“SIBOU there is some one coming up the trail!” As he spoke to his native companion, Corporal Bracknell pointed down the river. The Indian paused in the very midst of what he was doing, and looked in the direction indicated, then he nodded, and in his own speech replied—

“Yes, one man and a dog-team.”

“I wonder if by any chance it can be the man we are looking for, the man who was with you when the trail was destroyed before Rolf Gargrave.”

“Who can say?” answered the Indian. “He has been long on the trail. He marches wearily.”

“It will be as well to take no chances. If he sees our fire he is almost certain to make for it, and if we go back in the trees a little way we shall be able to inspect him before he sees us. Then if he is our man——”

“We shall get him? Yes! And we will take him down to the Great White Chief at Regina, who will hang him. It is good. See, he has seen the fire, he is turning inward to this bank.”

“Then we will withdraw.”

Corporal Bracknell stretched a hand for his rifle, and together they retreated to the undergrowth[246] behind their camp, where, crouching low, they watched the advent of the stranger. As the new-comer’s dogs moved shorewards they began to yelp, and their own dogs, leaping up, gave tongue menacingly. The driver of the team, however, moved in front, and as one of the huskies flung itself upon the harnessed dogs, brought the stock of his whip down so smartly on it, that, yelping agony, it retreated. The rest of the corporal’s dogs, undeterred, sprang forward, and for a moment the new-comer was the centre of a huddled tangle of snarling and yelping dogs. He laid about him valiantly with his clubbed whip, but the brutes were too much for him, and at last he cried aloud for help. At the cry Sibou rose suddenly to his feet.

“That not white man,” he said. “He Indian!”

Thus assured Bracknell and he ran to the help of the new-comer, and within two minutes the tangle of dogs was separated, and the three men found time to look at each other. As the stranger’s eyes fell on the corporal, he gave a sudden cry of joy and relief, and ran to him.

“You know me! I come from North Star. I Jim, Miss Gargrave’s man!”

The corporal looked at him and then recognized him.

“Yes,” he said, “I know you. You are Indian George’s son. What——”

He was interrupted by a stream of words, half incoherent, half intelligible, which, as it flowed on, made his face go very white. He listened carefully, trying to get a clear idea of the story which the lad was telling him, and as it ended he nodded.

[247]

“I think I understand what you are trying to tell me, Jim. Some one has killed your father. Some one fired a gun at you, and you are afraid for your mistress and Miss La Farge and you want me to help. That is so? Very good! We are just about to have supper and you will join us. We will eat first, and afterwards talk. I have no doubt you are very impatient, but your dogs are fagged and so are mine. It is impossible to travel until they have rested. Feed your dogs and come along.”

Himself the prey of consuming anxiety, he helped to prepare the evening meal, forced himself to eat, and not until he had lit his pipe did he refer to the story which the Indian lad had told him so incoherently.

“Now, Jim,” he said, “let us get at the facts if we can. You say that your mistress and Miss La Farge are here in the North, and that they are on trail?”

“Yes, sir!”

“But I thought they were in England?”

“They returned suddenly, fourteen days ago!”

“But what were they doing on trail, so far from home, with the spring coming?”

“I do not know clearly. But they were looking for you. They had news for you. More than that was not told my father.”

“And you say that yester morning a strange Indian came to your camp with a message from a white man?”

“Yes. The white man was sick. He desired to talk with Miss Gargrave; so whilst we—my father[248] and I struck camp, Miss La Farge and my mistress went to the cabin which was on a creek——”

“Ah!” interrupted the corporal. “Was it on the left bank?”

“Yes! The left bank. The word was that we should pack and bring the dogs and the sled to the mouth of the creek there to wait for Miss Gargrave. We did so, and were standing, stamping our feet for warmth, when my father gave a cry like that of a man whom death strikes and fell into the snow. I was a little way from him, and ran towards him. As I reached him his spirit passed, and looking down I saw that he had been struck with an arrow.”

“Indians!” ejaculated the corporal.

“I cannot tell. I looked about and I saw three men in the shadow of the wood. Their faces were hidden from me, and I could not see them clearly. One carried a rifle which he fired at me. Our rifles, mine and that of my father, were lashed on the sled and I was helpless.”

“What did you do?” asked the corporal.

“I lashed the dogs and fled, clinging to the gee-pole. The trail was good and I made speed. It was in my mind that the man with the rifle would fire again, but he did not do so, though twice or thrice arrows fell near me, and I knew that I was followed. It was in my mind that when the pursuit was over I would go back, and I made for the woods on the further side of the river, and when darkness came I crept down the trail, and leaving my dogs crossed the river to the creek.”

“Yes? Yes? What did you find?”

[249]

“I found my father’s body gone, and at the head of the creek opposite a cabin a camp was pitched and a fire lighted, and whilst I watched a man left the camp and went towards the cabin. I could not see what he did, but it is in my mind that the men in the camp keep watch on the cabin.”

“And your mistress? Did you see anything of her?”

“Nothing, but my mind says she is in the cabin, for it was thither she went to see the sick white man. I thought once to attack the camp, but the men there are three, and I am but a stripling and unused to battle. Then I bethought me of Indians who live up the river. They are not good Indians, but my father was known to them and I thought that maybe they might give help. I was on my way there, when I caught the light of your fire, and came here, hoping to find a white man, and I find you. It is very good. You will go back? You will help?”

“Yes—I shall go back. I shall help. We must save your mistress. I know the cabin on the creek and I know the sick man whom she went to see; and I do not think she will come to any harm in that quarter. But the men in the camp, who, as you think, watch the cabin, are different. There is something there that I do not understand. But we will find out ... we will rest now, and in four hours we start. I will feed the dogs again now, for there is a hard journey before us. The wind has changed and the trail will soften in the morning.”

“Yes. It is from the south. The spring is[250] knocking at the door, and in a week the ice will grow rotten, but before then we will find my mistress!”

“Yes,” answered the corporal simply. “We will find her.”

The Indian had disposed his blankets near the fire and within five minutes was sound asleep. A little time later Sibou also slept, but Corporal Bracknell made no attempt to close his eyes, since he knew that for him sleep was impossible. He lit his pipe, and sat staring into the fire, the prey of gnawing anxiety. The mystery of the men in the camp who watched Dick Bracknell’s cabin, utterly confounded him. Were they men whom his cousin had wronged during his none too scrupulous career in the North? That was just possible. Daily, men in those wild latitudes took the law into their own hands, enforcing verdicts that not infrequently were more just than those of the law itself. Were these men of that type? Then his mind dismissed the suggestion. In that case why had they killed George, and attacked his son, the lad who, overborne by his labours, was now sleeping there on the other side of the fire?

They might be roving Indians. The use of arrows suggested that, but one had a rifle—— Suddenly he sat bolt upright, his eyes staring widely, as another possibility flashed through his mind.

“Adrian Rayner!”

He was appalled at the thought, but the more he dwelt upon it, the stronger his suspicion grew. Adrian Rayner was in the North and he had two Indians with him, “bad men,” as Chief Louis had[251] said. The corporal was morally certain that Rayner was the man who had made the attempt on Dick Bracknell at North Star; and if he knew that he were still alive, what more likely than that he should make a second attempt? There was nothing surprising about that, but the attack on Joy Gargrave’s party was something that passed his comprehension altogether. Try as he would he could find no sufficient explanation for that, the one possibility that presented itself to his mind being that Adrian Rayner was for some reason anxious to make Joy dependent upon himself, and so had deliberately set out to destroy her escort. Then the thought suggested itself to him that after all he might be building on a false assumption. The man responsible for the death of George, and for the attack on the cabin, might not be Rayner at all.

Res............