bracknell?”
As the man echoed the words the corporal caught a puzzled note in his
tones, and explained further.
“Yes, of the Mounted Police.”
“Oh, of course! I was not thinking of the Mounted service. I am a
stranger in the Nor’-West--” Bracknell had already divined that such
must be the case, but he did not say so. He laughed lightly, and made
his wants known.
“I’m on service, and tired. I should be grateful for supper and a bunk
if that is possible.”
“It is quite possible, Officer, and Joy--I mean Miss Gargrave will
be very glad to oblige you. She is always pleased to play the Good
Samaritan.”
As the man spoke the name, the corporal remembered that he had heard
it before. It had been borne by an eccentric Englishman, who had been
reported enormously wealthy and who had perished rather tragically on
the Klondyke, three years before, and the mystery of whose death had
never been cleared up, satisfactorily. He knew now where he was.
“This is the North Star Lodge, then?” he inquired.
“Yes!” was the reply. “Will you go in now and attend to your team
afterwards, or--”
“In my service,” laughed Bracknell, “the dogs come first.”
“Very well,” answered the other. “I will wait for you!”
He lit a cigarette and watched the corporal whilst he loosed the dogs
from the traces, and fed them with frozen fish. The light from the
window fell on his face and showed that he was less interested in the
operation than in the man engaged upon it, for never for a moment did
his eyes leave the officer, and there was a ruminative look in them,
as if he were speculating what manner of man the policeman was. The
corporal was quite conscious of the stare, but gave no sign of it,
though once or twice as he moved about, he flashed a glance at the
stranger, endeavouring in his turn to take the other’s measure. When he
had finished his task he turned to him.
“I am ready now.”
“So am I,” laughed the man; “it is cold waiting about.”
He threw his cigarette away, and moved towards the door of the house.
Corporal Bracknell followed him, and as the door opened his guide
stumbled over something which fell with a clatter on the pinewood floor.
The man stooped and picked it up.
“My rifle,” he explained. “I had forgotten it was there. I rested it
against the wall when you hailed me.”
The corporal nodded, but made no remark. His thoughts were engaged with
Koona Bill lying out there under the shadow of the pines, and he was
wondering what the meeting with Joy Gargrave would be like, guessing
as he did that she must be the girl who had passed him out in the
wood. His companion conducted him to a room that for the Northland was
positively luxurious, and waved him a chair near the stove.
“You will like to change your socks and moccasins,” he said politely.
“I will go and inform Miss Gargrave, and return for you in ten minutes
or so. It should be almost dinner time.”
Corporal Bracknell nodded, and when the man had departed looked round
the room with some curiosity. Nowhere in the wild region where his
work was done was there another such room, he was sure. Even the
commandant’s rooms down at the Post were poor beside it. The furniture
was of excellent quality. The wall was match-boarded, hiding the outer
logs, and there were furs everywhere. Pictures too! Something familiar
in one of them caught his eye, and moving towards it he saw that it was
a photograph of Newham College, Cambridge.
He stood looking at it, whistling softly to himself. He himself had
been at Caius, and having a sister at Newham, had once or twice had tea
in its precincts. He wondered what the picture was doing here in this
lodge in the northern wilderness, and he was still wondering when a
gong sounded. Hastily he began to change his socks, and the operation
was scarcely completed, when the man who had introduced him to the
house appeared.
“Ready, Corporal?”
“Almost,” he replied, and half a minute later stood up and nodded.
“This way,” said the other laconically, and led the way out of the room
and across the wide passage. The policeman was prepared for surprises,
but the appearance of the room into which he entered almost took his
breath away. Except for the roaring Yukon stove, and the fur rugs on
the polished floor, it was a replica of the typical dining-room of
an English country house. The furniture was Jacobean, the table was
laid with the whitest napery, and silver and glasses gleamed on its
whiteness. He had a quick apprehension of oil-paintings on the wall, of
a long-cased clock in the corner, and of two girls standing together
near the stove, then his companion’s voice sounded.
“Corporal Bracknell! Miss Gargrave! Miss La Farge.”
He bowed to the two ladies in turn. The second he knew as he glanced at
her was of French Canadian extraction, with perhaps a dash of Indian
blood in her veins; but the first was a golden-haired English girl,
tall, blue-eyed, with face a little bronzed by the open-air, and--the
girl who had passed him with her face the index of mortal terror and
her rifle at the trail. It was she who spoke in a voice that had the
indescribable accent of culture.
“We are pleased to see you, Corporal Bracknell. No doubt, if you have
been long on the trail, you will be ready for dinner.”
CHAPTER II
A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
FEELING like a man in a dream, the corporal took his seat at the table,
and when the soup was served by an Indian youth, he was too much amazed
to attempt conversation. Miss Gargrave looked at him and casually
asked, “You have never been to North Star before, Mr. Bracknell?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “I am new to this district. I was
transferred from Edmonton four months ago.”
“Then you did not know of our existence?”
The corporal smiled. “I had heard something of it; but the truth is I
had forgotten all about it.”
The girl nodded. “I can understand that. We are so far out of the track
of things that it is easy for the world to forget us.”
Bracknell would have liked to ask why such as she should continue to
live in the wilderness; but he repressed his curiosity, and looking
round smiled again.
“Your solitude is not without its amenities. I did not think there was
such a room as this anywhere in the north. It reminds one of home!”
“You are English, of course?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “I come from Kendal, in Westmorland.”
“Kendal?” There was an accent of surprise in her voice.
“You know Kendal?” he inquired quickly.
“Yes,” she answered. “I have stayed in the neighbourhood. Are you any
relation of Sir James Bracknell of Harrowfell?”
“My uncle and guardian,” he smilingly replied.
Joy Gargrave looked at him thoughtfully. “I have met your uncle,” she
said slowly. “I should scarcely have looked for his nephew in the
Mounted Police.”
“Why not?” he demanded, with a laugh. “The Force is a packet of
surprises. My sergeant at Edmonton was the heir to an Irish peerage,
and I know a trooper down at Alberta who is the second son of a
marquis.”
“But Sir James!” she murmured. “He did not seem to me the sort of man
who would approve--”
“He does not know,” interrupted the corporal.
“It is very likely that he would not approve if he did. But that does
not greatly matter; as before I came out here we quarrelled, and the
relations between us are likely to continue strained.”
“Is it permissible to ask the cause of this quarrel?” inquired the man
on the other side of the table, whose name the corporal had not yet
learned.
Bracknell frowned at the directness of the question and was about to
administer a snub, when he caught Miss Gargrave’s eyes fixed upon him
expectantly. He laughed shortly as he replied, “Well, Mr.--ar--”
“Rayner is my name,” said the other. “I forgot I had not introduced
myself.”
The corporal nodded. “I was about to say, Mr. Rayner, that it is a
private matter; but there can be no harm in saying that my uncle had a
matrimonial scheme for me of which I did not approve, so here I am.”
He laughed to hide his embarrassment of which he was conscious, and
looked at Miss Gargrave to whom the explanation had really been
offered. There was a thoughtful look upon her face.
“Sir James is rather dictatorial,” she said, and then turned the
conversation. “Do you like the service?”
“Yes,” was the reply, given wholeheartedly. “It is a man’s work,
and the open-air life, with all the many hazards of the North, is
infinitely preferable to stewing in chambers waiting for briefs; or
devilling the K.C. who wants to keep all the crumbs on his own table.”
The girl nodded. “I can understand that,” she commented, and for a
moment she sat there crumbling her bread.
The thoughtful look on her face was accentuated. Remembering what he
had seen there when she had passed him in the road, the corporal found
himself wondering if there was any connection between the two. Then
Miss Gargrave spoke again.
“I suppose you are in this neighbourhood on professional business?”
“Yes,” he answered readily enough. “I have been following a man for a
month and have trailed him something like four hundred miles.”
“That is a long journey in winter,” said the girl a trifle absently.
Corporal Bracknell smiled. “Nothing to boast of. There have been many
longer trails in the Territory by our men. Did you ever hear how
Constable Pedley took the lunatic missionary from Fort Chipewayn to
Saskatchewan down the Athabasca River in the very depth of winter?”
“Yes,” answered the girl. “That was an epic. The constable lost his own
reason in the end, didn’t he?”
Bracknell nodded. “Yes, but he’s better again now; though naturally
that experience has set its mark on him. And if I had got my man my
return journey would have been much harder than the journey up, as I
should have had to look after him; and sleep with one eye open all the
time.”
“You speak as if you had lost your man,” said Rayner. “Is that so?”
“Yes, I have lost him finally,” answered the corporal slowly.
“Who was he? What had he done? Was he a very desperate character?”
inquired Miss Gargrave, and to the corporal as he turned to her it
seemed as if there was a look of troubled expectancy in her face.
“He was an Englishman,” answered Bracknell quietly, his eyes fixed on
the beautiful face. “I do not know that he was a particularly desperate
character, but he certainly was not scrupulous, and he was suspected of
selling whiskey to the Indians in the reservation, which is a serious
offence in the Territory.”
“What name?” asked Miss La Farge.
“His proper name I do not know, but he has been known through the North
as Koona Dick!”
As he gave the name he saw Joy Gargrave’s face grow white, and the
trouble in her eyes was plain. Also, with the tail of his eye, he
saw Mr. Rayner start violently, and guessed that both he and his
hostess were not unacquainted with the man who lay out there in the
snow under the shadow of the pines. For a moment after his reply
there was a strained uneasy silence. The corporal removed his eyes
from his hostess’s face and glanced round the table. Mr. Rayner was
fingering the stem of a wine-glass nervously, whilst Miss La Farge was
looking from him to Miss Gargrave with puzzled eyes. Evidently she was
conscious that something unusual was taking place, but the corporal was
sure that to her the name he had just spoken was without any special
significance. That it was known to the other two people present he was
certain, and he waited to see what would follow. The sense of strain
grew more pronounced, then Mr. Rayner shuffled uneasily and broke the
silence.
“I notice, Corporal Bracknell, that you speak of this--er--fellow in
the past tense, and you say that he has escaped you finally. Do you
mean to say that he is--a--dead?”
“He is lying in the snow in a path cut through the trees off the main
road to the Lodge,” answered the corporal steadily, “and he has been
shot, I think.”
“Good God!” ejaculated Mr. Rayner, in a voice that, whilst it expressed
astonishment, seemed to the corporal to be a little flat. “And we have
been sitting here, gassing, whilst--” He broke off abruptly. “Joy,”
he cried addressing Miss Gargrave, “you are ill. The shock of this
story--”
“It is nothing,” interrupted the girl in a shaking voice. “I--I--feel a
little faint. If you will excuse me--” She rose to her feet, staggered
a little, and then, as Miss La Farge ran to her, fainted outright. For
a moment Corporal Bracknell did not speak, though a look of utmost
concern came upon his face. The situation seemed to him to be thronged
with dreadful possibilities. Remembering the look on the girl’s face
when he had encountered her in the forest road, and the rifle in her
hand, he found in this faint further support for the suspicion which
had occurred to him when he had stood by the supine body of Koona
Dick. Living in the wilds, it was scarcely likely that the news of
a dead man would affect her thus, if that news were without special
significance for her. Death in the Northland--death sharp and sudden
was not so uncommon as all that. Moving accidents by flood and field,
by wild beasts and wild men, were part of the general circumstances
of wilderness life; why, therefore, should the girl be thus affected
by the news that he had uttered? Whilst Mr. Rayner assisted Miss La
Farge to carry their hostess out of the room, he stood there, his mind
occupied by this momentous question. The answer was one which took the
form of a further question and which filled him with concern. Had she
killed Koona Dick, with whom, as he was sure, she was acquainted?
Again he saw the beautiful face, the picture of terror and the eyes
in their unseeing stare of horror, and wondered what was the meaning
of it all. Had the girl seen the body of Koona Dick lying there in
the shadow of the pines with his blood staining the snow, and was she
merely frightened; or was her knowledge of a more intimate and guilty
character? He could not decide, and whilst he was still wondering, the
door of the room opened and Rayner entered. His face now was mask-like,
and his voice was suave and even as he addressed the officer.
“I am afraid your story has been a shock to Miss Gargarve, who has not
been very well all day. You will have to excuse her for this evening;
but that is no reason why you should not finish your dinner, after
which we might go out and look at this dead man. I suppose he will have
to have sepulchre?”
“Even the worst of us should have that,” answered the corporal quietly,
then added, “Miss Gargrave--she is better?”
“Yes, it was only a faint. I expect she found it rather shocking to
think that whilst we were sat here, that man was lying dead in the snow
outside.”
“I can understand that,” answered the other in a non-committal voice.
Mr. Rayner nodded. “Feminine nerves are unstable things.” A second
later he asked, “Did I understand you to say that this man whom you
were following was shot?”
“That is only a guess of mine,” was the reply. “I found him lying there
in the snow, and only a few minutes before I distinctly heard a rifle
fire twice.”
“But,” objected Mr. Rayner, “it does not follow that the shots you
heard were directed against this man Koona Dick? I myself fired at
a timber-wolf on the outskirts of the homestead just a little while
before your arrival.”
“Did you fire twice?” asked Corporal Bracknell quickly.
“N--no! Once!”
There was a little hesitation before the reply was given. It was but
the fraction of a second, but the policeman marked it, and suspected
that the other had been a little uncertain as to what he ought to
answer.
“But I heard two shots--one on the heels of the other,” answered
Bracknell.
“One may have been the echo,” suggested Rayner. “Up here when it is
still, sounds are easily duplicated.”
“No, it was not an echo,” asserted the corporal. “I am quite sure of
that. I have lived in the wilds too long to be deceived in a small
matter of that sort. The second shot was as real as the first. And
there is another thing I ought to tell you, Mr. Raynor. Immediately
after the second shot I heard a woman cry out.”
Mr. Rayner looked interested. “Are you quite sure it was a woman?” he
asked. “It may have been the death-cry of this man--er--Koona Dick,
which you heard.”
“That is just possible,” agreed the corporal. “Yet it seemed to me like
the cry of a woman in terror.”
“It is easy even for trained ears to be mistaken up here,” said the
other suavely. “Since I came here I have heard a hare scream like a
child in agony. The cry you heard may have been no more than that of
some small creature falling a victim to the law of the wild, which is
that the strongest takes the prey.”
“Maybe!” said Bracknell laconically. In his heart he did not accept the
explanation, plausible though it was.
“I am sure of it,” answered the other, as if determined to convince
him. “In the silence of these northern forests, as I have noticed
often of late, sounds seem to take strange qualities. The loneliness
accentuates them, and if one has any reason for suspecting the presence
of other humans besides one’s self, then every sound one hears seems to
have some bearing on the unseen presences.”
“Perhaps,” replied the policeman, wondering why the other should be so
persistent in the matter; “but you forget one thing which is rather
fatal to your argument.”
“And what is that?” inquired Rayner quickly.
“Well, I was not expecting to find a woman up in this wilderness;
indeed, it was the last thought in my mind. That fact makes your
argument fail, at any rate as applied to the cry I heard.”
To this Mr. Rayner made no reply. He pushed a wine decanter towards the
other, and rising from the table crossed the room to a cabinet, from
which he took out a box of cigars.
“We will have a smoke, before going to look at this dead man.”
Corporal Bracknell accepted the cigar, which was of choice brand, and
when he had lit it he looked at the other--and said thoughtfully. “I
have been wondering why Miss Gargrave lives up here in the wilds?”
Rayner laughed a little. “I am not surprised at that. Everybody
wonders. But the fact is that she has no real choice in the matter. As
I dare say you will have heard, Rolf Gargrave was immensely rich, and
he made his daughter his heiress, but on the condition that for three
years after his death she should live at North Star Lodge. That is the
explanation!”
“But why on earth should he make a condition of that sort--- for a
girl?”
“He was a crank!” replied Rayner contemptuously. “He was not an admirer
of what is called modern civilization--indeed, he detested it most
heartily and whilst he sent his daughter to England to be educated,
he desired to protect her against society influences; and he believed
that a few years in the North here, in touch with primitive life, would
give her a distaste for the shams and artificialities of great cities.
Also--I believe he was a little afraid of fortune-hunters and wanted
Joy’s mind to mature before she met the breed.”
Bracknell nodded his understanding of the situation, and then remarked.
“The place is not without its points--but to my thinking it has grave
dangers also. When Miss Gargrave returns to civilization, the reaction
from the hard life and the solitude of the North is likely to be so
great that in the whirl she may be carried off her feet.”
“Yes, Rolf Gargrave does not appear to have thought of that. But there
are others who have it in mind.” The corporal looked thoughtfully at
his companion, and wondered what relation he stood to their hostess. It
was a question that could not be asked openly, but remembering how once
or twice the girl’s Christian name had slipped into Rayner’s speech he
guessed that whatever the relationship was, it was a fairly intimate
one. He was still wondering when his companion rose.
“If you are ready, Corporal Bracknell, we will go and look at--a--Koona
Dick.”
The corporal rose with alacrity, and five minutes later, clad in
outdoor furs, they were moving briskly down the road cut between the
pines. As they walked, the policeman looked about him with keen eyes,
and when they reached the point where the narrower path that he had
followed branched off, noticed what had escaped him before, namely that
the path was evidently continued on the other side of the road also.
Rayner did not hesitate between the two. He made a straight line for
the path which led to the place where Koona Dick had fallen. As they
turned into it, the thought that he might be wrong appeared to strike
him, and he halted abruptly.
“This path, wasn’t it? The left going towards the house, I think you
said, didn’t you?”
“Yes, the left!” answered Corporal Bracknell quietly, but as he walked
by the other’s side the question leaped in his mind. “Did I mention
the left?” He could not remember. He doubted, and his doubts were
strengthened by the fact that till a moment before he had not known
that the path was continued across the main road. Thinking there was
only one path, there was no reason why he should have mentioned the
position of it. Yet the man by his side had known which path to take!
As he walked on, he gave no sign, but a question leaped up in his mind.
“How did Rayner know?”
Then simultaneously he and his companion came to an abrupt halt. At
their feet in the snow was a dark blot. The corporal looked hastily
round, then felt for his matches and struck one. As the wood caught,
he stooped and examined the ground near the dark blot, where was the
impress of a heavy body in the snow, and footmarks all round it. He
stared at the trampled snow in amazement, then he examined the snow in
the shadow of the trees. Its surface in the immediate neighbourhood was
unbroken, save by the print of a single pair of moccasined feet, and
those footmarks moved towards the place where Koona Dick had lain, and
not away from it. He looked among the underwood in the neighbourhood
of the path. The search in the darkness revealed nothing, nowhere was
there any sign of the man whom they had come to look for.
“What is it?” asked Rayner in an odd voice. “What has happened?”
“A strange thing has happened,” said the corporal laconically. “The
body we came to look for has disappeared.”
CHAPTER III
THE CORPORAL FINDS A LETTER
“DISAPPEARED!” As he echoed the corporal’s word in a hoarse voice,
Rayner looked hastily and fearfully into the shadows, and then added,
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” answered Corporal Bracknell tersely. “This is the place
where he lay. That is his blood in the snow there; and you can, see the
print of his body if you look.”
“Then--then he was not dead after all?” asked Rayner in a strange voice.
“I would not say that. I would have taken my oath that there was no
life in him. I even felt his heart!”
“But in that case, how has he got away?” inquired Rayner quickly. “Dead
men do not walk away from the place where they die.”
“No,” answered the corporal quietly. “But they may be carried. It seems
to me that there are more footmarks here than there were when I came on
Koona Dick lying in the track; but I cannot be quite sure of that, as I
did not look about very carefully.”
“Why not?” asked the other a trifle critically. “I should have thought
that would have been the very first thing that you would have done.”
“In ordinary circumstances it would,” was the reply, “but I had left my
team in the main track, and to do that overlong is not wise. One might
get separated from it, you know. Also I had already guessed that there
was a homestead not very far away, and it seemed the sensible thing to
go there first, and learn anything that I could that would help in the
elucidation of the mystery of the dead man.”
“Um! And did you learn anything?”
“More than I expected.”
“Indeed!” answered Rayner sharply. There was a new note in his voice,
and the corporal felt rather than saw that the other was staring at him
in the darkness. “May I ask what that was?”
“It was that you were acquainted with Koona Dick.”
“I have never spoken to him in my life,” replied Rayner quickly.
“But you knew him or you had heard of him. I saw you start when I
mentioned his name at table.”
His companion laughed uneasily. “You have sharper eyes than I gave you
credit for, Corporal Bracknell. It is quite true that I had heard of
Koona Dick. I heard of him in my journey up, and what I heard was not
to his credit. Your presence here implied that he was in this district,
and one had no hankering for such an unpleasant neighbour.”
“And Miss Gargrave, had she only heard of him also?”
As he asked the question the aurora flashed suddenly in the Northern
sky, and in its light reflected from the snow the corporal saw that
Rayner’s face was white and troubled. The light faded almost as
suddenly as it flamed, and with that look in his mind the policeman
waited for the answer to his question. It seemed to be an intolerable
time before Rayner spoke in a hoarse and shaking voice.
“How can I tell you? If you feel that it is absolutely necessary to
obtain an answer to that question, I can only suggest that you should
approach Miss Gargrave herself.”
In his heart Bracknell knew that this answer was a mere evasion. Rayner
knew more than he was willing to confess, and the policeman wondered
what it was, and what link there was between him and Miss Gargrave and
Koona Dick. He considered a moment, and then deliberately forced the
pace.
“I have not told you everything, Mr. Rayner. I do not know what
relation you stand to Miss Gargrave, but--”
“I am her cousin,” interrupted Rayner, “and my father is her guardian
and lawyer.”
“Is that so?” answered the corporal. “Then there is more reason why I
should tell you what I intended to do. I have not told you yet how I
came to find Koona Dick. I had turned in from the river because I smelt
burning wood. I thought that maybe the man I was after had encamped
somewhere in this immediate neighbourhood. I found the avenue leading
to North Star Lodge and began to follow it. I turned from the main
road into the wood on a fresh sled-trail which I imagined and still
imagine was Koona Dick’s. I had gone only a little way, when, as I have
already told you, I heard two rifle shots and a woman’s cry in quick
succession to each other. I ran back to the road, and after waiting a
moment I began to follow it. I had reached the point where this path
cuts into it, when happening to glance across I saw a woman coming
towards me across the snow. I halted in the shadows, meaning to speak
to her, but I caught sight of her face, and she did not see either my
team or myself.”
“You saw her face--plainly?” interrupted his listener quickly.
“Quite plainly.”
“And would you recognize it again?”
“I have already done so,” answered the corporal quietly.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, the woman was your cousin, Miss Gargrave.”
“My dear fellow,” cried Rayner, breaking into discordant laughter. “You
surely are not going to charge Joy with shooting Koona Dick?”
The corporal was not disturbed by the laughter. To his ears it sounded
forced, and the contemptuous protest in his companion’s words left him
unmoved.
“There is one little thing that I have not told you, Mr. Rayner, and to
me it seems to be significant. Miss Gargrave carried a rifle.”
“There is nothing strange or even significant in that,” replied the
other quickly. “My cousin is an ardent sportswoman, and had probably
been after game. Besides, as I told you, I think, there are timber
wolves about. They are dangerous beasts in hard weather, and one does
not go far unarmed in this district.”
Corporal Bracknell answered these suggestions by some of his own. “Miss
Gargrave was running down the path which led to this spot. To my eyes
she was plainly distraught, and I may remind you that she fainted when
I told you that Koona Dick was dead.”
Rayner laughed again hardly. “You are persistent, Corporal, but there
is nothing in a girl fainting when she is told rather dramatically that
a man has been shot dead almost at her own door. Aren’t you a little
imaginative? Indeed,” he laughed again, “having heard a rifle shot have
you not imagined all the rest? I am told that a lonely trail plays the
deuce with a man’s nerves. You say that you saw Koona Dick lying here,
dead; but he is not here--now, and he can’t--”
“I haven’t imagined that anyhow,” interrupted Bracknell, pointing to
the dark stain on the snow, “and I haven’t imagined any of the other
things I have told you, either. Believe me, Mr. Rayner, my nerves are
in perfect order.”
Rayner stamped his feet in the snow. “Possibly! But there is no need
that we should freeze, whilst we discuss the point, is there? I do not
understand police procedure, but if you have quite finished here, I
think we might return to the house. I have no desire to lose my toes
through frost-bite.”
“I can do nothing here, tonight,” replied Bracknell quickly. “I shall
have to wait until morning. I am quite ready to return.”
Rayner did not reply. Swinging on his heel, he began to move in the
direction of the lodge. The corporal followed him in silence, and
they had almost reached the main-road when something light caught his
moccasined foot. He looked down and discerned what looked like a piece
of paper. Stooping quickly, he picked it up, and crushed it in his
mitten, as his companion turned round, as if to wait for him. At first
he thought Rayner must have seen him make the find; but as the other
spoke, was reassured.
“I hope you will not disturb my cousin unnecessarily tonight, Corporal
Bracknell.”
“I shall not trouble her at all, Mr Rayner. There is no need that I
should--yet.”
“Nor at any other time, I hope.”
“I share that hope, most fervently,” answered Bracknell, with an
earnestness that the other evidently found convincing, for he did
not speak again until they were seated in the front of the stove in
the room where they had dined. Then he tried to make light of the
situation. “Corporal,” he laughed, “the laws of hospitality are sacred
in the North. Even though you feel you must drag us all down as your
prisoners, they must be honoured. We have some very old brandy here,
indeed it is incredibly old, and its quality is equal to its age. You
will take a glass with me, and another cigar?”
“I shall be delighted, thank you, Mr. Rayner.”
Rayner produced a decanter and glasses, and poured out the brandy, and
whilst the officer was lighting his cigar, Miss La Farge entered the
room.
“How is Joy?” asked Rayner quickly.
“Better, thank you. She sent me to make her excuses for tonight; and to
ask how you had sped.”
“Only fairly,” answered Rayner, with a smiling glance at the corporal.
“We did not find the dead man whom Mr. Bracknell averred he saw.”
“That is very strange,” said the girl wonderingly.
“Yes,” was the reply, “very strange, so strange indeed that I have
tried to persuade the corporal that all that he has told us is just a
snow-dream.”
“But you have not persuaded him?” asked Miss La Farge, with a quick
glance at the corporal’s face.
It was Bracknell himself who answered. “No, I have not, as yet, been
persuaded, Miss La Farge.”
“My eloquence was wasted, Babette,” laughed Rayner easily. “Corporal
Bracknell has that British stubbornness which is a nuisance to our
friends and a terror to our enemies.”
Miss La Farge laughed as she replied, “That is a characteristic of the
male persuasion.”
With a smiling nod she withdrew, closing the door behind her, and
Rayner rose from his chair and drew a curtain of moose-hide over the
door.
“Miss La Farge is a good companion for my cousin.”
“From French Canada, I suppose?” queried the corporal.
“Father was of that stock, but her mother was partly of Scotch
descent, partly native. Joy’s mother died young, and Babette’s brought
them up together. They are foster-sisters and inseparables.”
Bracknell nodded, and sipped the brandy thoughtfully, and the other
continued, “I do not know what will happen when Joy gets married.”
“Is that an early possibility?” asked the corporal, with a sudden
quickening of interest.
“I hope so,” replied Rayner, with a bland smile.
The corporal made the inference that he was meant to make. “Then you--”
“It is not quite settled yet, but I hope it will be very shortly. The
wilderness years necessitated by her father’s will are nearly over, and
I am to take her ‘out’ from here. I hope then that we shall be married,
and live in England.”
For a moment the corporal did not reply. He looked at the bland,
mask-like face before him, saw, as he had already noted, that the
steel-like blue eyes were too close together, that the lips were
sensual; and as he did so, the beautiful face of Joy Gargrave, as he
had seen it at table, rose before him, and somehow he found Rayner’s
suggestion of coming wedlock utterly distasteful. The man, as he felt
instinctively, was not a man to be trusted with a girl’s happiness. Why
he should have that feeling he could not tell; but it was there, and it
was only by an effort that he was able to reply affably.
“For Miss Gargrave, England, no doubt, is much to be preferred.”
“Much!” agreed Rayner, then added, “Having told you so much, you can
understand that I feel rather inclined to resent your suggestion that
Joy has anything to do with the mysterious affair out in the wood
there. She may have heard the name of Koona Dick as I myself have, but
that she knew him, that she shot him, is the very wildest thing for any
one to imagine. I really cannot think how you can entertain it for a
moment in face of the utter absence of motive.”
“That is a strong point certainly,” conceded Bracknell.
“That she happened to be in the neighbourhood is nothing. I was in the
neighbourhood, you were in the neighbourhood--”
“Yes,” interrupted the corporal with a smile, “that is true. But there
is no reason why I should shoot Koona Dick, and there was every reason
why I should take him prisoner.”
“You are not suggesting that there was any reason why Joy or I should
have done such a thing, I hope?”
“Far from it. I know of none, but of course in an area where crime is
committed every one is suspect until the criminal is found.”
Rayner laughed easily, and to the corporal’s quick ear there was a note
of relief in his tones as he replied, “In that case there is no need
why we should worry, however one may resent the personal implication of
such a general suspicion.”
He pushed the decanter towards the corporal, who shook his head, and
rose from his chair.
“Thank you, no more tonight, Mr. Rayner. If you will excuse me, I will
go to my sleeping quarters. I have had a very hard day, and must be up
betimes in the morning.”
“As you will,” answered Rayner, and a moment later led the way to the
bedroom which the policeman was to occupy. For the North it was a
luxurious one, but the corporal scarcely noticed it. The moment the
door had closed behind Rayner, he thrust a hand into his tunic pocket
and drew forth a crumpled piece of paper. It was the paper he had
picked up in the snow. He opened it out, and as he caught a word or two
of the writing it contained, a swift light of interest came into his
eyes.
Setting a chair in front of the stove, he seated himself, and very
carefully smoothed the paper on his knee. Then he took it up and began
to read.
“MY DEAR JOY,--
“This note will no doubt be something of a shock to you; as I imagine
you must think I am no longer in the land of the living; at any rate I
have not heard from you for a very long time, and so can only presume
that such must have been your idea. But here I am and in a sweat to
see you.
“An accident gave me the knowledge of your whereabouts, and now I
learn that you are not alone. Therefore I shall not visit the house,
in the first instance, without your invitation, but I must see you,
and in an hour’s time after your receipt of this I shall look for you
in the little path that goes towards the hill. It is a long time since
that day at Alcombe, which I am sure you will not have forgotten, and
you and I, my dear, should have much to say to each other. Do not
fail to come.
“Dick....”
When he reached the end, the corporal sat staring at the letter like
a man hypnotized. It was in pencil, written on a page torn out of a
memorandum book, and the writer had evidently been about to sign his
full name, and then had changed his mind, for the beginning of the
surname had been crossed out, and the more intimate “Dick” left to
stand alone.
“Then she did know him!” he whispered to himself. “She went out to meet
him. She--”
He did not finish his utterance, but lifted the paper the more
carefully to examine the signature. He was interested in the unfinished
surname, and spelled out the letters carefully, “B-r-a.” He repeated
them to himself several times, trying to guess the sequence that should
follow, then suddenly he started to his feet, and a startled look came
into his eyes.
“Good God!” he whispered. “If it should be so?” He stood for quite a
long time, his face the index of profound thought and concern, then he
bestowed the incriminating letter in a place of safety, and prepared
for bed. But it was long before he slept. From somewhere in the forest
came the long-drawn howl of a wolf, and in response the dogs outside
bayed in chorus, but it was his own silent thoughts, and not these
noises of the wilderness, that kept sleep from his tired eyes.
CHAPTER IV
A PUZZLING SCENT
THE following morning Corporal Bracknell was early astir, but early as
he was there were others earlier, for the smell of frying moose-meat
reached him before he was dressed. When he left his room he found
Rayner awaiting him.
“You are early, Corporal,” was the greeting.
“Yes, I thought of going out as far as the place where we went together
last night.”
“What! before breakfast? Surely there is no need for such haste, and
remember there will be no daylight for at least a couple of hours yet.”
“That is so, but--”
An Indian servant appeared from somewhere in the rear of the house,
bearing a silver coffee-pot on a tray. Rayner pointed to it with a
smile.
“That settles the matter, I fancy. Breakfast is being served. You will
not allow it to spoil, I am sure.”
“It is a convincing argument,” laughed the corporal. “I will breakfast
first and attend to duty afterwards.”
Rayner nodded, and led the way into the room where they had dined on
the previous night. Places were laid for four at the table, but neither
Miss Gargrave nor her foster-sister had yet appeared.
“We are a little early for the ladies,” said Rayner, seating himself,
“but we will not wait for them. They may breakfast in their room.”
The corporal took his place, and whilst they ate, conversed with his
companion in a desultory kind of way. Both of them steadily avoided any
reference to the events and conversation of the night before, and in
the course of the meal the policeman learned a little more about his
hostess’ father.
“He was an odd kind of man,” explained Rayner, when reference had
been made to him. “Came of a good stock in the Old Country, and was
one of the pioneers up here. A man of culture as a glance round the
bookshelves will show you, and a man of business also. Some of the best
mining properties in the North were secured by him, and unlike many
of the Klondyke millionaires he made his home here, and he bought,
regardless of cost, the old family estate in England. I think he meant
to return there, with his daughter, some day. But the hard life of
these wild lands had entered into his blood, and he--”
The sound of a feminine voice outside caught the officer’s attention,
and made him neglect what his companion was saying. He heard the outer
door open, and close, then hurried steps sounded in the passage, and
two people passed by the room in which he was seated. The door happened
to be ajar, and the corporal saw that one was his hostess, and that the
other was her companion and foster-sister, Miss La Farge. They were not
late for breakfast because they had dallied in their rooms; they had
been outside.
As he realized this a little frown of thoughtfulness puckered the
corporal’s forehead. Why had they been out at this early hour, and
whilst it was still dark? Rayner noticed his pre-occupation, and
guessing the cause of it, suavely offered an explanation.
“Apparently I was mistaken about my cousin and Miss La Farge. They are
not the sluggards I thought they were. They have been outside whilst I
thought they were still a-bed.”
“They are very early,” was the reply.
“Yes! There is a silver fox about, and Joy has a line of traps. She
hopes to get it. I understand that its pelt is rare.”
“Much rarer than it used to be,” agreed the policeman absently.
The explanation was a plausible one, but he did not find it
satisfactory. He suspected that something other than a silver fox had
taken Joy Gargrave and her foster-sister into the woods in the darkness
of the morning. He wondered what it was. Had his hostess missed the
note which he had picked up the night before, and had she been out to
look for it? He did not know, he could only guess, and wait impatiently
for the coming of dawn.
As soon as the first leaden light showed through the trees outside
he left the house. Rayner offered to accompany him; but the corporal
declined the offer.
“Thank you, there is no need, Mr. Rayner. I shall be able to manage
what I have to do alone.”
“You think I shall be in the way, Corporal?” laughed the other.
“I did not say so,” answered Bracknell, “though of course it is the
simple truth that when one has a knotty thing to solve, solitude and
quiet are sometimes helpful.”
He went out and walked quickly from the house until he reached the
by-path where he had made his startling discovery of the night before.
As soon as he turned into it, his pace slowed, and he walked with his
eyes fixed upon the ground. There were many footmarks in the snow, the
most of them stale, as was shown by the powdery snow which had drifted
into them. He recognized his own tracks of the night before, going and
coming from the point at which he had found Koona Dick, and there were
others apparently made about the same time, but those which arrested
his eyes as he turned from the main road were a pair of freshly-made
well-marked tracks, too small to have been made by the feet of men. He
nodded to himself as he saw them, and began to follow them eagerly.
After a couple of minutes walking, he was a little surprised to find
that the double trail that he was following, turned from the path
into the shadow of the trees. It was still almost dark here, but
as he stooped over the tracks, he became aware of the fact which
seemed to him to be full of significance. There was a third pair of
footprints, not so recently made as the others, as the powdering of
snow in them showed, and the tracks that he was trailing apparently
followed them. He stooped and with his hand made a rough measure of
the stale tracks, and of one set of the fresh ones, with which they
seemed almost identical. They were the same size, and about the two
sets of impressions were little individual characteristics which were
immediately discernible to the trained eyes.
“Following her own tracks,” he muttered softly to himself. “Now, I
wonder why?”
He could do no more than guess, and as that was not a very profitable
occupation he continued his search. The trail that he was following
went but a little way into the forest, and then turned outward towards
the path again, and presently reached a point at which he came abruptly
to a standstill.
Under a giant spruce, the lower boughs of which had been cut away at
some time or another, was a medley of tracks, which called for detailed
examination. He stood regarding them for a moment, and then he looked
around him. As he did so he saw that the trail, which he was following,
moved forward from the huddle of tracks by which he had paused, and
that they led into an open lane in the trees. He looked again, took
a step or two forward, and then whistled slowly to himself. He was
looking at the place where the body of Koona Dick had lain. The stained
snow was hidden by freshly drifted snow, the impress of the body
however was still visible, and standing near it, Corporal Bracknell
looked back. There was a clear line of vision from the place where the
fallen man had lain to the great spruce in the shadow of which was that
huddle of tracks. He went back to the spruce, bent over the trampled
snow for a little time, and then standing upright looked towards the
path. Then he nodded his head.
“She stood just here,” he murmured thoughtfully. “There’s the mark of
her rifle-stock in the snow, and those deeper tracks show that she
stood waiting a little time. Then when Koona Dick came, she--But did
she?”
As he broke off and asked himself the question he remembered Joy
Gargrave’s face as he had first seen it when he entered the dining
room at the lodge. It had not looked like the face of a girl who had
quite recently shot a man, and though he recalled it with that look of
terror which it had worn when he had first seen it, and again with that
troubled look in the eyes when he had explained that Koona Dick was the
criminal that he sought, he felt that his reasoning and his reading of
the trail must somehow be at fault.
He stood considering the matter for a minute or two, glancing now and
again to the place where Koona Dick had lain, and the frown which had
came upon his face deepened. Then he recalled the note which he had
picked up on the previous night and the frown lightened a little.
“Of course!” he whispered to himself, “she discovered its loss and came
out here to look for it.”
But had she shot the man whom he had hoped to make his prisoner, the
man who unquestionably had written that note to her? He could not
decide, and as it was too cold to stand still for long together, he
began to walk in a rather wide circle round the scene of the tragedy.
Then he made a fresh discovery. On the other side of the path he found
other footprints in the snow, and, following the track, reached a
point where the person who had made them had quite evidently come to a
standstill behind a clump of bushes. Corporal Bracknell looked through
the screen of small branches, and once more found himself in full view
of the place where Koona Dick had fallen.
The frown on his face deepened once more. He carefully examined the
footmarks behind the bushes, and decided that they were at least some
hours old. Probably they had been made the night before, and it was at
least possible that the individual who had made them had witnessed the
tragedy which had taken place.
He began to follow the footmarks from the point at which they left the
bushes, and had gone but a little way when he found that the trail was
crossed by another almost at right angles, a trail much more deeply
marked and the first sight of which told him that either the person who
had made it was of very heavy build, or had been bearing a considerable
burden.
Perplexed beyond measure he stared at this new trail, then he looked
round. The tall spruce alone met his eye. The profound silence of the
primeval North was over all. There was no sound of life anywhere.
“And yet,” he murmured to himself, “there were quite a lot of people
here last night. What were they all doing?”
Scarcely had the words slipped from him when he heard some one cough
in the shadow of the wood, a little to the left of him. At once
his bearing became alert. Moving silently from tree to tree in the
direction from which the sound had come, he reached a point which gave
him a view of an open glade. In the middle of the glade a girl was
standing looking down at the snow. He recognized her instantly. It was
his hostess, Joy Gargrave.
A minute or two passed and then the girl began to move down the glade
quickly. He waited until she was out of sight, and himself walked to
the middle of the glade where Joy had stood looking down at the snow.
Instantly he saw what had held her eyes. A dog team had been halted
there. The marks of the runners were visible in the snow, even the
places where the dogs had waited, half-filled with new snow, were
quite clear. His practised eyes read the signs without trouble. The
team had entered the glade, had apparently waited there a little
time, and then had turned and departed in the direction followed by
his hostess. Impulsively, he turned to follow also, but as he did so,
caught sight of footmarks debouching from the trees in a direct line
to the place where the sled had been halted. They were deeply marked,
and as he recognized instantly were the same as those which he had been
following, when the sound of the cough had attracted his attention. The
person who had made them had followed a devious path, making for the
glade.
He frowned to himself. The mystery was growing deeper. But as no
solution of the affair offered itself to his mind, after a little delay
he began to follow the sled tracks down the glade, noting that side by
side with them, were the fresh tracks made by Joy Gargrave’s moccasined
feet.
The glade led out into the main road from the river to the house, and
the sled-tracks turned towards the river, and then were lost in the
hard-packed snow of the road. But as the sled had manifestly turned in
the direction of the river, Corporal Bracknell also turned that way,
walking quickly and keeping a sharp look-out on either hand for any
indication of the sled having turned aside.
To or three minutes’ quick walking brought him in sight of the frozen
river, and at the top of the bank, seated on a fallen tree, he
perceived Joy Gargrave.
Her back was towards him, and her bent head and hunched-up shoulders
were eloquent of dejection. He moved towards her quietly, and as he
drew nearer a flutter of white caught his eye. It was the corner of a
handkerchief which the girl was holding to her face, and apparently she
was crying. A quick sympathy moved him as he stepped up to her, the
snow deadening his steps.
“Miss Gargrave, you are in trouble. I wonder if I can be of any
assistance?”
Startled by the sound of his voice, the girl looked up, and for one
fleeting moment he had a vision of the beautiful face, tear-stained,
and of the blue eyes full of trouble. Then the face was hidden in the
handkerchief again, and a succession of sobs was the only answer
vouchsafed to him. He stood for a little while in silence, looking down
at the shaking shoulders. His own eyes filled with sympathetic concern,
then he spoke again.
“Please, Miss Gargrave. Let me help. I am sure your trouble is very
grave.”
At that she looked up again, her face expressive of deep misery.
“I am in deepest trouble,” she said brokenly, “I do not think that you
or any one else can be of help to me.”
“Tell me,” he urged. “At least let me try.”
She sat for a moment in thought, her eyes veiled by the long lashes,
then she lifted her head and looked at him as if she would measure his
quality. Then she broke, out impulsively.
“Yes,” she cried, “I will trust you, I will tell you all. Perhaps you
can help me, at least you can give me advice.”
“Then let us walk,” he said quickly. “You will freeze if you sit there
long.”
He offered her his hand, and as she took it, their eyes met, and in the
corporal’s there flashed a new light, and as he turned and fell into
step at her side his heart was beating tumultuously, and his blood was
running as if heated with a generous wine.
CHAPTER V
A REVELATION
JOY GARGRAVE did not begin her story immediately. For a full two
minutes they walked on, environed by the solemn pinewoods, and
enveloped in the strange, white silence of the North. The corporal
waited, and at last the girl spoke.
“You wonder why I was sitting on the bank, crying?”
“Yes,” he replied frankly. “I am wondering why you should do that,
though I may tell you that I already have an idea.”
“You already have an idea?” the girl’s tones, as she echoed his
question, betrayed surprise.
“Yes,” he answered, and thrusting a hand inside his fur parka, he
produced the note which he had found, and held it towards her. He saw
from her face that she recognized it, and he continued slowly: “You
see, I found this last night--not far from the place where Koona Dick
was lying. I did not know to whom it had been written; and if I had
known, I am afraid duty would have compelled me to read it. If I am not
mistaken, it was written to you; at any rate it bears your Christian
name.”
“It was written to me,” answered the girl quickly. “It is mine.”
“And the writer of it? Was he Koona Dick?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
Corporal Bracknell glanced at the note, and his eyes were fixed upon
the half-erased signature. “Tell me,” he said, “what is Koona Dick’s
name?--I mean the second half of his name which he had begun to write
apparently from force of habit, and then crossed out?”
“I am afraid it will be something of a surprise to you,” said the girl.
“Perhaps not so great a surprise as you think,” was the reply. “I think
I have already guessed.”
“His name is the same as your own, Corporal. It is Bracknell!”
“Ah!” said the corporal in the tone of a man who had found his thoughts
confirmed. “Richard Ascham Bracknell, of course.”
“You have the name perfect,” answered Joy quietly.
“Of Harrow Fell, Westmorland, England?” inquired the corporal.
“He was born there,” replied the girl, “and Sir James is his father, as
you are his cousin.”
The corporal walked on a few paces without speaking, his eyes staring
at a distant hill, and from the vacancy of their gaze it was evident
that he was lost in thought. Joy Gargrave watched him curiously, and,
after a little time, she spoke again.
“You did not know--you did not guess until you saw that note?”
“I had not the slightest idea. I knew that Koona Dick was an
Englishman--that was all. But when I read the note last night, and
recalled your acknowledged acquaintance with Harrow Fell and Sir
James, I suspected.”
“If you had known you would not have undertaken to follow him--to take
him prisoner, I mean?”
“I could not very well have refused, without resigning from the force.
Perhaps you know how the oath of allegiance runs?”
Joy shook her head, and he quoted--”And will well and truly obey and
perform all lawful orders and instructions, which I shall receive as
such, without fear, favour or affection of or towards any person. So
help me, God!”
The girl shivered a little. “It is a hard service, yours,” she said.
“And you would have arrested your cousin?”
“My cousin, or any other man--or woman. I have no choice in the matter.
Duty, after all, is the greatest word in the language.”
Joy considered him thoughtfully. His lean face was stern, and there was
a hard light in the unwavering grey eyes. It was clear to her that he
meant just what he said, and that he would do whatever duty dictated
without fear or favour.
“It is not every one who would agree with you,” she replied. “Your
cousin, for instance, he--”
“Tell me,” he interrupted. “What was Dick Bracknell to you? This letter
suggests an intimacy beyond that of mere acquaintance or friendship.”
“You are right,” the girl answered quickly. “He was my husband.”
“Good God!”
As that expression of extreme amazement broke from him, Corporal
Bracknell halted abruptly, looking at the beautiful girl by his side,
with incredulous eyes.
“It is quite true,” she said. “I am Koona Dick’s wife--or widow.”
Still he did not speak, and watching him the girl saw a flash of
something like horror come into his eyes.
“And you went to meet him--last night?” he said, at last, in a shaking
voice.
“I have not said so,” answered the girl quickly. “You have read that
note, but you must not surmise--”
“I saw you,” broke in the corporal quickly.
“You saw me?” It was Joy Gargrave’s turn to be astonished, and as he
looked at her it seemed to him that fear was shining in her eyes.
“Yes, I saw you,” he answered mechanically.
“Where?” she demanded.
“You were coming out of the path between the woods. You had a rifle in
your hand. There was a strange look upon your face. I was standing with
my dogs in the shadow of a spruce and you passed me without seeing me.
I was about to speak to you, but the sight of your face kept me silent.
It was that, and the thought of two shots which I had heard, which sent
me along the path you had just left to investigate. At the end of it, I
found Koona Dick!”
“Dead?” asked the girl sharply.
“He seemed so to me!” was the reply. “Indeed, I was quite sure that
there was no life left in him, or I should have done my best to revive
him, and not have left him lying there in the snow.”
“If he were dead, where is he now?” came the swift question.
“I do not know,” replied the corporal. “The thing is a mystery to me.
When I returned to the place with Mr. Rayner last night the body had
already disappeared.”
“But how could it do that, if he were really dead?” objected his
companion.
“Some one must have removed--” Corporal Bracknell stopped suddenly.
It was clear to Joy that some new thought had just occurred to him. She
saw that he was looking at her thoughtfully, and she wondered what was
in his mind.
“What is it?” she asked quickly. “What are you thinking?”
“Tell me,” he countered, “did you see your husband last night?”
“I did,” she answered frankly.
“And when I had said that Koona Dick was lying dead in the snow, you
left the table. You went out of the room, and you did not return.”
He spoke like a man pursuing a thought which seemed to him almost
incredible, but which was thrust upon him by force of circumstances,
and the girl divined what that thought was.
“You do not think that I went back?” she cried. “You cannot think that
I am responsible for the disappearance?”
“It is a natural thought,” he answered, “though I am loathe to believe
it. You must remember that I saw your face as you came out of the path;
and that the man was your husband, though apparently your friends do
not know it. My cousin--your husband--”
“Oh! but you do not understand!” cried the girl quickly. “You do not
realize that I would give all I have to know that the body of the
man who was my husband was still where you first saw it. It is the
uncertainty of the fact which troubles and worries me, and not his
death.”
“Not his death!”
“No!” was the almost appalling reply. “The certainty of that would be
like a deliverance.”
For a little time Corporal Bracknell stared at her, too much amazed for
speech. It was clear to him that she was in deadly earnest and that she
meant every word she said. He wondered what marital tragedy was behind
her attitude, and was still wondering, when she spoke again in a hard
voice.
“You seem surprised,” she said; “you know your cousin fairly well?”
“Yes,” he answered, nodding his head.
“Then you cannot suppose that I loved him, even though he was my
husband! No girl could love Dick Bracknell when she knew him for what
he was, and any woman, married as I was, would almost rejoice to know
that--that she was released.”
“You do not know what you are saying,” protested the corporal quickly.
“You cannot realize what implication your words may have to any one who
knows what I know. It would almost seem that you had wished for Dick
Bracknell’s death, and that fact in view of the circumstances in which
I found him last night might assume a terrible significance.”
“You mean that people might think I shot my husband?”
“Yes,” was the reply. “At least many people would ask that question.”
“And you?” inquired the girl. “You have asked yourself that question?”
“Naturally,” replied Bracknell. “You must remember that I saw you
coming from the place where he was lying.”
“I wonder what conclusion you have reached,” said Joy, looking at him
keenly.
“None,” was the prompt reply.
“You are in doubt, then?”
“I am very loath to believe what the circumstances would seem to
indicate,” answered the corporal quietly. “As you must see, they are
terribly against you, and your visit to the place this morning--”
“You know of that?”
“I saw you and Miss La Farge come in whilst Mr. Rayner and I were at
breakfast, and whilst you were supposed to be still in your rooms. I
found your tracks in the snow.”
“And you cannot guess why I--why we went?”
“No.”
“We went to look for that note which you showed me just now. I had
meant to destroy it, and missed it this morning. Then I remembered that
I had put it in my pocket last night, and naturally concluded that
I had lost it outside. That is the explanation of the journey this
morning. No one here but Miss La Farge has any idea that Dick Bracknell
is my husband, and I did not want any of them to know.”
Corporal Bracknell was conscious of a sense of relief. The explanation
was so simple that he felt it to be altogether true. But there were
questions that still required answering, and he proceeded to ask them.
“I can well believe, that,” he answered slowly. “I suppose Mr. Rayner
was among them from whom you wished to keep this knowledge?”
“Yes,” was the reply, given frankly. “I did not wish him to know how
foolish I had been.”
The corporal remembered what Rayner had hinted as to his hopes of
making Joy Gargrave his wife, and the girl’s answer started fresh
questions in his mind. Did she love Rayner and favour his aspirations,
and knowing herself to be already a wife, had she deliberately
removed the barrier which lay between them, but of which Rayner had
no knowledge? He could not tell, and looking steadily at the girl he
proceeded to ask his next question.
“Miss Gargrave--I mean Mrs. Brack--”
“No! No!” interrupted the girl. “Do not give me that name. I do not
want it. I hate it. Call me Gargrave.”
He bowed. “As you please, Miss Gargrave. There is a question I wish to
ask you. Tell me, did you have speech with Dick Bracknell last night?”
“Not a word.”
“But you saw him?”
“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “I saw him.”
“You stood in the shadow of the trees at a point which would give you a
clear view of the place where you knew your husband would be waiting
for you, and you took a rifle with you. Why did you take that rifle,
Miss Gargrave?”
As he asked that question he saw the pallor of the beautiful face grow
more pronounced. The frank blue eyes wavered, and for a second or two
he thought she was going to faint. Then she drew a quick, gasping
breath.
“You know these woods,” she said unsteadily. “There are wolves and--and
bears. To carry a rifle is the merest prudence.”
A frown came on the corporal’s face. He knew that the answer was a mere
evasion, and he was not pleased. But he did not challenge the answer
directly.
“Miss Gargrave,” he asked, “were you afraid of Dick Bracknell?”
“Not afraid, exactly,” was the reply candidly given, “but I loathed
him, and hated the thought of his coming into my life again.”
The corporal considered for a few seconds, and then asked his next
question bluntly.
“Tell me, did you fire your rifle at all whilst you were out, or whilst
you were waiting for your husband?”
As he made the inquiry the girl came to a sudden standstill, her lips
trembling, her pale face working strangely, the blue eyes expressive
of awful fear. He waited in far more distress than his impassive face
indicated, and at last the answer came in a shaking whisper.
“Yes, I did. But, oh, believe me, I--I did not know that I had done so
till afterwards. I do not know what happened.... I saw him fall in the
snow, and I waited. Then I went up to him. He seemed to be dead--and
after that I must have fled homeward.”
As he listened the corporal visioned the tragedy of the night before,
and as he looked into her troubled face, his heart smote him. His voice
was almost sympathetic as he asked the next question.
“You say you saw your husband fall? Was it after your rifle was
discharged or before?”
“I--do not know,” the girl replied. “This morning the whole thing is
like a disordered nightmare dimly remembered. I know there was a moment
when I was tempted to wickedness. There was a terrible hatred in my
heart for my husband, and as I saw him standing there, it flashed on me
how easy it would be to free myself from him for ever. It was only a
moment--like a sudden madness, and then I saw him drop in the snow....
I do not know what happened, but this morning I examined my rifle.”
Her voice quivered and failed, and suddenly she bent her face in her
mittened hand and broke into a storm of weeping. The corporal himself
was greatly moved by her distress, but the sight of it somehow relieved
his worst fears.
“Miss Gargrave,” he said hopefully, “you examined your rifle this
morning. Tell me what you found?”
“An empty shell in the chamber,” said the girl, sobbing bitterly.
“Yes,” he said quickly, a touch of excitement in his manner, “and in
the magazine? Tell me, quick.”
“There was a full clip--but for the shell which had been fired.”
“Ah!” said Bracknell with a sigh of relief. “I thought so. Now think
carefully, and tell me, did you hear another shot fired?”
The trouble in the girl’s face cleared suddenly, and a light of hope
flashed in her eyes. “Why do you ask?” she cried. “I thought I did, but
this morning I could not be sure. I thought it might be the echo of my
own rifle--”
“It was not an echo,” interrupted the corporal quickly. “It was the
discharge of a rifle. I was a little distance away, and I distinctly
heard the reports, one so close on the heels of the other that the two
seemed almost like one.”
Wonder mingled with the hope in the girl’s face.
“You are sure,” she cried. “Yes! Then there must have been some one
else, some one who fired at my husband, and perhaps I did not kill him
after all. Oh! thank God! Thank God! I hated him, and though I was
tempted, it was only a flaming moment of madness, from which I was
saved. You think that? Say you think that, Mr. Bracknell?”
“Indeed I do,” answered the corporal reassuringly, “I feel convinced of
it. At first, I was doubtful, and will own I suspected you. But your
frankness in the matter has set the whole affair in a new light.”
A thoughtful look came on his face. For a full minute he stood there
without speaking, and the girl watched him, wondering what was in his
mind. Then he spoke again.
“The affair is very mysterious. There certainly were two reports and
one only came from your rifle. It is evident to me that a third person
was in the neighbourhood when your husband was shot. I have found the
place where he stood, and I was following the track of a sled, when
I came upon you just now. The track is a fairly recent one, made, I
should say, no later than last night.”
“Possibly it was my husband’s team,” suggested the girl.
The corporal nodded. “That of course is just possible, but the man who
took it away cannot have been Dick Bracknell. If he were not dead--and
I am sure he was--he certainly was in no condition to walk away. And
the team did not go away of itself, for there is the track of a man’s
feet, both going and returning.”
“If he should not be dead--” faltered the girl. The corporal looked at
her, and the sight of her distress moved him to a deeper sympathy. He
knew his cousin, and Koona Dick’s record in the territory was not an
attractive one. He wondered how this beautiful girl had been induced to
marry Dick Bracknell, and frowned at the thought that if he were not
dead, she was still his wife. The girl noticed the frown.
“What are you thinking, Mr. Bracknell?”
“I was wondering however you came to marry such a scally-wag as I know
Dick Bracknell to have been.”
Joy Gargrave flushed and then grew pale. “I am not surprised that
you should wonder.... If you will walk on I will tell you how--how it
happened.”
Without speaking he fell into step by her side, and waited for her to
begin.
CHAPTER VI
THE CORPORAL HEARS A STORY
A LITTLE time passed before the girl spoke, and Corporal Bracknell, to
avoid embarrassing her, looked steadily at the snowy waste ahead. The
frozen river, bordered by the sombre pinewoods, was visible for some
two miles, and where it turned round a high rampart of the cliff, a
moving figure, clearly visible on the snow, caught his eyes. He watched
it attentively as it came to a halt, and wondered idly who it might
be. A wandering Indian possibly, or--The girl’s voice broke on his
speculations.
“I met your cousin first, whilst I was staying in the neighbourhood
of Harrow Fell. There was a shooting party, and Dick Bracknell made
himself very agreeable to me. You are to understand that I was rather
lonely, and that I was new to English ways, having lived most of my
life up here.”
She was silent for a moment, and Corporal Bracknell nodded.
“I think I understand how you must have felt, Miss Gargrave, and I know
that Dick could make himself attractive.”
As he spoke his eyes looked in the direction of the bluff where the
river turned. The small black figure which he had observed was moving
again, and if he were not mistaken was coming down the river. He kept
an observant eye upon it, whilst his companion resumed.
“You are quite right. All the vacation, which I spent in Westmorland,
your cousin was very attentive to me, and knowing that he was Sir James
Bracknell’s heir, I was flattered by his attentions, and a little proud
that he should find me attractive, when there were others who--who
might have meant more to him.”
“You were too humble, Miss Gargrave,” said the corporal.
“Perhaps I was,” replied the girl, smiling wanly. “But that is how I
felt at the time.... At the end of the autumn, just before I went back
to Newnham for the Michælmas term, he proposed to me.”
Again for a moment she was silent, and the corporal glancing at her
caught a pensive look upon her face, and guessed that she was reviewing
that occasion in her mind. He waited for what seemed quite a long time,
then he said encouragingly, “Yes?”
“I did not accept him then.”
“Why not?”
“For two reasons; the first because I was not quite sure that I loved
him, and the second because I was not prepared to take such a step
without first consulting my father.”
“They were both very excellent reasons.”
“So they seemed to me, but Lady Alcombe, under whose care I was whilst
in England, did not agree with me.”
“You were under the care of Lady Alcombe?”
There was an accent of surprise in the young man’s voice, which the
girl was quick to note.
“You know her?” she asked quickly. “You are surprised that I should
have been under her chaperonage?”
“Yes,” he admitted frankly. “I know Lady Alcombe, and I know her set.
It is a fast and exclusive one. I am a little surprised that any one
should have selected her to chaperone a young girl.”
“My father did not understand,” was the quick reply. “He had known Lady
Alcombe before her marriage, and she was a distant relation of ours. He
did not know the set to which she belonged, and it was perhaps natural
that he should have looked to her to watch over me.... For myself, I
was young, I had no experience, and though there were things that I did
not understand, things that shocked me, I did not mention them to my
father, or indeed to any one.”
“And Lady Alcombe approved of my cousin Dick?”
“She did. She laughed at my scruples, and urged me to accept him,
declaring that my father would be only too ready to see me the wife
of a man who would some day be the Squire of Harrow Fell. But I did
not yield--then. I knew there was plenty of time, and as my father was
expecting to visit England a few months later, I said that I would wait
until he arrived.”
“And afterwards?” asked the corporal.
“Afterwards!” A tragic look came on the girl’s face, and to his
surprise she broke again into tears.
He waited patiently, and as he did so noted that the figure up the
river was certainly drawing nearer. After a little time the girl
recovered her composure, and when she resumed there was a tragic note
in her voice.
“I was very ignorant, and your cousin and Lady Alcombe presumed upon my
ignorance. I was to stay with her at Alcombe Manor for the Christmas
season, and towards the end of the term she sent word that she and
Dick were going to fetch me by car, as the rail journey was rather
an awkward one.... When the day came, your cousin showed up alone,
explaining that Lady Alcombe had an attack of influenza which, of
course, had made it impossible for her to accompany him. It was all so
natural that I thought nothing of it until afterwards, and I set out on
the journey accompanied only by your cousin.”
A stern look came on the corporal’s face, though the girl, looking
straight ahead and absorbed in her thoughts, did not notice it.
“We missed the way, and went astray, I say missed the way, though
now I am quite sure that it was done of deliberate purpose, and that
your cousin knew our whereabouts all the time. It began to snow, and
late in the evening we reached a little village in Wiltshire when
something went wrong with the engine. I do not believe now that there
was anything at all the matter with the car, but Dick said there was,
and as it was impossible to proceed further, and there was no train
service on the little local line five miles away, there was nothing for
it but to stay the night at the little inn, half tavern, half farm,
which was all the accommodation that the village afforded.... There
was a motherly woman there who did her best to make me comfortable,
and I shared a room with her two daughters, whilst your cousin was
accommodated with a settle in the kitchen. Next morning, Dick tinkered
at the car, and about noon we started afresh, and reached the Manor
just before dinner time.... Lady Alcombe, who had apparently recovered
from her influenza, was in a great state of perturbation, and when I
entered the hall, where a number of guests were assembled, she rushed
to me. ‘My dear Joy,’ she cried, ‘where _have_ you been? I have been
worried almost to death about you, and have been telegraphing and
telephoning all over the place.’
“I laughingly explained, and whilst I was doing so, one of the men
gave a whistle of surprise, and a girl whom I had never liked began to
giggle. Lady Alcombe allowed me to finish my explanation, there before
all her guests, then she said icily--
“‘After so many adventures you must be tired. You had better go to your
room. I will come to you.’
“As I went, I knew there was something wrong somewhere. One or two of
the men looked at me in an unpleasant way, and the girl whom I have
mentioned was giggling hatefully.... Lady Alcombe came to me before I
had changed, and ordered the maid out of the room, then she said, ‘My
dear Joy, you have behaved most indiscreetly.... I do not know what to
say ... what to think. And to tell a story like that before all those
people not one of whom will believe it! It is dreadful, positively
dreadful!’
“I was bewildered. I did not know what was wrong, and I said so, adding
that I had only told the simple truth.
“‘They will not believe it,’ she said. ‘You and Dick will be the talk
of the place. I really do not know what to say. I am surprised at Dick
Bracknell, and at you for being so simple as to tell.... That Jolivet
girl was openly laughing at you.’
“Her tone and manner told me better than her words the vile thing she
was hinting at, and when I realized it, I broke down and cried.”
She paused, and as the corporal recalled what Lady Alcombe was, and
visioned that scene between the fast woman of the world and the
innocent girl in her care, he ground his teeth, and looked away from
the beautiful face which was working with emotion.
“... When I did that Lady Alcombe changed her tone. ‘There’s only one
thing to do,’ she said, ‘and that is to make the best of it. Thank
goodness! Dick is over head and ears in love with you, and, as you
know, he is only too anxious to marry you. You will have to take him
now--to save your good name, Joy. It is the only way, for no one will
believe your story, however true it may be, and so I advise you to make
up your mind to the inevitable.... Things might be a great deal worse.
Dick will be a baronet some day, and his wife will have a position that
no one will challenge. Just think it over, my dear, and you will see
that I am altogether right.’
“I did think it over,” said the girl slowly, “and in the end I agreed
to marry Dick privately, making up my mind to explain the matter to my
father, later. What else was there that I could do? I had no suspicion
of anything at the time. Dick wanted me, and I liked him, whilst
there were people at Alcombe who did not fail to let me see what they
thought, and Lady Alcombe did not stint persuasion.”
“When did you find out that the delay in arriving at Alcombe was
anything but an accident?” asked the corporal thoughtfully.
“On the very morning I was married. We had returned from the church,
just Dick and myself and Lady Alcombe, and I was in the library writing
a note to a friend at Newnham, when I heard two people enter. The
library is a little draughty, and a footman had placed a screen for me,
and this completely hid me from any one entering at the door. The two
who entered were Lady Alcombe and Dick. I heard her laugh and say--
“‘You owe me five thousand pounds, Dick. I hope you won’t be very long
in paying, for the truth is, I am beastly hard up, and I daren’t ask
Sir Alfred for a penny at the present time.’
“Dick laughed also, and I caught his answer. ‘As soon as that old
duffer in the Klondyke makes his settlements I’ll pay you, Mary. You
deserve it. That was a pretty little scheme of yours, and it has gone
like clockwork....’
“It came on me like a flash then. I saw how everything had been
arranged, and how I had been trapped and hustled into marrying your
cousin. In that moment I hated him, and I have done so ever since....
I sat there too startled to make my presence known, and after a little
time they went out, without learning that I had overheard them. I
continued to sit there thinking. I scarcely knew what to do. It was
arranged that we were to go to Paris for the honeymoon; and I was
afraid that they would somehow make me accept that arrangement, and
bewildered though I was, I was determined that I would not do so,
that I would never allow Dick Bracknell to be in fact what he was in
name.... I went to my room, secured my travelling coat and some money,
and fled from the house, without leaving so much as a note to indicate
where I was going--I went to Cambridge to the friend to whom I had been
writing, and who was staying there reading through the vacation. I told
her everything, and on her advice wrote to Lady Alcombe, explaining the
situation, and averring that I would never live with Dick Bracknell. In
reply I got a telegram from him saying that he would be down to see me
the next day, and praying me to grant him an interview. He never came.
Something happened and he had to leave England. Do you know what it
was? I have never heard.”
“Yes,” answered the corporal slowly. “I know, and I think it is only
right that you should know. You knew perhaps that Dick was in the
Artillery?”
“Yes!” answered the girl.
“He was interested in his job. He was a good officer. It is the one
thing to his credit that I know. There was a new gun, and he had access
to the plans. He stole a copy, and sold them to the agent of a foreign
government. The theft was discovered and traced, but a friend dropped
Dick a telegram which was forwarded to Alcombe Manor--and he ran for
it, and got clear away. I imagine that explains why he did not visit
you at Cambridge. Of course, the affair was hushed up, as such affairs
are, and it is nearly forgotten now, though England would not be a safe
place for him. Did you ever hear from him afterwards?”
“Not until last night,” was the reply. “When his note came to me, it
was a great shock.”
The corporal nodded. “I can readily imagine that it would be.... Did
your father ever know of your marriage?”
“No, thank God! I wrote to him, but before he received the letter the
accident occurred by which he lost his life. I found the letter here
unopened, when I came here to comply with the terms of his will. I was
glad to get here. I was so overborne by the deceit and vileness of
those I had thought were my friends in England!”
“They were not all deceitful, surely?” expostulated the young man.
“No! Some are my friends still. I am going to England very shortly, and
I shall stay with one of them in Westmorland.”
“Will you ever return here?”
“Most certainly. North Star is my home--I love it, and I have always
felt myself safe here--until last night.”
Bracknell understood that she meant that she had felt that in this
lodge in the wilderness she was safe from his cousin, and nodded his
head.
“I understand,” he said, but forbore to add what was in his mind;
namely, that if Dick Bracknell had not died on the previous night,
North Star would be no longer the sanctuary it had been.
They walked forward for a moment without speaking. A rise in the ground
covered with snow-laden saskatoon bushes hid the river from them for
a little time, and as they breasted it, and the river came into view
again, they surprised a pedestrian climbing up the bank. It was Mr.
Rayner.
He was obviously a little startled by the meeting, but a moment later
recovered himself.
“Been out for a constitutional,” he explained, “as far as the bend of
the river, and I’ve had quite sufficient. Are you ready to return?”
The girl nodded, but the corporal, whose eyes were surveying the empty
landscape in front, shook his head.
“I shall walk on a little,” he said, “I may be going up stream
tomorrow. The Elkhorn falls in somewhere about here, doesn’t it?”
“Just beyond the bluff there,” answered Joy.
“Then I’ll take a look at it, and see what the trail is like.”
He nodded and walked on leaving Joy Gargrave to return with Rayner. He
waited until they were out of sight and then descended to the frozen
surface of the river, where the going was easier, the trail having been
packed by prospectors moving up and down. He reached the bluff in a
short time, but did not go round it. His gaze was arrested by the trail
of a sled which had come down the bank to the river at a point just
below the bluff, and by recent footmarks. He remembered the figure
he had seen whilst walking with Joy Gargrave, unquestionably that of
Rayner, for there were his footmarks turning south from the bluff.
A thought struck him, and examining the snow carefully, he found no
tracks running northward. A little puzzled he looked at the sled trail
again, and there made the discovery that the single footmarks that ran
side by side with the sled-trail, had been made not by one pair of feet
but by two, some one having quite recently adapted his stride to the
tracks already made. Puzzled and interested he followed the sled trail
up the bank and began to trace it through the wood at the top.
An hour later, still following the sled-trail he struck the river
again, and found himself exactly opposite the landing which led to
North Star Lodge. As he realized this he nodded thoughtfully. The sled
trail he had been following, when he had encountered Joy Gargrave, led
directly across the river. But whose sled was it? And why had Rayner
traced it so carefully, at the same time endeavouring to cover his own
trail? The first question was one for which he had no answer, and the
second was an equal puzzle. Clearly Rayner had been interested in the
sled-trail since he had followed it for two miles; and plainly he was
anxious to conceal his interest, since he had walked so carefully in
the footsteps of the unknown driver, and had made no reference to the
matter whatever. Did he know something--something that he did not wish
to make known?
The corporal thought that very likely he did, but could not even
conjecture what the secret knowledge might be. There was a puzzled
frown on his face, as he turned in the direction of the Lodge, and
when he came in sight of the house he became aware of a considerable
bustle. In the open space in front two sleds were drawn up, and a
considerable number of dogs were lying about or nosing in the snow for
lost fragments of food. Two Indians and a half-breed were standing near
the sleds smoking and talking. Bracknell recognized the half-breed for
a man who had been in the service of the police as a driver.
“Hallo, Jacques,” he asked, “what brings you to North Star?”
Jacques grinned responsively. “I bring a letter--I and dese, Co’pral.
Yees two dog teams to deleever one petite lettre. But we take sometings
else back weeth us, I tink.”
“Indeed!” laughed the corporal. “What may that be?”
“I tink we take a lady, de lady of North Star!” The corporal gave vent
to a whistle of surprise, and after a few more words passed into the
house. There he met Mr. Rayner, who smiled at him.
“We have news for you, Corporal. We start for England tomorrow. A
message has just reached us from my father, and Miss Gargrave’s
presence is urgently required on a matter of business.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, and I think we shall all be glad to get away. That mysterious
affair of last night would be rather a disturbing thing to reflect upon
in a lonely place like this.”
The corporal nodded, made some casual remark, and passed to his
own room, where he sat for quite a long time, smoking, with a very
thoughtful look upon his face.
CHAPTER VII
JOY MAKES A REQUEST
AFTER the mid-day meal, at which Joy Gargrave did not appear, Corporal
Bracknell left the house, and strolled down the road until he reached
the place where the girl had passed him on the previous night. There
he came to a standstill, his brow puckered in thought, then he swung
to the right into the same path where he had found Koona Dick lying in
the snow. He had gone but a little way however, when a noise behind him
caused him to look round. Joy Gargrave was following him. He waited for
her, and as she came up to him she said, “Mr. Bracknell, do you mind if
I accompany you a little way? I should like to talk to you--if I may.”
“It will be a pleasure, Miss Gargrave,” he answered quite sincerely.
“Then if you do not mind we will turn aside into the wood. I--I do not
care for this path, now, and we might be seen and interrupted by some
one, and I have a request to make of you.”
“I am entirely at your service, Miss Gargrave.”
“Then we will turn--here.”
She indicated a place where the wood thinned a little, and turning
with her, he fell into step at her side, and waited for her to begin,
wondering what she might have to say to him. Half a minute passed in
silence, then she began abruptly: “You will have heard that we are
starting for England tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Mr. Rayner told me. The decision is rather sudden,
isn’t it?”
She nodded. “The journey is a quite unexpected one, just now. We
had thought of waiting until the ice broke up and of canoeing down
the river. But a letter has just come from Sir Joseph--Mr. Rayner’s
father--stating that my presence is required in England at the earliest
possible moment. The letter has been delayed, and Mr. Rayner tells me
that it is requisite that we should start at once.”
“The business must be very urgent if you have to start on such a long
journey at a day’s notice,” commented the corporal.
“It is not altogether that,” was the reply, “though Mr. Rayner insists
that it is imperative that we shall make an early start. The truth
is--” she broke off, and then resumed in a quavering voice: “I am much
upset by that mysterious affair of last night, and, Mr. Bracknell, I am
afraid--horribly afraid.”
“Of what?” he asked, looking into her beautiful face to find it white
and tense with emotion.
“Of my--my--of Dick Bracknell,” she answered quietly.
“But if he is dead, what--”
“Do you think he is dead?” she cried sharply. “Tell me, Mr. Bracknell,
what do you really think?”
“Last night,” he answered slowly, “I had no doubt whatever about it.
But today--”
“Yes, today?” she prompted anxiously.
“I am not quite so sure. His complete disappearance perplexes me. If
he were dead as I thought, then some one has carried his body away; and
if he were not dead, then some one must still have helped him, for he
was in no condition to help himself.”
“That is what you think? Mr. Bracknell, do you know that there was a
sledge in the wood to the left of that path?”
“I saw the trail,” he answered quietly, “and I saw you following it.”
“Whose sled was it?” she asked thoughtfully. “It was none of ours, and
it was not yours, and it could not be that of a miner, for any such
would have come to the Lodge, as we keep open house for the men on
trail.”
“I do not know whose it can have been,” answered the corporal
thoughtfully. “If we knew that we should have the key to the whole of
this mysterious affair, possibly. But whoever it was he was anxious as
far as possible to cover his tracks. He did not follow the trail up the
river. He crossed to the track on the other side, and then turned off
into the wood; he lit a fire there. I found the ashes after I left you
this morning. He must have halted there for a little time, for the snow
was pretty well trampled, and when he resumed his journey, he marched
parallel with the river, and descended to the ice again just south of
the bluff. I found his tracks coming down the bank there, and I imagine
that from the point he must have followed the trail up-river.”
“Whoever could he be?” asked the girl in perplexity.
“I do not know. But tomorrow I am going to find out; my dogs will be
fresh then, and after the rest I shall be able to travel fast. Of one
thing I am convinced: whoever the man was he was not your husband. Dick
Bracknell, as I said just now, was in no condition to help himself,
certainly not to take the trail.”
For a moment Joy Gargrave did not speak, and as he looked at her he
wondered what her thoughts were. He was still wondering when she broke
the silence.
“Mr. Bracknell, I am afraid, terribly afraid. Somehow I feel that your
cousin is not dead. I feel that he will come back here, and that is
why we are hurrying away tomorrow morning. The letter from Sir Joseph
Rayner serves for an excuse. Do you understand?”
“I think I do,” answered the corporal sympathetically. “You are afraid
that Dick, having found out where you are, will return to worry you?”
“You know him, I have told you how I was trapped into marrying him, do
you think that he is the man to leave me in peace?”
“He is likely to consult only his own interests,” agreed her companion.
“But I shall be safe from him in England, if what you tell me is true.
He dare not go there openly, and if he were to appear at all, I should
be able to protect myself, by invoking the police.”
“The police would only be too happy to afford you protection here,”
answered the corporal earnestly.
The girl looked at him with grateful eyes. “You mean yourself. Yes! I
know, but there is another service that I want from you--”
“You have but to name it, Miss Gargrave,” he answered as she hesitated.
“So far as duty allows, I am entirely at your service. Tell me what it
is that I can do for you.”
“You can find out for me whether Dick Bracknell is alive or dead.”
The corporal had not anticipated the request, and he was a little
startled by it. Instantly his mind reverted to the conversation he had
had with Rayner. He recalled the hopes which the latter entertained,
and wondered if this white-faced girl at his side was willing to help
their realization. As that possibility flashed into his mind, he was
conscious of a constriction about his heart. But he gave no sign.
“I should be compelled to do that in any case,” he answered quietly.
“I cannot relinquish the work on which I started until I know what has
become of the man who is known at headquarters as Koona Dick. Some one
must know about him--probably the driver of the sled whose trail I
followed, and I’ve got to find out. Vague reports are not regarded as
satisfactory by the heads of the force.”
“You will let me know?” she asked instantly.
“I shall be glad to do so,” he answered quietly, and again he was
conscious of the tightening about his heart.
“You see,” she explained, “my position is so anomalous. All my
little world with the exception of my Newnham friend and yourself,
my foster-sister, whom I told only last night, thinks of me as a
spinster.”
“You are sure Mr. Rayner does not know of your marriage?” asked the
corporal quickly, as a thought struck him.
“I am quite sure,” answered Joy readily, without giving any indication
that she found any special significance in the question. “You see
the part played by Lady Alcombe was not very credible, and I used my
knowledge of it to ensure her silence. I wrote to her and told her that
if the wedding was not kept secret, I should proclaim all that had
happened to the world. Her vulnerable spot is the position she holds
in society, and she knew how that would suffer if it became a matter
of common knowledge that for a bribe she had schemed to marry to a
scamp an innocent girl left in her charge. She wrote me a short note in
reply, in which she said, that she would forget that the marriage had
even taken place, and that I need not fear that it would ever become
known. That is why I am so sure Mr. Rayner does not know. Lady Alcombe
dare not betray me.”
Bracknell nodded. “I dare say you are right, but of course you cannot
marry again until you are sure of that--”
“I do not want to marry again!” interrupted the girl quickly, the
blood flaming in her pale face. “Why should you think that I do, Mr.
Bracknell?”
As the corporal met her blue eyes, clear and unshadowed by guile, his
heart grew suddenly light, and on the moment he dismissed from his
mind the thought that Joy Gargrave in any way shared Mr. Rayner’s
aspirations. He laughed cheerfully as he replied, “I did not say that I
thought you wished to marry again, Miss Gargrave. I was merely stating
the law on the matter, and there is no personal significance to be
attached to such a statement.”
Joy Gargrave smiled austerely. “I am not likely ever to marry again,”
she said. “Once bitten, twice shy, you know.”
The corporal smiled in return, but as he marked her loveliness and
remembered the figure at which the Northland had estimated Rolf
Gargrave’s wealth, he thought to himself that many a man would
endeavour to persuade her to a different mind, but he did not say so.
“Miss Gargrave, one never knows what the future holds--but whatever
happens you can count me as your friend. I am not proud of my
relationship to Dick Bracknell, even though it does make me some sort
of a cousin to you. There is nothing that I will not do to serve you,
and if anything that I learn will deliver you from your anomalous
position, you may rest assured that I will let you know of it at the
earliest possible moment.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bracknell,” she answered simply. “I shall be very
grateful.”
They walked on a little way without speaking, then she turned to him
suddenly. “You are my cousin, more or less, Mr. Bracknell, but I do not
know your christian name.”
“It is Roger,” he answered smilingly.
“And if at any time I want to communicate with you, where--”
“Headquarters at Regina. That will always find me sooner or later, no
matter what part of the Territory I may be in.”
“I am glad to know that,” she said, “and if at any time you have news
for me, any letter sent care of Sir Joseph Rayner will reach me.” She
turned in her steps as she spoke. “I think I had better return now.
There is much to do at the Lodge, and they will miss me. But I am
glad to have met you, and glad to think that I can count you among my
friends.”
She held out her mittened hand, and as he took it Roger Bracknell felt
the blood surge warmly in his face, and in his grey eyes as he looked
at her there was a flame that had she observed it would have told her
that she had secured more than a friend. But she did not see it, and as
she walked away there was a pensive look on the beautiful face.
* * * * *
The next day Corporal Bracknell, with his own team ready harnessed,
watched Joy Gargrave and her escort take their departure. Four full
teams of dogs drew their equipment, and snow having fallen during the
night, Joy and her foster-sister wore the great webbed snowshoes of the
North. They stood making their good-byes, then the half-breed driver
gave the word.
“Mooch! Mooch! Linka!”
The leading dog gave a yelp, and strained at his collar, and a moment
later all the teams were moving southward. Joy Gargrave waved her
hand as she moved on, and he waved back and stood watching till the
cavalcade was out of sight, then turning to his own dogs, he gave the
word to move and set his face towards the snowy solitudes of the North.
CHAPTER VIII
KOONA DICK
AS HE TRAVELLED, Roger Bracknell’s mind was busy with the events of
the past two days, and with the information he had gathered. That
his cousin Dick should have turned out to be the man whose trail
he had followed had occasioned no wonder after the first shock of
surprise; but the mystery of the attack upon him, and of his subsequent
disappearance, afforded him much food for thought. Some one had
determined that Dick Bracknell should die, and some one had shot him.
The question was--who was it? He had dismissed from his mind any idea
that Joy herself had any complicity in that business, her frankness
having quite killed the suspicions he had at first been inclined to
entertain.
His thoughts swung round to Rayner. Did he know anything of the matter?
He could find no satisfactory answer. It was true that immediately
after the crime he had seen him entering the Lodge with a rifle, and
he had certainly shown a keen interest about the sled which had waited
in the wood, but from the first he had casually offered a sufficient
explanation, and the instinct which turns every man into an amateur
detective on the occasion of a mysterious crime would easily account
for the second.
Besides--Rayner could have had nothing to do with the disappearance
of Dick Bracknell’s body, for the corporal was quite sure that he had
never left the house until he had done so with himself. True, he had
betrayed a certain knowledge as to the place where the crime had been
committed, but he himself might easily have communicated that knowledge
to Rayner, though he could not recollect having done so, whilst on
the other hand, the motive for such a serious crime as murder was not
immediately apparent. It was true that Rayner designed to marry Joy
Gargrave, but that of itself was not a sufficient motive unless he knew
of the previous marriage.
“But does Rayner know of that marriage?” He uttered the question aloud,
and answered it the same way, speech helping him to precipitate his
thoughts.
“I think not! The girl is so positive ... and Rayner has given no sign.
There’s the deuce of a coil to be unwound somehow.”
He reached the bluff, turned it, and saw the junction of the tributary
Elkhorn with the main river. When he reached it he halted his dogs
and made a careful inspection of the trail. The new snow had drifted,
but the thick pinewood which grew on the banks of the smaller stream
had turned the snow in places, and about two hundred yards up, he
came on the half-obliterated traces of sled-runners. He examined them
carefully, stood for a minute or two in thought, then nodded his head.
“Turned up here out of the main trail, and will probably have made a
camp somewhere. Anyway it is worth trying.”
He went back for his dogs, and turned up the Elkhorn. The trail at
first was not very bad, and he made a good pace; but after the first
two miles it worsened, and he struck an abundance of soft snow,
presenting an absolutely virgin surface. This made the going very hard,
and he marched ahead of his labouring dogs, packing the snow with
the great webbed shoes of the North, lifting each foot clear almost
perpendicularly, then planting it down to harden the surface for his
canine team. Three miles or so he made, in spite of the cold, sweating
like a bull, and then he reached a place where the wind had swept the
ice like a broom leaving it almost clear of snow.
He examined the frozen surface, and after a little search found the
marks of sled-runners on the ice. He searched further, but found
nothing save these twin scars running parallel to one another. But one
sled had passed that way, and he was sure that he was on the right
track. A smile of satisfaction came on his lean face, and seating
himself, on the sled he swung forward at a rattling pace.
The short day was coming to a close when the leading dog yelped
suddenly, and with his followers began to manifest signs of canine
excitement. Roger Bracknell himself sniffed the keen air. There was a
fire somewhere, for the unmistakable odour of burning resinous wood
reached his nostrils. He stepped off the sled, and hanging on to the
gee-pole tried to check the pace of his team. His efforts however, were
in vain. The dogs bent their heads to the ice and threw themselves
against the collars, hurrying forward, as they had not hurried all
day. They too smelt the burning pinewood, and to them it signified not
merely human habitation, but freedom from the traces, and the frozen
salmon which constituted their evening meal.
The corporal, finding his endeavours to restrain them vain, prepared
for eventualities. Hanging on to the sled with one hand, with the other
he unfastened the holster wherein he carried his service pistol. He did
not know what to expect. That aromatic odour might come from an Indian
tepee, from the hut of some lonely prospecting party, or from the camp
of the man he was following; in any case it was as well to be prepared.
The leading dog yelped again, and the others responded in joyful
chorus. The team swung suddenly towards the left bank, up a slight
incline towards a clearing in the wood. Out of the gathering gloom
a faint glow appeared, and then the shadowy outline of a hut. The
glow was from a frosted parchment window, and the hut was the typical
miner’s cabin of the North. Corporal Bracknell smiled and dropped his
hand from the pistol-holster, finding the look of the place altogether
reassuring. The dogs came to a standstill on the packed snow in front
of the cabin, yelping delight, and whip in hand Bracknell waited,
listening. If there were dogs at the cabin they might be expected to
charge the new-comers, who fastened in the traces would be heavily
handicapped. The charge he waited for did not come. There was no
challenging answer to the yelping of his own team, and apparently the
owner of the cabin was without dogs, or if he owned a team it was
absent from home. This fact further reassured him and threw him still
more off his guard. He stepped forward to the door of the cabin and
rapped upon it with the butt-end of his dog-whip.
“Come in,” answered a hoarse voice.
The corporal felt for the moose-hide thong that worked the wooden
catch, opened the door, and stepping inside turned to close it behind
him.
“That’s right,” said the voice again. “Now put your hands up.”
The corporal jumped and his hands moved instinctively towards the
holster as he swung round.
“Don’t!” snapped the voice. “Put them up, or by--” Bracknell recognized
the folly of resistance, and as he raised his hands above his head, his
eyes swept the cabin for the speaker. A slush lamp against the wall,
and the glow from the roaring Yukon stove gave light to the middle of
the cabin, but the corners were in comparative darkness, and it was
a second or two before he located the owner of the voice. Then, in a
bunk in the corner furthest from the door, he caught sight of a man
propped among furs and blankets. On the edge of the bunk rested a hand
which held a heavy pistol pointing at himself. The face that he looked
into was that which he had last seen in death-like repose in the snow
near North Star Lodge--the face of Koona Dick. The eyes of the latter
glittered wickedly in the firelight, and whilst the officer waited the
voice spoke again, mockingly.
“The end of the long trail--hey, bobby?”
The corporal did not reply. Apparently his cousin was alone and
comparatively helpless, or he would scarcely have waited his entrance
lying in the bunk. His eyes measured the distance between them and he
speculated what chance there was of the success of a sudden spring
proving successful. But the man on the bunk evidently divined what was
passing through his mind, for a second later he broke the silence again.
“I wouldn’t try it, officer, not if I were you. I may be a sick man,
but I can still shoot.”
Roger Bracknell looked at the hand resting on the edge of the bunk.
It was perfectly steady. He recognized the hopelessness of any attack
proving successful, until the sick man was off his guard, and nodded
casually.
“I give you best,” he answered, speaking for the first time.
The man on the bunk gave a chuckling laugh. “You seem wise,” he
replied, “and if you do just what I tell you you’ll prove you are.
You’ve got a gun, of course, in that holster of yours? Well, when I
give the word, you will unbuckle the belt, and fling it pistol and all
under the bunk here. No tricks, mind you. If your hand strays an inch
from the buckle, I fire, and I warn you that I am a dead shot.... Now
you can get to work.”
The corporal dropped his hands to his belt, and as his fingers worked
at the stiff buckle, wondered if he might run the risk of trying for
his pistol.
“Quick! You’re too long!” cried the man in the bunk. Roger Bracknell
hesitated for a second. His fingers fumbled at the buckle, then the
belt swung loose in his hands.
“Throw it!” came the command in a peremptory voice.
The corporal threw it along the floor and it slid to the edge of the
bunk, then his cousin laughed again.
“‘Wisdom is justified of her children.’ If you had a pious upbringing,
bobby, you will recognize the Scripture. And now having got rid of your
arsenal, you can sit down at the table, and put your hands upon it.
That will be easier for you than standing there trying to touch the
roof, but I warn you again--no monkey tricks or--”
The pistol moved significantly, and the corporal moved towards the
rough table, constructed out of a packing case.
“Keep your hands up, and shove that stool forward with your feet.”
The “stool” referred to was a log of wood, which as the corporal
recognized, would prove a very good missile if a man had time to lift
and throw it. Evidently his mentor realized that also, and was taking
no chances, so, still at the pistol point, Corporal Bracknell pushed
the log forward to the table, and then on his captor’s instructions
seated himself with his arms resting on the table.
“Now,” said the sick man, with a short laugh, “we can talk in peace.”
“Talk away,” answered the corporal cheerfully.
“I will,” replied the other sharply. “There’s a question that I want to
ask you.... Why did you pot me in the wood at North Star Lodge three
nights ago? That sort of thing is against the rules of your service,
isn’t it?”
“It is,” answered the corporal, “and the answer to your other question
is that I didn’t pot you.”
“You didn’t, hey? Then who the devil did?”
“I would give a goodish bit to know,” was the corporal’s reply. “The
thing is a mystery to me.”
“But it’s no mystery to me,” answered the other, a trifle passionately.
“You did it, and it’s no use trying to bluff me. I know you’ve been
on my track for weeks, and that you were determined to get me by fair
means or foul. If you think that lying is going to help you--”
“I am not lying,” interrupted Roger Bracknell. “I give you my word of
honour that I am telling you the truth--and I say that not because I
am afraid. It is true that I was trailing you, and that I was close at
your heels at North Star. But I never shot you, I found you lying in
the snow, as I thought, dead, but I’d nothing whatever to do with the
shooting.”
“The devil!” cried the sick man, and from his tones the corporal knew
that he was convinced. “Then who did it?”
The corporal saw a chance of further surprising his questioner--and
took it.
“Well, there was the person whom you went to meet--your wife, you know.”
“My wife!” There was amazement in Dick Bracknell’s tones, and for a
moment after the exclamation he stared at the officer like the man who
could not believe his ears.
“Yes, your wife, Joy Gargrave,” answered the corporal steadily. “You
went to meet her in the wood, didn’t you?”
Dick Bracknell did not reply. His lips pursed themselves and he began
to whistle thoughtfully to himself the while he stared at the man
whose question he left unanswered. The corporal smiled a little, and
continued--
“I should think that you would be the first to admit that Joy Gargrave
was not without grievances sufficient to warrant extreme action on her
part.”
“You can put that notion out of your noddle, at once,” replied the
other harshly. “If you know Joy at all, you know that the idea of
shooting me is the very last thing that would enter her head. She’s not
that sort.”
The corporal remembered Joy’s confession and smiled whimsically at the
unconscious irony of her husband’s testimony, then, still trying to
move the other to some indiscretion of speech, he answered quietly,
“You believe in Joy Gargrave? But have you thought what she must feel
like? There are plenty of women who--”
“Drop it,” broke in the sick man harshly. “The motion is preposterous.
I won’t listen to it; and I warn you, I don’t share Joy’s scruples
about shooting.”
“Nor about anything else, I imagine?” answered the corporal with a
short laugh. “But we can easily settle whether Joy did it or not. Which
side did the shot come from?”
“Now you’re asking me something,” answered the wounded man. “There
were two shots, and they came from both sides of me. It was a regular
ambuscade, and whoever fired meant to get me.”
“Where were you hit?” asked the corporal.
“Left shoulder! Drilled clean through,” was the reply.
“And which way were you facing when the thing happened?” asked the
corporal. “Think carefully. It is rather important.”
“I was facing up the path, with my back to the main road. I had heard
something moving and had turned round, just at the moment.”
“That settles it,” answered the corporal emphatically. “It was the shot
from the left that did for you, and your wife was on the right.”
“But who was on the left? Tell me that if you can, my Solomon.”
Corporal Bracknell shook his head. “There you hit one of the mysteries
of this business. I don’t know, I wish I did, but as sure as my name is
Roger Bracknell--”
“As sure as what?” The interruption came like a pistol shot, and the
wounded man leaned forward with amazement showing in his face. “What
name did you say you called yourself?”
“Roger Bracknell!” answered the corporal quietly.
“H’m!” responded the other, peering at him thoughtfully, then he said
suddenly, “Take off that chapeau of yours!”
The corporal removed his fur cap, and sat with it in his hand, whilst
the other searched his face with inquisitive eyes. There was a moment’s
silence, and then the wounded man spoke again.
“It beats the band. You are my cousin Roger right enough, and this is a
nice dramatic meeting. Drury Lane isn’t in it with us, though what the
blazes you are doing as a ‘Mounter’ beats me. I thought you were at the
bar.”
“And I didn’t know you were Koona Dick until three nights ago. I had
your description given me, and that cut across your cheek bone was
particularized. That and the beard you wear are acquisitions since the
old days at Harrow Fell, and even when I looked at your face the other
night I never associated Koona Dick with Dick Bracknell.”
“How did you come to know?” asked the other curiously.
“I picked up that note which you sent to your wife asking her to meet
you, and naming the place. You had begun to write your surname and then
crossed it out. That gave me the first inkling that you and Koona Dick
were one and the same, and of course when I talked to Joy Gargrave I
knew that what I suspected was the fact.”
“And knowing what you now know, you would still arrest me?”
As he asked the question, Dick Bracknell leaned forward a little, and
the hand that held the pistol hung loosely over the edge of the bunk.
The corporal noticed it, and shifted his grip on the heavy fur cap in
his hand.
“I should be compelled to. Duty is duty--you know.”
“But, man, I’m your cousin!” came the protest.
“Yes! more’s the pity.”
As he replied, the corporal’s arm moved suddenly, and the fur cap was
jerked across the room right into the sick man’s face. The corporal
himself followed it like lightening, and, as he reached the bunk,
gripped his cousin’s pistol-hand. The weapon went off, once, twice,
and the bullets plugged the logs of the cabin, whilst Dick Bracknell
shouted imprecations. The policeman caught the barrel of the pistol,
and turned it away from himself, whilst with the other hand he caught
his cousin’s wrist, and dug his thumb into the sinews of it, in order
to force him to release his hold. In the midst of the struggle there
was a sudden clamour of dogs outside, but neither of the men noticed
it. The pistol cracked again, and at that moment the door opened, and
an Indian rushed in. Apparently, he took in the situation in a glance.
There was a heavy dog-whip in his hand, and in an instant he had swung
it, and brought the loaded stock down on the corporal’s head. The
latter did not even cry out. He doubled up like a doll out of which the
stuffing had been ripped, and lay in a crumpled heap upon the hard mud
floor.
CHAPTER IX
THE HUSKS OF THE PRODIGAL
WHEN Roger Bracknell came to himself, he had a splitting head, and
no exact recollection of recent events. His head ached so much that
he felt moved to press his temples with his hands, but found that it
was impossible to do so, owing to his arms being bound to his side.
On making that discovery, he lay quite still, with his eyes closed,
thinking over the situation. Little by little memory came back to him,
and he remembered what had befallen, but his remembrance of events
ceased with the moment when his cousin’s pistol had cracked for the
third time. Had the bullet struck him? He did not know, but at that
moment through the drums throbbing in his head, a voice sounded in his
ears, a voice that had external reality, and the tones of which he
recognized.
“Do you think he’s dead, Joe? He lies still enough.”
A guttural voice grunted some reply, and there was a sound of movement
near him. He opened his eyes, to find himself looking into a dark,
frost-scarred face, from which a single eye gleamed malevolently. As
that eye encountered his, the dark face was lifted and turned from him,
and he caught the reply given over the speaker’s shoulder.
“Him eyes open. He alright!”
“That’s good hearing. I don’t want him to die on our hands, at least
not until I have had a little more conversation with him.”
The man Joe gave a careless reply, and moved away. Corporal Bracknell
craned his neck a little and looked round.
The slush lamp was still burning, but through the parchment window the
grey light of the Northland day penetrated, from which fact he deduced
that he had lain where he was many hours. In front of the stove, the
man of the evil face, whom he had seen on opening his eyes, was busy
preparing a meal, and the odour of frying moose-steak and bacon filled
the cabin. In the bunk, propped up among the furs, with his left arm
in an improvised sling, he descried his cousin, puffing at a pipe, and
regarding him with thoughtful gaze. Their eyes met, and Dick Bracknell
smiled.
“Morning, Cousin Roger. I hope that head of yours is not very bad.”
“It is only middling,” answered the corporal truthfully.
“Um! I suspected so! Joe there,” he indicated the Indian bending over
the stove, “doesn’t know his strength, and he’s a holy terror with
a whipstock. You should see him tackle a big wolf dog that’s turned
savage. It’s a sight for gods and men!”
Roger Bracknell did not reply. He had not been aware of the Indian’s
entrance on the previous night, but in a flash he divined what had
happened to him, and why his head ached so intolerably. His cousin
continued with mocking affability.
“He hit you rather hard, I am afraid, but we Bracknells are all a
little thick in the skull, and I hope no real harm will follow on Joe’s
forceful intervention. In any case you must own that his arrival was a
most opportune one.”
“I can well believe you found it so,” answered the corporal.
“I did, Roger my boy, I did. You surprised me last night. I didn’t
think you would have gone for a wounded and disabled man. It was
scarcely chivalrous, you know.”
“You were armed,” was the reply. “I wasn’t.”
Dick Bracknell waved his pipe airily. “We will let it pass. What is
done is done, and the past is always to be reckoned as irrevocable, as
I know better than most of the parsons. The present and the future are
my immediate concern, and the question is what am I to do with you?”
“That,” answered the corporal quietly, “is scarcely for me to decide.”
“No,” replied his cousin with a little laugh, “but it is a question in
which you should be interested.”
Roger Bracknell was interested, intensely interested, but he strove his
best to appear unconcerned, and after a moment his cousin continued--
“Joe there has a very simply solution. He suggests another knock on the
head, and sepulchre in the river through an ice-hole. It is a course
that would be advantageous to me, since your body would not be found
before the ice breaks up in the spring, if then, and in the interval we
should have time to clear out of the Territories.”
The corporal knew that what he said was true, and shivered a little as
he contemplated the suggested way of getting rid of him, but his voice
was firm as he asked casually, “Why don’t you accept that solution?”
“Why don’t I accept--” began the other, and then broke off, glowering
at the man who though in his power was apparently undismayed. Then a
sneer came on his face. “Blood is thicker than water,” he remarked.
“Though you’re willing to forget that we are cousins, and regardless
of family ties are prepared to follow your d--d sense of duty, I can’t
forget it; and I’m inclined to spare you, and even to cut those bonds
of yours on conditions.”
“On conditions! What are they?” asked the corporal.
“That you give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to
escape or to attack Joe or myself whilst you are with us.”
The corporal wondered what was in his cousin’s mind and what was behind
the offer, but he was careful not to probe into the matter openly.
“You will accept my word of honour?” he asked with a faint touch of
surprise in his voice.
“Yes,” answered his cousin sneeringly. “You see, I know you of old. The
Bracknell strain runs true in you, whilst it has a twist in me. I know
you won’t break your parole--if you give it. And of course, you will
give it. It’s your word or your life. Ha! Ha! Quite a Dick Turpin touch
there, hey?”
Roger Bracknell considered the matter swiftly. So far as he could
see there was nothing to gain by rejecting the offer, since he was
completely in the other’s hands, and though his cousin sneered he was
clearly quite in earnest.
“I might be disposed to give my word, if--”
“Man,” broke in the other savagely, “you had better. There are no
ifs and buts about it. Look at Joe there. He doesn’t strike you as
one who will be over delicate, does he? If I let him loose you’ll be
running down the Elkhorn under the ice inside ten minutes. You’d better
agree--and quickly. No!” he lifted his pipe to check the words on the
corporal’s lips. “Hear me out. There’s another condition yet, and it
is this. As soon as I am able to travel you will accompany me without
demur for four days. On the fifth day, I’ll release you and you can do
your worst.”
The corporal hesitated. There was something here that he did not
understand, and again he wondered what lay behind the proposal. His
cousin watched him, and as he did not speak, addressed him again.
“I may remind you what the situation is. You are in my power. If you
can’t give me your word, if I don’t fall in with Joe’s more primitive
suggestion, I can keep you tied up here, and I can leave you tied up
when we move on; or I can lash you on to a sledge, and, willy nilly,
take you along with us. That must be quite plain to you. But I prefer
an amicable arrangement.... You will give me your word?”
Corporal Bracknell recognized the truth of his cousin’s utterances.
There was little choice in the matter, and after a little more
reflection he agreed.
“Yes, Dick, I give you my word of honour.”
“I thought you would!” Dick Bracknell laughed shortly as he spoke, and
then turned to his Indian companion. “Just take your knife, Joe, and
cut those thongs.”
The Indian turned from the stove and growled something in a dialect
which the corporal did not understand. He guessed, however, that
the Indian was demurring, and with mingled feelings waited to see
what would happen. His cousin spoke again, and this time there was a
peremptory note in his voice.
“Cut those thongs, I tell you; and don’t stand there growling at things
you don’t understand.”
He added something in his native tongue, and watching the Indian’s
scowling face, the corporal saw the frown lift, and a flicker of evil
laughter leap into the single eye. A moment later the Indian stepped up
to him, and with a hunting knife cut the hide thongs which bound him,
and then returned to the stove.
The corporal stretched his arms, then his whole body, and after that
rose slowly to his feet. His cousin watched him with eyes that smiled
inscrutably.
“Feels better, hey? You’re a sensible man, Cousin Roger, and now I
guess we shall get along famously. A pity, though, that I shan’t be
able to sit down to breakfast with you.”
“What I can’t understand is how you come to be here at all,” blurted
the corporal.
“Oh,” laughed the other, “that’s as simple as you please. When
I was plugged down by North Star, I must have lapsed into
unconsciousness--for the first time on any stage. Whilst I was lying
there in the snow--”
“I examined you,” broke in the corporal. “I thought that you were dead!”
“But as you see I wasn’t,” replied the other, “and whilst I was lying
there in the snow; Joe, who was waiting with the dogs, having heard the
shots came to look for me. He carried me to the sled, took me to the
woods on the other side of the river, made a fire, and having doctored
me brought me along here. He’s a good sort is Joe, though his looks are
against him.”
The corporal did not reply. From the trails he had found in the snow,
he had already guessed part of the story which he had just heard and
was not surprised at it. The wounded man laughed shortly.
“Joe is attached to me. I once did him a service, and if I told him to
do it he’d run amuck through Regina barracks without demur. He doesn’t
love the mounted police, as he owes his lost eye to one of them, so you
will see, cousin, that only my family affection saves you.”
The Indian turned his scarred face from the stove, and laid the table
in primitive fashion. Then having attended to his master, he placed a
tin plate with moose meat and beans before the corporal, filled a mug
with steaming coffee, and with a grunt invited him to eat. The officer
did so readily enough. He had eaten nothing for fourteen hours and was
feeling hungry.
“Plain fare,” commented his cousin, “but wholesome, and if one brings
to it the sauce of hunger, it’s at least as good as anything we had at
Harrow Fell.... And that reminds me, cousin. How is the governor?”
The corporal remembered the dignified Sir James Bracknell as he had
last seen him, and although he had had his own quarrel with him, felt
resentment at the tone in which the question was asked.
“He was very well when last I saw him,” he answered stiffly.
“How long ago is that?”
“Two years.”
“Um! that’s a goodish time. May I inquire if he knows your whereabouts?”
“I think not. I didn’t tell him of my intentions when I came here.
We--er--had a difference of opinion.”
Dick Bracknell laughed. “I don’t blame you for that. He’s a starchy old
buffer is the governor, and a regular perambulating pepper pot.” He
was silent for a moment, and then he inquired jerkily, “How--a--did he
take--that--a--a--little affair of mine?”
“You mean the selling of the plans of the Travis gun?”
“There’s no need for you to be brutal!” was the sharp reply. “I’ve paid
pretty heavily for that piece of madness. You’ve to remember that I’m
the heir of Harrow Fell, and that if I show my nose in England I shall
probably get five years at Portland or Dartmoor.”
The corporal knew that this was true, and was conscious of a little
compunction. Without alluding to it he answered the question. “Sir
James took that very badly. It was hushed up, of course, but when you
disappeared, and your name was gazetted among the broken, he pressed
for an explanation, and got it. As you can guess, proud old man as he
is, it wasn’t a nice thing for him to hear.”
“No.... Poor old governor!”
A strained silence followed, and a full two minutes passed without any
one speaking. Then the corporal glanced at his cousin. The latter was
sitting in his bunk, staring straight before him, with a troubled look
in his eyes. He moved as the corporal looked at him, and as their eyes
met, he laughed in a grating way.
“The husks are not good eating,” he commented, “and I’ve been feeding
on them ever since the day I skipped from Alcombe.”
The corporal was still silent, a little amazed at his cousin’s mood,
and the other spoke again. “Don’t you go thinking I never regret
things, Roger my boy. There never was a prodigal yet who didn’t lie
awake o’ nights thinking what a fool he’d been. And for some of us
there’s no going back to scoop the ring and the robe and to feast on
the fatted veal.... There are times when I think of the Fell, and hear
the pheasants clucking in the spinney. And I never sight at a ptarmigan
but I think of the grouse driving down the wind on Harrow Moor.
Man--it’s Hell, undiluted.”
The corporal pushed the tin plate from him. He felt strangely moved. He
had thought of his cousin as wholly bad, and now he found good mingled
with the evil. He turned round.
“Dick, old man,” he said in an unsteady voice, “you might make good
yet, if you tried.”
His cousin laughed harshly. “Not me, you know better. What were you
after me for? Whisky-running? Yes! I thought so. That’s bad enough for
a man of--a--my antecedents. But there are worse things credited to
Koona Dick, as you’ll learn. I’ve got too far. What is it that fellow
Kipling says? ‘Damned from here to Eternity’? That’s me, and I know it.”
“You can pull up!” urged the other. “You can make reparation.”
“Reparation!” exclaimed the other. “Ah! you are thinking of--Joy--my
wife, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” answered the corporal simply.
Dick Bracknell’s mood changed swiftly. “What’s Joy to you?” he demanded
hoarsely. “You know her, you’ve talked with her, consoled her, I don’t
doubt. What’s she to you?”
As he spoke his tones became violent, and he half threw himself out of
the bunk, as if he would attack his cousin. The Indian started to his
feet, and his one eye glared at the officer malevolently. The corporal
did not move. As his cousin shouted the question the blood flushed his
face, and in his heart he knew that he could not answer the question
with the directness demanded.
“Don’t be a fool, Dick,” he replied quietly. “I never saw Joy Gargrave
till four days ago, and if I talk of reparation, well, you’ll own it is
due to her.”
Dick Bracknell’s jealous passion died down as suddenly as it had
flamed. He threw himself back in the bunk and laughed shakily.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, “but it is one of the things that
can’t be done.”
“You could let her divorce you!” blurted out the corporal. “It would be
the decent thing to do.”
“When did I ever do the decent thing,” retorted his cousin sneeringly.
“No, Joy’s my wife--and I’ll keep her. It is something to know that
there are millions I can dip my hands in some day, and a warm breast I
can flee to--”
“Not now at any rate,” broke in the corporal sharply, only by an effort
restraining himself. “Joy has started for England.”
“For England--when?” Dick Bracknell’s face and tones expressed
amazement, but his next words were burdened with suspicion. “You’re not
lying to me?”
“No, it is the truth. Joy started for England yesterday morning. I saw
her start.”
“And I can’t follow,” commented the prodigal bitterly. “That’s part of
the price I pay.”
He did not speak again for a long time, and the corporal charged his
pipe, lit it, and sat smoking, staring into the stove, and reflecting
on the mess his cousin had made of his life.
At the end of half an hour the Indian went out, and then Dick Bracknell
broke the silence.
“I wonder what Joy thinks of me? Did she tell you?”
“She knows how she was trapped--you are aware of that, of course? I
think she will never forgive you.”
“I’m not surprised,” was the reply, “and yet, Roger, I think the world
of her. When I married her I loved her--and I wasn’t thinking of her
money overmuch. It was Lady Alcombe who put that rotten scheme in my
head. If I’d only been patient, and run straight, and not been tempted
by that agent to sell the secret of the Travis gun--but there’s a
whole regiment of ‘if’s’ so what’s the use of gassing? Anyway, Joy’s
mine--and no man else can get her while I live.”
It was the last word he said upon the subject, and nearly three weeks
later, having recovered sufficiently to travel, he journeyed with his
cousin and the Indian up the Elkhorn. On the fourth morning of that
journey Roger Bracknell woke, to find that preparations were already
well advanced for departure. One team was already harnessed with a
larger complement of dogs than usual, whilst his own sled, with three
dogs standing by, was still unharnessed. His cousin indicated it with a
jerk of his head.
“We part company today, Roger. I’m sorry to rob your dog team, but Joe
insists as he’s afraid you’ll get down to the police-post too soon for
us, if we leave you your full team. Besides, we’re tackling a stiff
journey and we shall need dogs before we’re through. We’re starting
immediately, and you’ll have to breakfast alone, and by the time you’re
through with it your parole is off. You understand?”
The corporal nodded, and his cousin continued, “With only three dogs
you won’t be such a fool as to try and trail us, and we’ve left you
enough grub to get you down to North Star comfortably. Your rifle’s
there on the top of your sled, and I trust you not to try and use it
on us till you’ve eaten your breakfast.... So long, old man.”
He turned lightly away, without waiting for his cousin to speak, and
the corporal heard him humming an old chanson of the Voyageurs--
“Ah, ah, Babette,
We go away;
But we will come
Again, Babette--
Again back home,
On--”
The song failed suddenly, and as Joe the Indian cracked his whip to
the waiting dogs, Dick Bracknell looked back over his shoulder. His
face was white and twisted as if with pain, and there was anguish in
his eyes. The corporal took a hasty step towards him, but was waved
back, and the team moved forward, the runners singing on the windswept
ice. For ten minutes the officer stood watching, until the cavalcade
passed out of sight behind a tree-clad island, but Dick Bracknell did
not look back once. The corporal turned to the fire with a musing look
upon his face, and whilst he prepared breakfast, his mind was with the
man travelling up the river. The interrupted chanson haunted him and he
found himself searching for the unsung fragment. For a time it eluded
him, but presently he found it and hummed to himself--
“--On Easter Day--
Back home to play
On Easter day,
Babette! Babette!”
and as he found it he understood to the full the look of pain upon his
cousin’s face. Again he looked up the river. Beyond the island a line
of black dots appeared, and by them marched two larger dots.
“Poor devil!” he murmured as he turned again to the fire.
CHAPTER X
A DESPERATE SITUATION
AN HOUR LATER Roger Bracknell started on his way back to the
police-post, in a not very happy frame of mind. The chief of Fort
Pilgrim was a man with little tolerance for failure, and the corporal
knew that when he made his report it would be received with frowns.
That was inevitable, but there was nothing for it but to return.
His cousin and the Indian Joe had taken very effective measures to
prevent him following on their trail when they had left him with a
depleted dog-team and with only sufficient rations to carry him as far
as North Star Lodge. Sorry as he was for his cousin he yet resented
the action which had left him helpless, and his failure rankled as
he swung steadily forward on the southward trail. Before the end of
the day, however, a thought came to him. Duty was duty, and if he
could reach North Star Lodge, there would be dogs there, and he could
requisition them in the King’s name, and return to the pursuit. It did
not seem a very nice thing to contemplate, but his oath of service
left him no option, whilst the officer at Fort Pilgrim was bound to
look askance at the whole affair, if he returned to explain that Koona
Dick was his cousin, and that he had escaped him. Besides, there was
Joy to consider. She could never be safe from molestation whilst Dick
Bracknell was at large. It was even possible that the latter, finding
the Territory growing too hot for him, might venture to follow her to
England, and as her husband claim his rights. That must be prevented
at all costs, even at the cost of Dick suffering incarceration in the
penal prison at Stony Mountain.
The end of the day, however, brought an unlooked-for event, which
made an end of these half-formed plans. He had camped for the night,
and having fed his dogs with the dried salmon-roe which formed their
staple food, was preparing his own meal, when one of the animals gave
a sudden sharp howl of pain. He looked hastily round, and saw the dog
twisted in some kind of spasm, its backbone arched, its legs jerking in
a strange fashion. He went to it, and as he approached the spasm ended,
and the dog lay in the snow completely exhausted. He was stooping
over it, wondering what was the matter when the other two dogs howled
simultaneously, and he turned swiftly to see one of them leap straight
in the air, and in a moment both of them were in spasms similar to the
one he had already witnessed, and before his eyes one of them curled up
like a bow, then suddenly relaxed, and lay stark and dead.
A dark suspicion shot through his mind, as he jerked himself upright.
The first dog was plainly at the point of death, whilst the third was
twisted by spasms that could have but one ending. He knew that there
could be no recovery, that he could do nothing for them, and in a swift
impulse of mercy he drew his pistol and shot them. Then he strode to
the sled, and lifting the small bale of dog food carried it to the
fire, and by the flames of the burning pine examined it carefully. He
had not to look long before he came upon some small white crystals
in the creases of the roe. They might be snow, they might be frost
crystals, but he did not think that they were either, and selecting one
of the smallest of the white specks he placed it on his tongue. It was
exceedingly bitter in taste.
“Strychnine!” he cried aloud, and then stood looking at the dead dogs
with horror shining in his eyes. As he stood there one question was
beating in his brain. “Who has done this thing? Who? Who?”
His thoughts flew back to his cousin. Had he--No! He could not believe
that; for whoever had placed the strychnine in the dog food, had
callously planned to murder him. And bad as Dick Bracknell was, the
corporal felt that his cousin would not have done a thing like this.
“There’s that Indian--Joe,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From
what Dick said he was afraid of me ... and he would have disposed of
me at the beginning if he had had his way!” He was silent for a little
time, then he nodded his head. “Yes! The Indian did it without Dick’s
knowledge.”
For the moment he refused to think further about the matter. About him
was the gloom of the pines, with their pall of snow, and everywhere
the terrible silence of the North. Alone and without dogs to carry his
stores, the situation was altogether desperate; and to reflect upon it
overmuch was to court madness. So he put the thought of it from him
for the time being, and after dragging the dead dogs into the shadow
of the forest, resumed the preparation of his evening meal. When he
had eaten it, he erected a wind-screen, and lying in his sleeping bag,
with his feet to the fire, lighted a pipe, and once more considered the
problem before him.
It was at least four days’ journey to North Star Lodge, probably five
or six, since he would have to carry the necessaries of life himself,
and so burdened would not be able to travel fast. There was food for
four days on the sled, and to make sure of reaching North Star, he
would have to put himself on rations, and travel as fast as he could.
Barring accidents there was an even chance of his getting through, but
if any ill-chance arose then--He did not finish the thought. Knocking
the ashes out of his pipe, he stretched himself down in the sleeping
berth, and presently fell asleep.
When he awoke it was still dark, and the fire was burning low. He
looked at his watch. It was five o’clock. He stretched himself a
little, and thrusting his arm out of the sleeping bag, he threw a
couple of spruce boughs on the fire. The resinous wood quickly caught,
and as it flared up he looked round. On the edge of the circle of
light, which his fire cut out of the darkness, something caught his
eye. He looked again. Two tiny globes of light, about three feet above
the ground, appeared to be suspended on nothing. He watched them
steadily, and for the briefest moment of time, saw them eclipsed, then
they reappeared. He looked further. There were other twin globes of
light, scattered all round, and, as the spruce crackled into flame, he
caught sight of an animal’s head, and the outline of its form.
“Timber-wolves!” he whispered to himself.
Feeling for his automatic pistol, he lay waiting his opportunity.
Undoubtedly, the bodies of his dead dogs had already served the savage
beasts for a meal, and now they were watching him, perhaps already
counting him their prey.
He did not feel particularly afraid. He knew that the wolf is really a
coward, and that unless driven by hunger, it seldom attacks man, but
all the same he thought it wise to teach the beast a lesson. So when
the shadowy form of one of the beasts moved, he sighted and fired. The
wolf gave a yelp, jumped clean in the air, and dropped dead well within
the circle of firelight. He looked round again. The watching eyes in
the darkness had disappeared. Presently however they returned, and
lying perfectly still, he saw a gaunt dog wolf slink out of the shadows
towards its dead comrade, and fall on it with its teeth. Another
followed and another, and a moment later there was a snarling tangle of
furry beasts where the dead wolf had been.
“Phew!” he whistled to himself, as he noted their disregard of the
firelight, “they’re mad with hunger!”
He emptied his pistol into the bunch, and the pack fell back, leaving
three of its number dead in the snow. Of the first wolf nothing
remained but the skull and tail. Behind the trees the snarling and
yelping continued, and as he crept out of his sleeping bag, he
conjectured that others of the beasts had been injured by his shots,
and were falling a prey to their hungry companions. There was a serious
look upon his face, as, crossing to the other side of the fire, he
picked up the dead wolves, and one by one flung them into the darkness,
where as his ears assured him they also became food for their famished
pack-mates.
He had meant to commence his journey at an early hour, but the presence
of the wolf-pack forced him to reconsider his plans, and to delay until
dawn. The interval he filled in by packing his stores in a convenient
form for carrying, and with the aid of things from the sled and his
sleeping bag he devised a knapsack, which whilst it bulked large was
not really heavy. Then he breakfasted, and that done, as the dawn
broke, looked round once more. On one side of him the wolves were still
in the shadows of the trees, and as he turned to look on the other, his
eye caught the package of poisoned salmon roe, which was still upon the
sledge. A thought struck him.
“The very thing!” he muttered, and going to the sled, he broke up the
food with an ax and then scattered it in small portions about the
camping place.
“I shall bag some of them for certain,” he said, as he saw the wolves
watching him. “When they find it they’ll bolt it like one o’clock.”
The day had well broken when, adjusting his snowshoes, he shouldered
his pack, and stepped out on the trail. None of the wolves were now in
sight, but he had gone only a little way, when a sharp howl behind him,
told him that they were still about. He looked back. A little spur of
trees on the bank hid his late camp, but as he glanced back, a wolf
leaped on the ice, ran howling a short way, then dropped in the snow.
Other yelps of pain came from behind the screen of trees, and as the
sounds reached him a sigh of satisfaction came in his eyes.
“It’s working like a charm,” he said to himself. “There’s an end of Mr.
Wolf for this trip, I fancy.”
As he journed he kept a sharp look out, turning frequently to observe
the trail behind him. Not a single wolf appeared, and through the
short day he marched on, the solitary living thing in a landscape that
was unutterably forlorn and desolate. The quick night drew on, and he
decided to camp. Halting in a sheltered cove he felled a small spruce,
gathered some dry twigs and built himself a fire, then he thrust his
hand to his tunic pocket for matches. They were gone. He had lost them.
For a minute or two he was filled with dismay, and real terror clutched
at his heart-strings, for to be without means of making a fire in the
desolate Northland, is to have entered the valley of the shadow of
death.
Then he recalled an old device of the Voyageurs, and proceeded to put
it into execution. With his jack knife he cut some thin shavings of
spruce, mixed them with a handful of dead lichen scraped from trees,
and biting the bullets from a couple of cartridges shook the powder of
one over the little heap that he had made, and with that from the other
cartridge made a short train. Then he fired his pistol to light the
train. The powder caught, spluttered and burned out without lighting
the lichen and the pine-shavings, and the operation had to be performed
three times before it was successful. He built up his fire, and when
it was well going, and he was congratulating himself on his success a
thought struck him. Hastily he examined his bandolier. He had but three
cartridges left.
As he weighed the metal shells in his hand, his face grew very serious.
Each of them carried a message of death, but to him, as his sole means
of making a fire, they were to him the bridge of life, and a precarious
bridge at that. With at least three camps to make before he reached
North Star Lodge, he recognized that the chances were almost desperate,
and that only care and skill and a large slice of luck could carry him
through. Very carefully he stowed the cartridges where they would be
safe against damp or accidental loss, and then proceeded to cook his
meal.
The next morning he started an hour before dawn. Light snow was
falling, but he could not afford to regard that, and on snowshoes he
pressed forward steadily. It began to blow, and he sought the lee of
the river-bank for shelter, then that happened which put a term to his
journey. A great tree, well up the bank, collapsed under its weight
of snow. Roger Bracknell caught the rending sound of its fall and
instinctively leaped aside, but the snowshoes embarrassed him and he
fell. A bough of the falling tree alighted on his right leg, snapping
it like a pipestem, and pinning him down in the snow.
Under the first shock of pain, he almost fainted, but in a minute or
two recovered himself sufficiently to take stock of the situation. It
was, as he instantly recognized, very desperate. He sat up, and tried
to move the weight from his leg. The bough which held him fast was not
a very thick one, but the weight of the tree was behind it, and with
his hatchet he began to cut through the branch. Every stroke he made
jarred him terribly, and more than once he had to desist, but at last
the bough parted, and he was able to push the weight from his leg. He
was, however, in little better case, since he could not stand upright;
and to crawl would have been futile, even if the deepening snow had
allowed the possibility of doing so.
He looked round, and through the falling snow caught sight of the
sombre pinewoods. They had a funereal look, and in their shadows
brooded the menace of the North, which had surely overtaken him at
last. Death was staring him in the eyes. He took out his pocket book,
and made shift to write a note to his superior down at the Post. Then
he took out his pistol, and loaded it with one of the cartridges
that had held his life, but which now carried only death, swift and
merciful. It was no use waiting. He held the pistol ready, and for a
moment his thoughts strayed to Joy Gargrave. Would she ever hear? Would
she guess that he--
His thoughts broke off suddenly. Through the gloom of the falling
snow he caught a sound of voices. Some one, it seemed, was urging a
dog-team to greater efforts. Was he dreaming? He listened carefully.
No! There it was again, and with it came the yelp of a dog cut by a
whip. A great wave of thankfulness rolled over him. He shouted and
fired his pistol in the air. A moment later came an answering shout,
and he called back again. Presently, out of the snow-murk emerged the
forms of two men--Indians, and as they bent over him he lapsed into
unconsciousness.
CHAPTER XI
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
SIR JOSEPH RAYNER, as a solicitor, was at the very head of his
profession, and was supposed to be trusted with more family secrets
than any other man in England. The confidence in him was extraordinary,
but no one could be found to urge that it was not merited, and it was
notorious that he had averted more scandals and saved more reputations
than any other half dozen men in his profession. Erring husbands, and
wives deeply wronged, sought his advice, and to the husbands he was a
man of the world, and to the wives a sympathetic counsellor, always
against the extreme remedy of the divorce courts. To prodigal sons he
was the dispenser of paternal allowances, and to the men caught in the
toils of the blackmailer he was like a delivering providence. As a
family solicitor he was unsurpassed, discreet as a cabinet minister at
question time, and as secret as the grave. And in spite of his burden
of secrets, usually as he walked abroad among men, he wore a jaunty
air, as befitted a man with not a trouble of his own in the wide world.
But one winter morning as he sat in his private office his brow was
black with care, and his demeanour was as far removed as possible from
the gay one which his confreres knew. Before him was a small ledger
with a lock upon it, and a number of documents, and as he bent over
them, from time to time he wrote figures upon a sheet of foolscap.
Presently he began to add up the figures, and that done sat staring at
the total.
“Ninety-seven thousand,” he whispered to himself. “God! If anything
were to come out!”
He sat looking at the figures, tapping softly with his pencil,
something like despair shining in his eyes.
“Suppose Adrian’s fine scheme goes awry? Or suppose Joy refuses to
sign?”
He rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro, in the manner of a
man whom nervousness has made restless. Once he stopped and glanced at
the ledger, then nodded his head.
“The others will be all right, if----”
The whirr of the telephone bell on his desk interrupted his thoughts.
Frowningly he picked up the receiver, and gave the stereotyped “Hallo!”
“Is that really you, Adrian? I didn’t know you had arrived.... Last
night you say.... I didn’t get your telegram. I was dining with the
Chancellor, and went on to the theatre afterwards.... Yes, you are in
time, though I have been praying for your arrival for days. Things are
very tight, and that banker is getting nervous.... Yes, the sooner the
better. In half an hour? That will do very nicely. I shall expect you
both without fail. How goes your matrimonial scheme?... Um! Hangs fire
a little does it, but you’re certain of the end. Well the earlier it is
arranged, the better I shall be pleased. My nerves are not what they
were. But we can talk the whole business over later. Thank heaven, I’m
her guardian, and there’s only my consent to be obtained. What sort of
a savage has she become in these three years?”
As he listened to the reply to his last question a cynical smile came
on his face. “Sounds as if you had fallen in love!... You have, hey?
Well, well (he laughed a little), love is as good a qualification for
matrimony as anything I know, except a thundering big bank account....
Yes, yes, I know.... I shall be waiting. That’s all, I think.”
Putting down the receiver, he began to gather up the scattered papers
on his desk, and after tying them together with tape, he placed them
in a large envelope and sealed them with his private seal. Then he
locked the books and placed both the book and the envelope in the
safe. Care appeared to have fallen from him like a garment. He even
hummed a little catch from the halls as he took from the safe a new
set of papers. Any one looking at him would not have known him for the
care-ridden man of ten minutes before. Once more he was the Sir Joseph
Rayner, whom the city knew, smiling, cheerful, and exceeding prosperous.
“That will do, I think,” he said as he arranged the papers on the desk.
“Fortunately the girl has no business experience.”
Then he went to a small cabinet in the room, and helped himself to a
glass of port of a favourite vintage, and to while away the time smoked
a couple of cigarettes, gazing into the fire with a musing look upon
his face. At the sound of voices in the office of the head clerk, he
threw away his cigarette and turned to the door. A knock sounded, and
the door opened.
“Miss Gargrave and Mr. Adrian, Sir Joseph.”
A moment later he was on his feet welcoming the travellers.
“This is a pleasure, Joy. I did not know that you had arrived until
half an hour ago, not having had the telegram which Adrian sent me.
You look wonderfully well, and Adrian looks all the better for his
vacation. Take this chair, Joy, and throw off your furs! The cigarettes
are on the mantelpiece, Adrian, if Joy does not mind.”
He looked at her with a smile and Joy shook her head.
“Not in the least, Uncle Joseph! Adrian knows that!”
“Then we can indulge. But how are you? You have not yet told me, though
of course there is no need. You have the authentic hue of health in
your cheeks, and goodness! what a woman you have become! I could
almost find it in my heart to envy Adrian the long journey you have
made together!” He laughed a little as he spoke, and glanced from Joy
to his son. A slight frown showed itself on the young man’s face, and
interpreting it rightly, Sir Joseph deftly took another line.
“You have not found the journey too trying, I hope, my dear Joy? But I
forget. Of course you are inured to difficulties and hardships at North
Star, and a journey of four or five thousand miles does not daunt you
as it would a city man like myself.”
Joy laughed a little. “There was not much hardship once we struck the
railway. A first-class Pullman and a state-room on a Cunarder are in
themselves alleviations of the tedium of a winter journey!”
Sir Joseph laughed with her. “Possibly! But it is not every one who
would find them so. I think I could not undertake such a journey now.
And I hope there will be no need for you to do so again. Now we have
you this side of the herring pond, I hope we may keep you here for a
very long time. Your days of exile are over, and North Star Lodge--”
“Please, uncle,” Joy intervened quickly. “Please do not say anything
against North Star. I think of it as my home. I was born there, you
know, and I have not found these three years to be like years of
exile--they have been full of happy days.”
“Possibly,” laughed the lawyer, “but there are many sorts of happiness,
and after the pleasures of the wilderness you will be the better fitted
to appreciate the delights of civilization, since all things, as you
know, gain by contrast.... But where is Miss La Farge? I thought--”
“She is at the hotel. She was a little tired, but I think that was an
excuse. She knew that I was coming here to do business--”
“Of course! Of course! Very considerate of her I am sure; but there
was no need for her to be so punctilious. But business is really of a
very simple nature, merely the signing of a few documents which can be
completed in under half an hour.” He waved a hand towards the desk.
“I have anticipated your arrival, and everything is in order for your
signature.”
Joy glanced at the desk, and caught sight of the papers. “Perhaps you
will explain what the situation is,” she said. “I am not sure that I
understand.”
“Certainly,” answered Sir Joseph with a suave smile. “It is not
very complicated. Your father, as you know, left a very large
fortune--something over a million pounds--in trust for you, and by his
will made me your guardian and sole trustee. One of the conditions of
the will was that for three years you were to live at North Star Lodge,
and at the end of that time you were to be free to enter upon your
inheritance. You have fulfilled the condition, and you now inherit.
Indeed you ought to have done so some months ago, and as my trusteeship
ended with the fulfilling of the conditions, there are certain actions
of mine that ought to be regularized, and for which I shall require
your signature.”
“I do not quite follow,” said the girl.
“It is very simple. You were not here to administer the estate, and
though I had no authority from you, I was compelled to do so. Of course
as your uncle and guardian there was really nothing else for me to do.”
“Of course! Of course!” answered Joy hurriedly. “And you want my
signature to--to put things right.”
“Just that!” answered Sir Joseph smilingly.
“Then the sooner you have it the better,” laughed Joy. “Shall I sign
them at once?”
“If you like,” answered the lawyer in casual tones, though there was a
little flash of eagerness in his eyes.
“It will take but a few moments.”
He moved towards the desk, and as Joy rose from her seat near the fire
placed a chair in position for her. The girl seated herself, glanced
carelessly at the first document he placed before her, and then asked,
“Where do I sign?”
“Here!” answered the lawyer, indicating the place. Joy signed quickly.
There were other papers that she did not even look at, but promptly
signed each one in turn, as it was presented to her. When she had
finished she laid down the pen with a little laugh.
“I feel quite a woman of business.”
“But you are not yet out of the wood,” laughed Sir Joseph. “There
is another important matter to be settled, and that is the future
management of the estate. It is now your own to do with as you like.
You may wish to carry through all transactions relating to it yourself,
in which case--”
“Oh no! no!” cried Joy protestingly. “I should be worried to death. You
must manage it for me in the future as you have done in the past. I
could not possibly undertake such a task.”
The lawyer smiled. “I was hoping that you would think of that course,
though, for obvious reasons I did not care to suggest it. It will be
much simpler for you merely to have monies paid into your account
instead of occupying perhaps several hours per week in worrying over
investments.” He laughed a little. “You would require an office and at
least a couple of clerks, Joy.”
“Oh dear!” laughed Joy, “that must never be.”
“Then I will take the burden off your hands, and you will have to give
me power of attorney.”
“What is that?” inquired Joy, adding merrily, “I am discovering an
abysmal ignorance in myself.” Sir Joseph explained, and the girl
nodded. “Of course. There is no difficulty about that. It only gives
you the right to continue to exercise the powers you have had up to
now, and it will save me a great deal of worry. I suppose there will be
another document to sign?”
“Yes,” answered the lawyer smilingly. “One more document to sign.
Fortunately I anticipated what your wishes would be; and I had it
prepared.” He looked at his son. “We must have a witness, Adrian. Just
ring for Benson, will you?”
The young lawyer touched a bell, and a moment later a clerk entered.
“Yes, Sir Joseph.”
“In a moment, Benson. I want you to witness Miss Gargrave’s signature.”
He went to the safe, took from it yet another document which he gave to
the girl.
“Read it, Joy.”
“If I must,” answered Joy, and ran through it carelessly.
Then she signed it, and the clerk having witnessed it and been
dismissed, Sir Joseph gathered all the papers together, and locked
them up. “Business is over for the day,” he said. “I’m going to take a
holiday. You will lunch with me at the Ritz, Joy, you and Adrian. I
shall take no denial.”
“But there is Babette--” began Joy.
“Oh, we will telephone to her, and pick her up on the way. We shall
then be quite a complete little party, and tonight we will dine, and
go on to a theatre afterwards. You will not have seen much acting, of
late--”
“None at all,” laughed Joy, “for three whole years.”
“Then we must certainly go,” answered her uncle. “Let me see--ah, yes!
There is the ‘Grizzly Cub,’ a Klondyke play, pure American and very
strenuous and exciting. I have seen it once, but I should like to see
it again, with some one who knows the country of the play. To me it
seems very real, and if it has illusions for you who know the life, I
shall know that it is really good. We will go there. Adrian, just tell
Benson to ring up the Mitre and engage a box for me, and have my car
brought round from the garage.”
It was a merry party that lunched at the Ritz. There was not a hint of
the care that had betrayed itself in the lawyer’s face in the solitude
of his private room. He was the gay, debonair man of the world that
all his acquaintances knew, and he exerted himself to make the lunch
an agreeable one. But from time to time, he allowed his eyes to stray
towards a table where a couple of young men were lunching with a lady.
They seemed very interested in his own party, and presently he saw
the lady rise from her seat and walk towards his table. At the same
moment Joy Gargrave looked up, and as she caught the young lady’s eyes,
started impulsively from her seat.
“You, Penelope!” she cried.
“You, Joy!” mimicked the other. “I thought you were dwelling in the
forest primeval?”
“I arrived in London last night. I expect to stay a little time in
England. The years of what my uncle calls my exile are over.” She
glanced at the lawyer. “Do you know my uncle? No! Then I must introduce
you. Uncle, this is Miss Penelope Winter, an old--”
“You are wrong, Joy,” laughed the lady. “This is no longer Miss
Penelope Winter. This is Mrs. Will Grasmore of Grasmore Grange,
Westmorland.”
“You are married?” cried Joy.
Mrs. Will Grasmore waved a hand towards the table she had just left.
“There sits the happy man, whose complete happiness began three months
ago.”
“Which--” began Joy, and then stopped suddenly, as a curious look came
on her face. “Of course! I see! The other one is Geoffrey Bracknell,
isn’t it?”
“Yes,” laughed her friend, “and he is dying to renew the acquaintance
he began in Westmorland four years ago! May I bring him and Will over?
I see that, like ourselves, you are almost at the end of lunch. We
might take coffee together.”
For the fraction of a minute Joy hesitated. Sir Joseph, who was
watching her, noticed that hesitation, though he was the only one who
did. Then Joy spoke.
“Well, if you like, Penelope, and if my uncle doesn’t mind. I am his
guest, and--”
“Oh, Sir Joseph will not mind, I am sure,” answered Mrs. Winter,
flashing a smile at the lawyer and assuming his consent, hurried back
to her own table.
“Did you say that the young man with Mr. Winter was named Bracknell?”
asked Adrian Rayner suddenly.
There was just a splash of colour in Joy’s cheeks as she replied
shortly, “Yes!”
“I wonder if he is any relation of that Mounted policeman who came to
North Star, when--”
“He is his cousin,” answered Joy quickly. “His father is Sir James
Bracknell of Harrow Fell. Geoffrey is the second son.”
“Ah! I remember them,” broke in Sir Joseph. “There was another son who
disgraced himself and his family. He disappeared. I wonder what has
become of him. The succession to that estate will offer a pretty tangle
for somebody to unravel some day, Adrian.”
His son nodded, but uttered no comment. His eyes were fixed on Joy,
as if he found something particularly interesting in her demeanour
at the moment. At his father’s words the splash of colour had ebbed
swiftly from her cheeks leaving them rather pale, but Joy’s manner
was perfectly self-possessed, and there was little to indicate that
she was passing through a moment of stress. Her cousin still watched
her when the others joined them, and at the moment of meeting flashed
a quick searching glance at Geoffrey Bracknell. The young man’s face
was eager. There was a light in his eyes that told that Mrs. Winter’s
statement about his wish to renew acquaintance with Joy had not been
over-coloured, and as he marked it, Adrian Rayner smiled enigmatically
to himself.
Sir Joseph also noticed it, and it troubled him a little. He was
thoughtful during the remainder of the lunch, and even more thoughtful
when, on the evening of that same day, they again encountered young
Bracknell in the foyer of the theatre. He was obviously waiting for
them, and the lawyer was far from pleased to learn that he had taken
the next box to his own. He was still less pleased when the young man
made an excuse for visiting them between the acts, and it required all
his skill to avoid an acceptance of the invitation to supper which he
extended to Sir Joseph’s party.
“My dear Bracknell, you are too late. Our supper is already ordered. On
another occasion, perhaps, but tonight it is quite impossible.”
“You did not tell me you had an admirer,” he said to Joy, rallying her
a little time later.
“An admirer!” Joy laughed. “Who--”
“Young Bracknell! He is most obviously in love with you.”
“Oh no! no!” whispered Joy quickly, all the laughter dying suddenly
from her face. “You are mistaken. It ... it would be too ... too....”
The sentence went unfinished, and Sir Joseph, noticing her face,
did not press for the conclusion. He was silent for a little time,
wondering what lay behind her sudden change of manner. Then he spoke
again.
“Young Bracknell is not your only admirer,” he said smilingly. “You
have another.”
“Indeed,” said Joy, very obviously embarrassed.
“Yes! Adrian is very deeply in love. He confided the fact to me this
morning.... I hope, my dear, that you will be able to listen to him,
that you will be able to give a favourable--”
“Oh!” interrupted Joy nervously, “you must not ask me, uncle. I shall
never marry. Never!”
“Never, my dear Joy! That, it is often remarked, is a very long time!”
He smiled indulgently as he spoke, and then added, “I hope we may yet
induce you to reconsider your very youthful decision.”
Joy did not answer. Her face was very pale, and she sat staring at the
stage with tragic eyes, not watching the actors, but visioning a body
lying in the snow in the sombre woods at North Star.
CHAPTER XII
A DASTARDLY DEED
“HOW!”
As Corporal Roger Bracknell opened his eyes, this characteristic Indian
greeting broke on his ears, and he stirred uneasily. Slowly the full
consciousness of things came back to him, and with it the sense of
intolerable pain in one of his legs. He raised his head to look at the
leg and stretched a hand towards it at the same time. Another hand
intervened hastily.
“No. Not dat! You damage ze leg, if you touch. It vaire bad!”
The corporal turned his eyes. The two men were standing near the bale
of skins on which he was lying, one of them of pure Indian blood, and
the second, who had uttered the warning, manifestly a half-breed.
Behind them in the darkness of the tepee was a third man, also an
Indian. He addressed himself to the half-breed.
“How did I come here?”
“Lagoun and Canim dey find you on ze trail. A tree hav’ fallen an’
crack your leg like a shell of the egg. You not able to move, so dat
eef dey not come soon, you dead mans along of ze cold which freeze ze
blood. Dey bring you here an’ I set ze leg, so dat it grow together
again. Dat is all!”
Coporal Bracknell looked towards the two Indians. “I am very grateful
to you, Lagoun and Canim, and I shall not forget,” he said. “I shall
report good of them at the Post. But where am I?”
“At ze winter encampment of my people!” was the reply.
“Of your people. Who are you then?”
“I am Chief Louis of ze Elkhorn tribe. You hear of me, maybe?”
“Yes,” answered the corporal quickly. “Who is there that has not?”
He looked with interest on the man, who was the son of a
French-Canadian and an Indian mother, and who throwing in his lot with
his mother’s people had risen to the headship of the tribe. And whilst
he looked at him the Chief spoke again.
“It ees not good to walk alone in ze North without dogs an’ sled as
Lagoun and Canim find you.”
“It is very bad,” laughed the policeman weakly. “But part of my dogs
were stolen from me, and the others died.”
“Dat is vaire bad,” was the reply. “Lagoun and Canim dey find ze sled,
and dead wolves--many of dem. Dey haf been poisoned. How befell it, so?”
The corporal explained, carefully avoiding any reference to his cousin
and the latter’s Indian companion, and when he had finished, the Chief
nodded approbation.
“Dat was clevaire to poison ze wolves, for dey hav’ ze hunger-madness
at dis time, ze mooze being scarce in ze woods.”
For a little time Bracknell did not speak, then he glanced down towards
his leg, and asked, “Is it very bad?”
“It veel knit together like ze ice on ze river!” was the reply. “An’
you veel not be lame mans. No! But two months veel pass before you take
ze trail again.”
“Two months. The ice will be breaking up by then.”
“Oui! dat so! But what matter? Time it ees long in ze North, an’ we can
talk together. Where did the trail lead for you, m’sieu?”
“I was making for North Star Lodge in the first instance. There, I
hoped to get dogs to take me to the police post.”
Chief Louis did not speak for a little time. He lit an Indian pipe made
of some soft stone with a hollowed twig for stem, pulled thoughtfully
at it a few times, blowing out clouds of acrid smoke, then he said
slowly, “You were going to North Star? You ever know Missi Gargrave’s
father?”
“No!” answered the policeman. “He was dead before I came so far North.
I understand that he was caught in the ice in the Yukon--and lost. The
bottom dropped out of the trail or something.”
“Him die, oui,” was the brief reply.
Something in the other’s tone caught the policeman’s attention. He
looked at him quickly. The half-breed’s face was like that of a wooden
image, but there was a glitter in the eyes that betrayed an excitement
which the mask-like visage concealed.
“Ah!” he commented. “You know how Rolf Gargrave died!”
“I not say so! But I tink an’ tink, an’ I tink it was not good ze way
Gargrave die. Non!”
Bracknell waited, but the half-breed did not continue, and after a
little time he said quietly, “Tell me.”
“Not now. It is ze hour of ze evening meal; an’ ze tale will keep. I
tell you anoder time.”
He knocked the ashes from his pipe, nodded gravely at the officer
and passed out of the tepee, leaving Bracknell the prey of a great
curiosity. What on earth was the tale which the half-breed had to tell
about Rolf Gargrave’s death? He recalled the little that he had heard
about the disappearance of the Northland millionaire and could remember
nothing which indicated that his death had been due to anything but
an accident. As he remembered the story the river-ice on which Mr.
Gargrave and his party of four Indians had been travelling had suddenly
turned rotten, in Northland phrase, “the bottom had dropped out of the
trail,” and the whole party had been drowned, with a single exception.
The exception was one of the Indians who had managed to crawl out, and
later in the day reached an Indian lodge there, after telling the story
of the disaster, to die of cold and exhaustion. Mr. Gargrave’s death
had been a tragedy, but such tragedies were not uncommon in the North;
and the police, hearing of the event months afterward, had seen no
reason for investigation. Every spring brought similar stories with it;
and would, so long as men persisted in keeping to the ice-trails when
once the spring thaw had set in.
But Chief Louis’s vague hints had perplexed Roger Bracknell, and
awakened formless suspicions in his mind. Suppose that the death of
Joy’s father had not been an accident, suppose--
He broke off his conjectures. It was no use indulging in idle
speculations when a short time would probably dispose of any need
for them. He gave his mind to the consideration of his own position.
As he recognized, his escape from death had been a very narrow one,
and though he would have to remain where he was, probably for many
weeks, he counted himself fortunate. Chief Louis held the Mounted
Police in esteem, and would look after him well, and though the delay
would probably mean that his Cousin Dick would escape, he could not
find it in his heart to regret that over much. The Indian, Joe, was
another matter. He was convinced that by poisoning his dog-food the
Indian had deliberately planned his death, and as he thought of the
means employed, a hot wrath burned within him. It was so cruel, so
treacherous, and he vowed to himself that one day he would make the
Indian pay for it.
His thoughts wandered further to Joy Gargrave! She would be in England
or well on her way there, and wondering how his quest had sped. He was
now in a position to fulfil his promise to her, but he doubted whether
such news as he had to send her would be any comfort to her, for the
news that Dick Bracknell was alive, and making for the fastnesses of
the Northern wilderness, could hardly be good news for her, who had
been so bitterly deceived.
It was the next day when Chief Louis unfolded the mystery of Rolf
Gargrave’s death. Seating himself by the corporal’s side, he puffed
slowly at his pipe for some time, and the officer watched him,
wondering what was in his mind and when he would speak.
Suddenly the half-breed leaned forward and said abruptly--
“Ze bottom nevaire drop out of ze trail under Rolf Gargrave!”
“No?” The corporal’s voice was eager and his manner alert.
“It was blown out!”
“Blown out! What on earth do you mean, Louis?”
“Listen and I veel the tale unfold. Tree winters back, no four! dere
come to my tepee a white man who was not used to ze ways of ze North.
With him vas another mans who had ze coughing-sickness, and who need
the squaws to nurse him. He die vaire shortly--six days after he come,
an’ we give him tree-burial; and ze next day, ze other white mans he
come to me. He want two men to go on trail with him to ze North, an’
he pay with blankets, two rifles of ze best, mooch cartridges, and
many sticks of tabac. He vaire anxious, and I ask him what for he go
North before ze spring it have arrive. And he say he go to find a mans.
What mans? I ask, and he say Rolf Gargrave, whom he would talk with on
business of importance. Den I understand, I tink, Gargrave he is a man
of many affairs, an’ this man who know not ze ways of ze North hav’
come so far to talk of gold and ze like, and I agree, and send two men
of ze tribe with him to find Gargrave of North Star.
“Dey be good men, who know ze ways of ze trail as none other, but
dey are gone a vaire long time, an’ ze wild geeze hav’ gone to their
breeding grounds in ze far North, an’ ze river it is free from ice,
when dey return. I question dem, and it is a strange tale dey tell. For
many days dey travel with ze stranger mans whose name I know not, an’
dey are on the trail of Gargrave all ze time. Dey hear word of him, now
here, now dere, and it is a long trail dey follow, but at ze last dey
come up with him. Dey hav’ word dat he is but one camp ahead of dem,
an’ dey push the dogs, an’ soon dey pass Gargrave’s camp.”
“Pass it?” cried the corporal in astonishment.
“Oui! Dey pass a camp which is Gargrave’s an’ with ze darkness falling,
dey push on five, six mile, an’ dere pitch camp, an’ ze stranger mans
say he wait for Gargrave dere. It begins to snow, an’ dere is wind, an’
dey crouch by ze fire, an’ sleep, one hour, two hours, tree--I know
not. Den Paslik an’ Sibou dey wake suddenly, an’ dere is the roll of
thunder in their ears. Dey listen in wonder and again dey hear it, a
crash like dat among ze hills when the sun scorches ze grass an’ ze
earth it shake an’ tremble.
“Dey look about. Ze white-man’s sleeping bag it is empty, and he is
not dere. Dey wait a long time. Ze thunder sound no more, but ze snow
still fall, an’ presently, ze stranger mans he return. He hav’ on ze
snowshoes an’ he hav’ been on a journey. He tell Paslik an’ Sibou dat
he not sleep, dat he hav’ been for little walk to help him. But he
is vaire tired, an’ dere is a strange look on his face, and Paslik he
whisper to Sibou dat the stranger man hav’ been a long journey.... Den
ze snow still falling, dey all sleep till dawn....
“All next day, in ze camp dere, dey wait for ze coming of Gargrave,
but he come not, and Paslik he see dat after a time ze mans look not
towards ze river-trail, an’ dat dare is a pleased look on his face,
a look as of one who has his desire given unto him. Ze next morning,
they strike camp, an’ ze stranger mans he say dey go back and look for
Gargrave. To Paslik an’ Sibou, ze way of the white man is foolishness,
but dey go back, an’ tree miles down ze trail dey find the ice hav’
been broken in. It hav’ frozen over again, but ze snow about have melt
an’ frozen in with ze ice, an’ it is rotten. Also dere are great chunks
of ice thrown far out over ze snow, which is a strange thing.... Dey
cross the broken trail with care, an’ at the far side, dey come on ze
tracks of two sleds that hav’ moved in ze direction of ze rotten ice.
“Ze stranger mans he look at dese an’ den he looks back at ze broken
trail, an’ den he whistle cheerfully all to himself. Paslik he look,
an’ he read ze signs, an’ he whisper dat ze sleds hav’ gone in, ze
sleds an’ ze mans, an’ den dey go forward till dey reach ze camp of
Gargrave dat dey pass on ze way. He is not dere, ze camp is remove, an’
ze ashes of ze fire are cold. Ze white mans he look, an’ he laugh, but
it was ze laugh of a man who is not disappointed, you understand.
“‘We hav’ missed him,’ he say. ‘We return to Dawson.’
“So Paslik an’ Sibou, dey go to Dawson with him, an’ dere dey hear
that Gargrave is lost, because of ze bottom dropping from ze trail an’
casting him in ze river. One mans he have crawled out, he tell ze tale
an’ die. An’ Paslik an’ Sibou say nothing, an’ ze stranger mans he give
them his dogs an’ sled an’ stores and leave Dawson, and presently when
ze river is open dey come back, and whisper to me the tale of their
wanderings, and I say ze trail it not fall in, but it is blown out.”
The half-breed broke off, and lighting his pipe, puffed at it stolidly,
staring into the fire. For a full half-minute the corporal did not
speak. The implications of the other’s story were very clear to him,
but they seemed incredible.
“But what makes you so sure?” he asked at last.
Chief Louis rose from his seat and without speaking passed from the
tepee. After a few minutes he returned bringing with him a wooden box
with a hinged lid. He opened it, and held it towards the corporal, who
looked in curiously. Inside half-wrapped in cotton wool were four cakes
of some reddish brown material, and when the corporal’s eyes fell on
them, he gave vent to a sudden exclamation.
“Ah!”
“You know what dat is? You hav’ before it seen?”
“Yes!” answered Bracknell quickly. “It is dynamite. How did you come by
it?”
“Ze stranger mans he leaves it in ze stores dat he give Paslik an’
Sibou. He forget it, or he tink dey get meddling with it an’ blow
themselves to Hell. But dey bring it back, and I know it, and I keep
it; and remembering ze winter thunder which Paslik an’ Sibou dey hear
in their sleep, I say ze trail it was blown up, an’ not fall in,
behold, Paslik an’ Sibou wi’ ze stranger mans go all ze way to Dawson,
an’ ze trail it is good.”
“Upon my word, Louis, I believe you are right.”
“Dere is no question. It is so sure as ze rising of ze sun!”
A dark thought shot in the corporal’s mind. Four winters ago this had
happened, and in that year Dick Bracknell, who had trapped Joy Gargrave
into marriage, had fled from England. Rolf Gargrave’s death might be
conceived to serve the interests of his son-in-law, and Rolf Gargrave
had been murdered.
“Louis,” he asked abruptly, “what sort of a man was he whom Paslik and
Sibou served?”
“He was tall, with full beard and dark eyes. His voice was of ze
English an’ not of ze American, for he talked not through the nose.”
The description was not very illuminating, and the policeman almost
groaned.
“His hair? did you mark the colour?”
“It was like ze bear--what you call brown, ze brown of ze wood-nuts in
autumn!”
Brown! Dick Bracknell’s was brown, but then so was the hair of half the
Anglo-Saxon race!
As his mind clutched at this fact seeking escape from the awful
thought which was taking possession of it, he frowned.
“You know ze mans?” asked the half-breed.
“No!” he cried violently. “No!”
“All ze same,” said Chief Louis stolidly, “that mans he blow up ze
trail.”
And from that conclusion, at any rate, Roger Bracknell could find no
escape.
CHAPTER XIII
TWO PROPOSALS
THREE days after her visit to the theatre with Sir Joseph Rayner, Joy
Gargrave went north to Westmorland, accompanied by Miss La Farge. She
was staying with old friends a few miles from the home of Sir James
Bracknell at Harrow Fell, and her hostess, remembering Dick Bracknell’s
devotion to her, gossiped freely.
“You remember Sir James’ eldest son, the one whom we used to say ran on
your heels, Joy?”
“Yes,” answered Joy, in a voice that was not very encouraging.
“He went to the dogs--all the way. There was a bad scandal, and though
it was hushed up for Sir James’ sake, Dick Bracknell had to run the
country. No one knows where he is now or whether he is alive or dead,
but it is thought the latter; anyway, we are all beginning to look on
Geoffrey as the heir of Harrow Fell. He is coming over here at the
week-end for the final grouse-shoot of the season, and Adrian Rayner
is coming also. Your uncle fished for an invitation for him, and my
husband could not very well refuse, you know. I fancy,” she added with
a knowing little laugh, “it isn’t merely grouse he is after.”
Joy gave no sign of understanding, but when the week-end arrived,
bringing with it Adrian Rayner, she was left in no uncertainty as to
her cousin’s intentions. He haunted her steps. He was always at hand
with assistance which she did not want; and when Geoffrey Bracknell
also arrived, there was something like open rivalry between them. Her
friend and hostess laughed.
“You will have a brace of proposals before the shoot is over, Joy.”
“Not if I can help it,” answered Joy quickly.
“You will not be able to help it,” was the reply. “They are both
determined young men and their minds are made up.”
“So is mine,” replied Joy.
Yet it was as her hostess said. On the day of the shoot, Geoffrey
Bracknell walked with her across the moor towards the “butts” built
of turf and behind which they were to wait for the driven birds. They
reached her own shelter first, and as she dropped to an improvised
seat, Geoffrey Bracknell halted and looked down at her.
“Miss Gargrave, there is--er--something that I want to say, and
to--a--ask you.”
She looked up and met his honest eyes, eyes that to her mind recalled
not his brother, her husband, but the eyes of his cousin Corporal
Bracknell of the Mounted Police. What she read there brought a quick
flush to her face, and she hastily put up a protesting hand.
“Please, Mr. Bracknell, don’t! Don’t spoil our friendship!”
“Ah!” said the young man, his face paling a little, “you understand
what I want. Is it really quite impossible?”
“Yes,” she answered with directness, “it is quite impossible.”
Geoffrey Bracknell whistled softly to himself. He had suffered a
blow, but he strove to behave like a gentleman. “Then I am sorry
to have troubled you, Miss Gargrave. Of course I knew that I was
not--er--worthy--”
“Oh, it is not that,” she intervened in a distressed voice. “It
is--something else, it has nothing to do with you at all!”
“But it knocks me out!” he said trying to smile. “Well, it is the
fortune of war. I suppose that I shall have to persuade the governor
to let me go on a big game trip, now. That is, the proper thing to do
under the circumstances, isn’t it?”
Again she met his eyes, he was still smiling, but she could see the
effort it required. She held out a hand impulsively.
“Geoffrey,” she said, “don’t let this spoil your life, or our
friendship. I cannot now explain what makes my refusal imperative. Some
day I may be able to, and when I can I shall tell you, if you are still
my friend.”
“Then you’ll have to tell me,” he said frankly, “for I shall always
be that. Couldn’t be anything else, you know.... But there’s the
head-keeper signalling; I must move on to my own butt. Good hunting!”
He laughed with forced lightness and walked away. Joy watched him go
with pain at her heart. How like his cousin he was, and how unlike
his brother! She felt very sorry for the boy, and the incident had
disturbed her so much that she shot very badly. Again and again as the
birds came driving towards her she either didn’t fire or fired too
late, but from the butt where Geoffrey Bracknell waited, the shots
came at regular intervals, and she saw the birds drop every time. Then
a covey of grouse came driving with the wind straight towards her
neighbour’s shelter. She waited. There was a sharp report, and a sudden
cry, and the birds drove on. She looked towards the shelter. It was
almost in a line with her own, and she could see something lying on the
ground behind it. Another flock of birds drove down the wind, but there
was no shot from Geoffrey Bracknell’s gun. A sudden fear assailed her.
Leaving her own gun resting against the turf wall, she ran towards the
next butt. Before she reached it, she knew that something dreadful had
happened, for she could see that the young man was lying on his back in
the heather. She reached the shelter and a cry broke from her.
White faced and still, with a ghastly wound in his right temple,
Geoffrey Bracknell lay there, quite dead. As she looked at him, she had
no doubt whatever about the matter, and a great agony surged up in her
heart.
Had he--? Her eyes fell on the gun close by, and before the thought
which had assailed her was completed she knew that it was groundless.
The lock of the gun was blown out, and the base of both barrels was
fractured. It had been an accident.
“Thank God,” she whispered to herself, delivered from the fear which
had assailed her, “it was not--”
She dropped on her knees by his side and took his hand. It was already
cold, as she raised it to her lips.
“Poor boy! Poor boy!”
She was in tears as she rose from her knees, and began to walk towards
the next butt. The news spread quickly and the shoot was stopped, and
the body was taken first to the village, and later in the day to Harrow
Fell. And that night Joy’s hostess, discussing the tragedy, set a
problem before her, which kept her awake far into the night.
“Poor Sir James,” she said. “He is left without a child, for as I told
you no one knows anything at all about Dick Bracknell, and it doesn’t
matter very much whether he is alive or dead, to any one but his cousin
Roger, for he can never return to England.”
“To his cousin Roger,” echoed Joy, visioning the corporal, “why should
it matter to him?”
“Because if Dick is out of the way, Harrow Fell will pass to him on Sir
James’ death. The estates are entailed, you know.”
Instantly Joy saw the difficulties of the situation. Dick Bracknell
might be dead, or he might be very much alive. In the former case,
the way was quite clear for his cousin; but in the latter, there were
possibilities that filled her with dread. The corporal had left North
Star in an endeavour to solve the mystery of the disappearance of his
cousin’s body. If Dick Bracknell were yet alive and he overtook him,
he would probably try to effect his arrest, and if Dick resisted there
might be trouble, and possibly Corporal Bracknell might be driven
to have recourse to arms. Suppose he shot his cousin, and so, in
innocence, cleared his own way to the succession of Harrow Fell? Her
face clouded, and an anxious look came into her eyes. She was recalled
to herself by her hostess’s voice.
“A penny for your thoughts, Joy.”
Joy prevaricated a little. “I was thinking what a strange coil life
is!” she answered.
“In what way?”
“Well, the last person I spoke to, before I left North Star to come to
England, was Roger Bracknell!”
“Roger Bracknell!” echoed her hostess in surprise.
“Yes, he is in the Mounted Police, and, in the way of duty, he came to
North Star, three days or so before I left.”
“That is an odd coincidence,” was
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