DURING the weeks of his convalescence in Chief Louis’ smoking tepee, Roger Bracknell spent much of his time in reflecting on the news which the chief had given him. Reviewing the story calmly and dispassionately, he could find nothing to weaken the conclusion which the half-breed himself had reached. The dynamite and the winter thunder, with the description of the broken trail and the strange conduct of the unknown man in deliberately over-running Rolf Gargrave’s camp, were almost conclusive evidence. Some one had planned that Rolf Gargrave should die; and his death had been as surely a murder as if the man who had planned it had taken a rifle with which to do the deed. Who was the man?

As often as he asked himself this question, the corporal found his thoughts reverting to his cousin. Had Dick Bracknell, having married Rolf Gargrave’s daughter, deliberately planned the murder of the millionaire? His heart revolted at the thought, but he could not escape from it. Dick had been hard pressed. He was already a fugitive from justice when he had arrived in the North and, so far as the corporal knew, that arrival had been a secret one. He would be quite unknown—even to Rolf Gargrave. No one would suspect him,[175] and the plan he had chosen was itself so novel, that but for the Indians noticing his absence from the camp, and carrying the sticks of dynamite back to Chief Louis, it must have escaped detection.

The more the corporal thought of it, the more black seemed the case against his cousin. Rolf Gargrave was a clever man, and powerful, and he had had his own plans for his daughter. Dick Bracknell must have known that when he heard how Joy had been trapped into marriage, he would be very wrathful, and calculating on the father’s intervention he must have decided to get rid of him, in the hope of sooner or later trading upon Joy’s inexperience of the world. One day, whilst he was reflecting on the problem, unable to touch certainty anywhere, a thought occurred to him, and when Chief Louis entered the tepee he promptly asked a question—

“Louis, when was it that the stranger called at your camp for guides to help him to find Rolf Gargrave? I mean what time of the year was it?”

The chief considered for a moment. Then he answered gravely. “It was two moons before ze ice break up.”

“You are sure?” asked the corporal.

“Certain!”

“That would be March or a little later,” said the corporal thoughtfully. “And Dick fled from England about Christmas. If he came straight through he might do it comfortably.”

“Dick! Who ees dat?” asked the chief quickly.

“He is the one man I know who may have been interested in Rolf Gargrave’s death. You may[176] have heard of him? He is known in the North as Koona Dick!”

“I hav’ not him seen, unless he vas ze stranger mans who come to my camp dat day. But of him I hav’ heard. He is bad mans, he want shooting. He sell whiskey—mooch whiskey, to ze Porcupine Sticks, an’ dey fight till seven be dead in ze snow. Also he take their catch of fur for ze whiskey, an’ when ze winter it come, dey freeze, an’ ze babes die. Yes, of him, I have heard, an’ he is very bad mans. So he is ze mans dat come to my lodges dat day, an’ dat blow up ze trail for Rolf Gargrave so dat he die.”

“I have not said so yet,” answered the corporal thoughtfully, “but I am afraid that there can be little question of it. Some day when I meet him I shall put the question to him plainly, and learn the truth.”

“You know dis mans, Koona Dick?”

“Yes! He is my cousin.”

As he received the information the half-breed flashed a quick glance of sympathy.

“Le diable!” he said. “Dat is strange. But so it does befall. One pup of ze litter he ees a good dog, and he grows to ze collar-work naturally; but anoder he is bad, he snarl like ze wolf, he is a thief, he will not do ze work. So is it with ze sled-dogs and with men! It is passing strange, but I hev’ often beheld it, and it is so!”

The corporal nodded his assent. He had often wondered at the crooked strain which had sent his cousin on wild courses to dishonour, but could find no consolation in the thought that given certain[177] circumstances the way of dishonour was almost inevitable. He rose from the couch of skins, and moving stiffly towards the fire, thrust in a spruce twig, and with it lit his pipe. Then he turned to the chief.

“I wonder how soon I shall be able to take the trail, Louis?”

The half-breed shook his head. “Not yet. Ze leg dat hav’ been broken, it is not good for snow-shoe work. No! It ache like le diable! You must wait—wait till ze ice break up, then you go down ze river in a canoe. Dat will be ze easy way. Yes.”

A mutinous look came on Roger Bracknell’s face. Having so long lived an active life, he was growing tired of the monotony of the encampment, and as he felt the strength returning to his leg was more and more inclined to make the attempt to reach civilization as represented by the police-post. There was news to send to Joy Gargrave, news that might profoundly affect her life, and it was desirable that she should receive it at the earliest possible moment.

“I do not think that I shall wait until then, Louis. They will give me up for lost, at the post, and besides I have news for a certain person—”

“Is the news good?” interrupted the chief. For a moment the corporal did not reply. Was the news he had to send Joy Gargrave good? In one way, yes! It would suffice to remove any lingering doubt as to the effect of the shot that she had fired when she had gone to meet Dick Bracknell in the[178] wood. He would be able to assure her, on the evidence of Dick himself, that she was not responsible for the mischief that had been done. That assurance, as he knew, would mean the lifting of a weight of apprehension from Joy’s heart. In another way, however, the news was bad. Dick Bracknell was still alive, and that meant that she was still bound to him, and that on the first favourable opportunity he might assert himself. His mind was still balancing the good and evil of the case, when Louis, who had been watching his face, spoke again.

“There is no need to speak. Ze news it is not good! Therefore there is not any cause for haste. Ill news does not grow worse for keeping, and the trail it is bad these days, for there is mooch snow.”

“Nevertheless, I shall make the endeavour, Louis! I will borrow a man and a dog team and meat from you, and in one week I will take the trail. If I find it too much for me, I can return.”

The chief nodded. “As you please. Ze dogs are yours, also ze meat an ze mans, though ze hunters are from ze camp just now. But if you mus’ go, you mus’. It is le diable in ze race that drives you forth, corp’ral.”

“The devil in the race?” laughed Bracknell. “I do not understand, Louis. What do you mean?”

“I mean ze unrest that dwells in ze men of your tribe. It drives them forth, for good or ill, to ze conquest of ze lands. It makes them seek ze stick which runs through ze earth——”

[179]

“The pole, you mean, Louis.”

“Ze pole, yes! And when got, what good? It makes them dat they cannot sit by ze fires in warm tepees, but must go hunt ze bald-faced bear, or dig ze frozen earth for gold dat somewhere white squaw may fling it from ze window.”

“Yes!” laughed the corporal. “You put the truth—rather brutally. We are rather given that way. But it isn’t the devil, Louis, it is the genius and instinct of our race for conquest that drives us—that and the dream of the home-woman, I suppose.”

Chief Louis nodded. “Oui! maybe; and you haf’ ze dream corp’ral.”

Corporal Bracknell stopped his perambulation of the hut, and stared at his companion.

“Now how the dickens do you know that, Louis?”

“I have seen it in your eyes. You speak of Rolf Gargrave, an’ twice, only twice you hav’ speak of Gargrave’s daughter, but there were dreams in ze eyes then, and a soft note in ze voice, and I know dat she is what you call ze home-woman. Oui! I know dat is so.”

The corporal’s face flushed, and he did not deny it. For one moment as he stood there, he had a vision of Joy Gargrave, young and beautiful and a fit mate for any man, and in that moment there were dreams in his eyes. Three seconds later realities asserted themselves, and the soft light ............