“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!”

[130]

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.”

[131]

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!”

[132]

“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.

[133]

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.

[134]

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.
............