CORPORAL BRACKNELL and Sibou had left the hunting camp of the tribe two days and were following the trail of the white man and the two Indians who had visited it more than a week before. The trail, though it was old, was well defined, for there had been no fall of snow in the interval, and the frozen surface of the wilderness kept the trail fresh, and made it easy to follow. It was evident to both of them that their quarry travelled fast, for the distances between the camping places were greater than was usual, and it was clear that those whom they followed had some need for haste. What it could be the corporal could only guess, and guessing under the circumstances was not a very profitable occupation. And there were other signs which gave room for speculation. Now and again the party ahead of them had halted for a little time, and two of the men had left the dogs and the sled, as their tracks showed. These halting places, as the corporal was quick to observe, always occurred when some small stream fell into the main river, or when some accessible gully or creek opened from the banks.

“What do you make of it, Sibou?” he asked when they had reached the fifth halting place of this sort.

[187]

The Indian who had followed the tracks of two of the gullies to the point where they reversed glanced at those which now lay before them. Then he waved a mittened hand.

“These men be looking for something.”

“Or some one!” commented the corporal thoughtfully.

The Indian gave a grave inclination of his head. “It is not good to follow every trail,” he said in his own tongue. “Sometime perhaps we shall find a trail that does not return on itself, then we know they find what they seek and we follow.”

“Yes,” answered the corporal, “that is the best way, I think. We will push on and not waste time on these excursions.”

They pressed forward and passed two more of these deviations from the main track without troubling to follow them. Just before daylight faded, when they were hugging the bank looking for a suitable camping place, the Indian called the corporal’s attention to a small creek the entrance to which was masked by low-boughed spruce trees.

“Yes,” said the corporal, “that should do. Those banks and trees should break this wind.”

They turned the dogs towards it, and negotiating a snow wreath which the wind was piling up, they entered the sheltering creek. Sibou was leading, packing the trail, and the corporal clinging to the gee-pole of the sled, saw him come to a most unexpected halt. Bracknell moved forward.

“What is the matter, Sibou?”

The Indian did not speak, but pointed silently at the snow, and looking down the corporal saw[188] the unmistakable trail of snowshoes. The tracks were quite fresh, and were so unexpected that Bracknell was himself astonished. He stared at them as Crusoe must have stared when he found the footprints on the shore of his island. Who had left that tell-tale trail? Perhaps a wandering Indian. Maybe some solitary prospector caught by winter, or possibly the man whom he was seeking, the murderer of Rolf Gargrave. His heart beat quickly at the thought and, still staring at the trail which came down the bank of the creek and then turned away from the river, he considered the matter carefully, and then gave instructions.

“Follow it, Sibou, and find out where it goes and who made it. I will pitch camp and wait here for you.”

The Indian nodded gravely and departed and Bracknell busied himself with pitching camp. He had already lit the fire and fed the dogs, and was busy with the beans and bacon when Sibou returned.

“Well?” asked the corporal expectantly. “Did you find him?”

“Yes,” was the reply. “There is one Indian and one white man. They are in a cabin at the head of the creek.”

Bracknell was conscious of a sudden excitement.

“Did you see the white man? Is it——”

Sibou shook his head. “I saw him, but it is not the man we follow; and he is very sick with the coughing sickness!”

The corporal’s excitement died as quickly as it had risen.

[189]

“Did you speak with him, Sibou?”

“No,” replied the Indian. “There was no need. I saw his face as he came to the cabin door. It is not the man.”

Corporal Bracknell bent over the fire. He was disappointed, but he did not show it. He turned the bacon in the pan then he looked up.

“We will have supper first, then I will walk up the creek as far as the cabin, and have a talk with this white man. He may know something of the man we follow.”

Sibou made no reply, and when the meal was ready they ate it in silence, and smoked whilst they drank the coffee. Then Bracknell arose.

“I go now, Sibou. I shall return before sleeping time.”

The Indian offered no objection to this, and knocking the ashes from his pipe the policeman left the camp. Even in the darkness he had no difficulty in following the trail up the creek, and presently the smell of burning wood informed him that he was in the neighbourhood of the cabin. He looked round carefully and descried it in the shadow of the trees on the right bank, and began to ascend towards it. When he reached it there was no clamour of dogs such as might have been expected had there been a team there, and as he rapped upon the door, he reflected that his conjecture about the gold prospector overtaken by the winter was probably the correct one.

The door was flung open, and a tall man whose face he could not discern stood revealed. Inside in front of a makeshift stove was another man,[190] who was taken suddenly by a paroxysm of coughing. For half a minute the corporal stood there, and the man at the door did not move or speak; but at the end of that time, between two spasms of coughing, the other man cried querulously, “Oh, come in and shut that confounded door!”

The man at the door moved aside, and as Bracknell entered, he closed the door behind him, and stood with his back to it, staring at the new-comer with eyes that had in them a savage gleam of hate. The man by the fire was still coughing, and at the end of some three minutes, as the cough left him, he sat there, gasping and wheezing and utterly exhausted. Roger Bracknell watched him, with compassionate eyes. As he recognized, the man was in sore straits, and that cough probably meant that the coming of the Spring was for him the coming of death. As his breath came back the sick man half turned.

“Sit down, can’t——” The remark was broken off half way, and the man started from his seat. “Great Christopher! A Daniel come to judgment! How do you do, Cousin Roger?”

As the voice quivering with excitement rang through the cabin, a startled look came on Roger Bracknell’s face, and he bent forward, and stared at the wasted features of the unkempt man before him. The other laughed harshly.

“Oh, you needn’t stare so hard, Roger; it is I right enough.”

It was Dick Bracknell, and as the corporal realized the fact, the compassion he had felt for a stranger was trebled when he found that the sick[191] man was of his own blood. For a moment he did not reply, but with a shocked look on his face gazed at the ravaged features before him. The “coughing sickness” which Sibou had mentioned had plainly gripped Dick Bracknell and marked him for death. Some of his teeth were gone and the colour of his gums appeared like yellow ochre in the firelight. As he noted these signs of scurvy, the corporal was moved to speak his pity.

“Dick, old man, I am mortal sorry——”

“Then keep your infernal pity for yourself!” cried the other savagely. “You’ll need it all in a minute, for Joe has the drop on you, you—— murderer.”

The corporal started, and swung round. The Indian, Joe, was standing with his back to the door, and the glow of the fire was reflected from the pistol in his hand. He noted the fact quite calmly, and turned to his cousin again.

“Murderer?” he said slowly. “I do not understand. What do you mean?”

“No?” snarled his cousin. “Well, look at me! Would you say that I was a good case for a Life Insurance Society?”

The corporal looked at him, and out of pity was silent.

“Oh, you needn’t be so particular,” continued the other sneeringly. “I’ve seen other fellows whose lungs have been chilled, and I know I am booked, unless I can get to a sanatorium in double quick time. And I know you have a soft heart, but you should have let it speak sooner—before you put this upon me.”

[192]

“Before I put—— I do not know what you mean?”

“No! But you know that you poisoned that dog food that we took from you, don’t you? And you can guess——”

“Good God!” ejaculated the corporal, and the astonishment in his face and voice did more than any protests could have done to convince his cousin that the charge was groundless.

“You didn’t know? No, I see you didn’t!” cried the sick man.

“Of course I didn’t!” replied the policeman quickly. “The dogs you left me died of poison at my first camp, after they had been fed. I blamed your man, because you had told me that he was reluctant to let me go. Now it seems that I was wrong, as you are wrong. Tell me what happened?”

“I will,” said his cousin, “sit down!” As the corporal seated hi............