<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="break">
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XII</h2>
<p class="pch">A DASTARDLY DEED</p>
<p class="drop-cap05"><span class="beg">“HOW!</span>”</p>
<p class="pn">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.</p>
<p>“No. Not dat! You damage ze leg, if you
touch. It vaire bad!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“How did I come here?”</p>
<p>“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!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>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?”</p>
<p>“At ze winter encampment of my people!” was
the reply.</p>
<p>“Of your people. Who are you then?”</p>
<p>“I am Chief Louis of ze Elkhorn tribe. You
hear of me, maybe?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” answered the corporal quickly. “Who is
there that has not?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“It ees not good to walk alone in ze North without
dogs an’ sled as Lagoun and Canim find you.”</p>
<p>“It is very bad,” laughed the policeman weakly.
“But part of my dogs were stolen from me, and
the others died.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Dat was clevaire to poison ze wolves, for dey
hav’ ze hunger-madness at dis time, ze mooze being
scarce in ze woods.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>For a little time Bracknell did not speak, then
he glanced down towards his leg, and asked, “Is
it very bad?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Two months. The ice will be breaking up by
then.”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“I was making for North Star Lodge in the first
instance. There, I hoped to get dogs to take me
to the police post.”</p>
<p>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?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Him die, oui,” was the brief reply.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Ah!” he commented. “You know how Rolf
Gargrave died!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“I not say so! But I tink an’ tink, an’ I tink
it was not good ze way Gargrave die. Non!”</p>
<p>Bracknell waited, but the half-breed did not continue,
and after a little time he said quietly, “Tell
me.”</p>
<p>“Not now. It is ze hour of ze evening meal;
an’ ze tale will keep. I tell you anoder time.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>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—</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Suddenly the half-breed leaned forward and said
abruptly—</p>
<p>“Ze bottom nevaire drop out of ze trail under
Rolf Gargrave!”</p>
<p>“No?” The corporal’s voice was eager and his
manner alert.</p>
<p>“It was blown out!”</p>
<p>“Blown out! What on earth do you mean,
Louis?”</p>
<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</SPAN></span>
ze like, and I agree, and send two men of ze tribe
with him to find Gargrave of North Star.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Pass it?” cried the corporal in astonishment.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</SPAN></span>
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....</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“‘We hav’ missed him,’ he say. ‘We return to
Dawson.’</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“But what makes you so sure?” he asked at last.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Ah!”</p>
<p>“You know what dat is? You hav’ before it
seen?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” answered Bracknell quickly. “It is dynamite.
How did you come by it?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“Upon my word, Louis, I believe you are right.”</p>
<p>“Dere is no question. It is so sure as ze rising
of ze sun!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Louis,” he asked abruptly, “what sort of a man
was he whom Paslik and Sibou served?”</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>The description was not very illuminating, and
the policeman almost groaned.</p>
<p>“His hair? did you mark the colour?”</p>
<p>“It was like ze bear—what you call brown, ze
brown of ze wood-nuts in autumn!”</p>
<p>Brown! Dick Bracknell’s was brown, but then
so was the hair of half the Anglo-Saxon race!</p>
<p>As his mind clutched at this fact seeking escape<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</SPAN></span>
from the awful thought which was taking possession
of it, he frowned.</p>
<p>“You know ze mans?” asked the half-breed.</p>
<p>“No!” he cried violently. “No!”</p>
<p>“All ze same,” said Chief Louis stolidly, “that
mans he blow up ze trail.”</p>
<p>And from that conclusion, at any rate, Roger
Bracknell could find no escape.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />