CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XA DESPERATE SITUATIONAN HOUR LATERRoger Bracknell started on his way back to the police-post, in a not very happy frame of mind. The chief of Fort Pilgrim was a man with little tolerance for failure, and the corporal knew that when he made his report it would be received with frowns. That was inevitable, but there was nothing for it but to return. His cousin and the Indian Joe had taken very effective measures to prevent him following on their trail when they had left him with a depleted dog-team and with only sufficient rations to carry him as far as North Star Lodge. Sorry as he was for his cousin he yet resented the action which had left him helpless, and his failure rankled as he swung steadily forward on the southward trail. Before the end of the day, however, a thought came to him. Duty was duty, and if he could reach North Star Lodge, there would be dogs there, and he could requisition them in the King’s name, and return to the pursuit. It did not seem a very nice thing to contemplate, but his oath of service left him no option, whilst the officer at Fort Pilgrim was bound to look askance at the whole affair, if he returned to explain that Koona Dick was his cousin, and that he had escaped him. Besides, there was Joy to consider. She could never be safe from molestationwhilst Dick Bracknell was at large. It was even possible that the latter, finding the Territory growing too hot for him, might venture to follow her to England, and as her husband claim his rights. That must be prevented at all costs, even at the cost of Dick suffering incarceration in the penal prison at Stony Mountain.The end of the day, however, brought an unlooked-for event, which made an end of these half-formed plans. He had camped for the night, and having fed his dogs with the dried salmon-roe which formed their staple food, was preparing his own meal, when one of the animals gave a sudden sharp howl of pain. He looked hastily round, and saw the dog twisted in some kind of spasm, its backbone arched, its legs jerking in a strange fashion. He went to it, and as he approached the spasm ended, and the dog lay in the snow completely exhausted. He was stooping over it, wondering what was the matter when the other two dogs howled simultaneously, and he turned swiftly to see one of them leap straight in the air, and in a moment both of them were in spasms similar to the one he had already witnessed, and before his eyes one of them curled up like a bow, then suddenly relaxed, and lay stark and dead.A dark suspicion shot through his mind, as he jerked himself upright. The first dog was plainly at the point of death, whilst the third was twisted by spasms that could have but one ending. He knew that there could be no recovery, that he could do nothing for them, and in a swift impulse of mercy he drew his pistol and shot them. Then he strodeto the sled, and lifting the small bale of dog food carried it to the fire, and by the flames of the burning pine examined it carefully. He had not to look long before he came upon some small white crystals in the creases of the roe. They might be snow, they might be frost crystals, but he did not think that they were either, and selecting one of the smallest of the white specks he placed it on his tongue. It was exceedingly bitter in taste.“Strychnine!” he cried aloud, and then stood looking at the dead dogs with horror shining in his eyes. As he stood there one question was beating in his brain. “Who has done this thing? Who? Who?”His thoughts flew back to his cousin. Had he—No! He could not believe that; for whoever had placed the strychnine in the dog food, had callously planned to murder him. And bad as Dick Bracknell was, the corporal felt that his cousin would not have done a thing like this.“There’s that Indian—Joe,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From what Dick said he was afraid of me ... and he would have disposed of me at the beginning if he had had his way!” He was silent for a little time, then he nodded his head. “Yes! The Indian did it without Dick’s knowledge.”For the moment he refused to think further about the matter. About him was the gloom of the pines, with their pall of snow, and everywhere the terrible silence of the North. Alone and without dogs to carry his stores, the situation was altogether desperate; and to reflect upon it overmuchwas to court madness. So he put the thought of it from him for the time being, and after dragging the dead dogs into the shadow of the forest, resumed the preparation of his evening meal. When he had eaten it, he erected a wind-screen, and lying in his sleeping bag, with his feet to the fire, lighted a pipe, and once more considered the problem before him.It was at least four days’ journey to North Star Lodge, probably five or six, since he would have to carry the necessaries of life himself, and so burdened would not be able to travel fast. There was food for four days on the sled, and to make sure of reaching North Star, he would have to put himself on rations, and travel as fast as he could. Barring accidents there was an even chance of his getting through, but if any ill-chance arose then—He did not finish the thought. Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stretched himself down in the sleeping berth, and presently fell asleep.When he awoke it was still dark, and the fire was burning low. He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock. He stretched himself a little, and thrusting his arm out of the sleeping bag, he threw a couple of spruce boughs on the fire. The resinous wood quickly caught, and as it flared up he looked round. On the edge of the circle of light, which his fire cut out of the darkness, something caught his eye. He looked again. Two tiny globes of light, about three feet above the ground, appeared to be suspended on nothing. He watched them steadily, and for the briefest moment of time, saw them eclipsed, then they reappeared. He looked further. There were other twin globes of light,scattered all round, and, as the spruce crackled into flame, he caught sight of an animal’s head, and the outline of its form.“Timber-wolves!” he whispered to himself.Feeling for his automatic pistol, he lay waiting his opportunity. Undoubtedly, the bodies of his dead dogs had already served the savage beasts for a meal, and now they were watching him, perhaps already counting him their prey.He did not feel particularly afraid. He knew that the wolf is really a coward, and that unless driven by hunger, it seldom attacks man, but all the same he thought it wise to teach the beast a lesson. So when the shadowy form of one of the beasts moved, he sighted and fired. The wolf gave a yelp, jumped clean in the air, and dropped dead well within the circle of firelight. He looked round again. The watching eyes in the darkness had disappeared. Presently however they returned, and lying perfectly still, he saw a gaunt dog wolf slink out of the shadows towards its dead comrade, and fall on it with its teeth. Another followed and another, and a moment later there was a snarling tangle of furry beasts where the dead wolf had been.“Phew!” he whistled to himself, as he noted their disregard of the firelight, “they’re mad with hunger!”He emptied his pistol into the bunch, and the pack fell back, leaving three of its number dead in the snow. Of the first wolf nothing remained but the skull and tail. Behind the trees the snarling and yelping continued, and as he crept out of hissleeping bag, he conjectured that others of the beasts had been injured by his shots, and were falling a prey to their hungry companions. There was a serious look upon his face, as, crossing to the other side of the fire, he picked up the dead wolves, and one by one flung them into the darkness, where as his ears assured him they also became food for their famished pack-mates.He had meant to commence his journey at an early hour, but the presence of the wolf-pack forced him to reconsider his plans, and to delay until dawn. The interval he filled in by packing his stores in a convenient form for carrying, and with the aid of things from the sled and his sleeping bag he devised a knapsack, which whilst it bulked large was not really heavy. Then he breakfasted, and that done, as the dawn broke, looked round once more. On one side of him the wolves were still in the shadows of the trees, and as he turned to look on the other, his eye caught the package of poisoned salmon roe, which was still upon the sledge. A thought struck him.“The very thing!” he muttered, and going to the sled, he broke up the food with an ax and then scattered it in small portions about the camping place.“I shall bag some of them for certain,” he said, as he saw the wolves watching him. “When they find it they’ll bolt it like one o’clock.”The day had well broken when, adjusting his snowshoes, he shouldered his pack, and stepped out on the trail. None of the wolves were now in sight, but he had gone only a little way, when a sharp howl behind him, told him that they were stillabout. He looked back. A little spur of trees on the bank hid his late camp, but as he glanced back, a wolf leaped on the ice, ran howling a short way, then dropped in the snow. Other yelps of pain came from behind the screen of trees, and as the sounds reached him a sigh of satisfaction came in his eyes.“It’s working like a charm,” he said to himself. “There’s an end of Mr. Wolf for this trip, I fancy.”As he journed he kept a sharp look out, turning frequently to observe the trail behind him. Not a single wolf appeared, and through the short day he marched on, the solitary living thing in a landscape that was unutterably forlorn and desolate. The quick night drew on, and he decided to camp. Halting in a sheltered cove he felled a small spruce, gathered some dry twigs and built himself a fire, then he thrust his hand to his tunic pocket for matches. They were gone. He had lost them. For a minute or two he was filled with dismay, and real terror clutched at his heart-strings, for to be without means of making a fire in the desolate Northland, is to have entered the valley of the shadow of death.Then he recalled an old device of the Voyageurs, and proceeded to put it into execution. With his jack knife he cut some thin shavings of spruce, mixed them with a handful of dead lichen scraped from trees, and biting the bullets from a couple of cartridges shook the powder of one over the little heap that he had made, and with that from the other cartridge made a short train. Then he fired his pistol to light the train. The powder caught,spluttered and burned out without lighting the lichen and the pine-shavings, and the operation had to be performed three times before it was successful. He built up his fire, and when it was well going, and he was congratulating himself on his success a thought struck him. Hastily he examined his bandolier. He had but three cartridges left.As he weighed the metal shells in his hand, his face grew very serious. Each of them carried a message of death, but to him, as his sole means of making a fire, they were to him the bridge of life, and a precarious bridge at that. With at least three camps to make before he reached North Star Lodge, he recognized that the chances were almost desperate, and that only care and skill and a large slice of luck could carry him through. Very carefully he stowed the cartridges where they would be safe against damp or accidental loss, and then proceeded to cook his meal.The next morning he started an hour before dawn. Light snow was falling, but he could not afford to regard that, and on snowshoes he pressed forward steadily. It began to blow, and he sought the lee of the river-bank for shelter, then that happened which put a term to his journey. A great tree, well up the bank, collapsed under its weight of snow. Roger Bracknell caught the rending sound of its fall and instinctively leaped aside, but the snowshoes embarrassed him and he fell. A bough of the falling tree alighted on his right leg, snapping it like a pipestem, and pinning him down in the snow.Under the first shock of pain, he almost fainted,but in a minute or two recovered himself sufficiently to take stock of the situation. It was, as he instantly recognized, very desperate. He sat up, and tried to move the weight from his leg. The bough which held him fast was not a very thick one, but the weight of the tree was behind it, and with his hatchet he began to cut through the branch. Every stroke he made jarred him terribly, and more than once he had to desist, but at last the bough parted, and he was able to push the weight from his leg. He was, however, in little better case, since he could not stand upright; and to crawl would have been futile, even if the deepening snow had allowed the possibility of doing so.He looked round, and through the falling snow caught sight of the sombre pinewoods. They had a funereal look, and in their shadows brooded the menace of the North, which had surely overtaken him at last. Death was staring him in the eyes. He took out his pocket book, and made shift to write a note to his superior down at the Post. Then he took out his pistol, and loaded it with one of the cartridges that had held his life, but which now carried only death, swift and merciful. It was no use waiting. He held the pistol ready, and for a moment his thoughts strayed to Joy Gargrave. Would she ever hear? Would she guess that he—His thoughts broke off suddenly. Through the gloom of the falling snow he caught a sound of voices. Some one, it seemed, was urging a dog-team to greater efforts. Was he dreaming? He listened carefully. No! There it was again, andwith it came the yelp of a dog cut by a whip. A great wave of thankfulness rolled over him. He shouted and fired his pistol in the air. A moment later came an answering shout, and he called back again. Presently, out of the snow-murk emerged the forms of two men—Indians, and as they bent over him he lapsed into unconsciousness.CHAPTER XIAN OLD ACQUAINTANCESIR JOSEPH RAYNER, as a solicitor, was at the very head of his profession, and was supposed to be trusted with more family secrets than any other man in England. The confidence in him was extraordinary, but no one could be found to urge that it was not merited, and it was notorious that he had averted more scandals and saved more reputations than any other half dozen men in his profession. Erring husbands, and wives deeply wronged, sought his advice, and to the husbands he was a man of the world, and to the wives a sympathetic counsellor, always against the extreme remedy of the divorce courts. To prodigal sons he was the dispenser of paternal allowances, and to the men caught in the toils of the blackmailer he was like a delivering providence. As a family solicitor he was unsurpassed, discreet as a cabinet minister at question time, and as secret as the grave. And in spite of his burden of secrets, usually as he walked abroad among men, he wore a jaunty air, as befitted a man with not a trouble of his own in the wide world.But one winter morning as he sat in his private office his brow was black with care, and his demeanour was as far removed as possible from the gayone which his confreres knew. Before him was a small ledger with a lock upon it, and a number of documents, and as he bent over them, from time to time he wrote figures upon a sheet of foolscap. Presently he began to add up the figures, and that done sat staring at the total.“Ninety-seven thousand,” he whispered to himself. “God! If anything were to come out!”He sat looking at the figures, tapping softly with his pencil, something like despair shining in his eyes.“Suppose Adrian’s fine scheme goes awry? Or suppose Joy refuses to sign?”He rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro, in the manner of a man whom nervousness has made restless. Once he stopped and glanced at the ledger, then nodded his head.“The others will be all right, if——”The whirr of the telephone bell on his desk interrupted his thoughts. Frowningly he picked up the receiver, and gave the stereotyped “Hallo!”“Is that really you, Adrian? I didn’t know you had arrived.... Last night you say.... I didn’t get your telegram. I was dining with the Chancellor, and went on to the theatre afterwards.... Yes, you are in time, though I have been praying for your arrival for days. Things are very tight, and that banker is getting nervous.... Yes, the sooner the better. In half an hour? That will do very nicely. I shall expect you both without fail. How goes your matrimonial scheme?... Um! Hangs fire a little does it, but you’re certain of the end. Well the earlier it is arranged, the better I shall be pleased. My nerves are not what they were. Butwe can talk the whole business over later. Thank heaven, I’m her guardian, and there’s only my consent to be obtained. What sort of a savage has she become in these three years?”As he listened to the reply to his last question a cynical smile came on his face. “Sounds as if you had fallen in love!... You have, hey? Well, well (he laughed a little), love is as good a qualification for matrimony as anything I know, except a thundering big bank account.... Yes, yes, I know.... I shall be waiting. That’s all, I think.”Putting down the receiver, he began to gather up the scattered papers on his desk, and after tying them together with tape, he placed them in a large envelope and sealed them with his private seal. Then he locked the books and placed both the book and the envelope in the safe. Care appeared to have fallen from him like a garment. He even hummed a little catch from the halls as he took from the safe a new set of papers. Any one looking at him would not have known him for the care-ridden man of ten minutes before. Once more he was the Sir Joseph Rayner, whom the city knew, smiling, cheerful, and exceeding prosperous.“That will do, I think,” he said as he arranged the papers on the desk. “Fortunately the girl has no business experience.”Then he went to a small cabinet in the room, and helped himself to a glass of port of a favourite vintage, and to while away the time smoked a couple of cigarettes, gazing into the fire with a musing look upon his face. At the sound of voices in the officeof the head clerk, he threw away his cigarette and turned to the door. A knock sounded, and the door opened.“Miss Gargrave and Mr. Adrian, Sir Joseph.”A moment later he was on his feet welcoming the travellers.“This is a pleasure, Joy. I did not know that you had arrived until half an hour ago, not having had the telegram which Adrian sent me. You look wonderfully well, and Adrian looks all the better for his vacation. Take this chair, Joy, and throw off your furs! The cigarettes are on the mantelpiece, Adrian, if Joy does not mind.”He looked at her with a smile and Joy shook her head.“Not in the least, Uncle Joseph! Adrian knows that!”“Then we can indulge. But how are you? You have not yet told me, though of course there is no need. You have the authentic hue of health in your cheeks, and goodness! what a woman you have become! I could almost find it in my heart to envy Adrian the long journey you have made together!” He laughed a little as he spoke, and glanced from Joy to his son. A slight frown showed itself on the young man’s face, and interpreting it rightly, Sir Joseph deftly took another line.“You have not found the journey too trying, I hope, my dear Joy? But I forget. Of course you are inured to difficulties and hardships at North Star, and a journey of four or five thousand miles does not daunt you as it would a city man like myself.”Joy laughed a little. “There was not much hardship once we struck the railway. A first-class Pullman and a state-room on a Cunarder are in themselves alleviations of the tedium of a winter journey!”Sir Joseph laughed with her. “Possibly! But it is not every one who would find them so. I think I could not undertake such a journey now. And I hope there will be no need for you to do so again. Now we have you this side of the herring pond, I hope we may keep you here for a very long time. Your days of exile are over, and North Star Lodge—”“Please, uncle,” Joy intervened quickly. “Please do not say anything against North Star. I think of it as my home. I was born there, you know, and I have not found these three years to be like years of exile—they have been full of happy days.”“Possibly,” laughed the lawyer, “but there are many sorts of happiness, and after the pleasures of the wilderness you will be the better fitted to appreciate the delights of civilization, since all things, as you know, gain by contrast.... But where is Miss La Farge? I thought—”“She is at the hotel. She was a little tired, but I think that was an excuse. She knew that I was coming here to do business—”“Of course! Of course! Very considerate of her I am sure; but there was no need for her to be so punctilious. But business is really of a very simple nature, merely the signing of a few documents which can be completed in under half an hour.” He waved a hand towards the desk. “Ihave anticipated your arrival, and everything is in order for your signature.”Joy glanced at the desk, and caught sight of the papers. “Perhaps you will explain what the situation is,” she said. “I am not sure that I understand.”“Certainly,” answered Sir Joseph with a suave smile. “It is not very complicated. Your father, as you know, left a very large fortune—something over a million pounds—in trust for you, and by his will made me your guardian and sole trustee. One of the conditions of the will was that for three years you were to live at North Star Lodge, and at the end of that time you were to be free to enter upon your inheritance. You have fulfilled the condition, and you now inherit. Indeed you ought to have done so some months ago, and as my trusteeship ended with the fulfilling of the conditions, there are certain actions of mine that ought to be regularized, and for which I shall require your signature.”“I do not quite follow,” said the girl.“It is very simple. You were not here to administer the estate, and though I had no authority from you, I was compelled to do so. Of course as your uncle and guardian there was really nothing else for me to do.”“Of course! Of course!” answered Joy hurriedly. “And you want my signature to—to put things right.”“Just that!” answered Sir Joseph smilingly.“Then the sooner you have it the better,” laughed Joy. “Shall I sign them at once?”“If you like,” answered the lawyer in casual tones, though there was a little flash of eagerness in his eyes.“It will take but a few moments.”He moved towards the desk, and as Joy rose from her seat near the fire placed a chair in position for her. The girl seated herself, glanced carelessly at the first document he placed before her, and then asked, “Where do I sign?”“Here!” answered the lawyer, indicating the place. Joy signed quickly. There were other papers that she did not even look at, but promptly signed each one in turn, as it was presented to her. When she had finished she laid down the pen with a little laugh.“I feel quite a woman of business.”“But you are not yet out of the wood,” laughed Sir Joseph. “There is another important matter to be settled, and that is the future management of the estate. It is now your own to do with as you like. You may wish to carry through all transactions relating to it yourself, in which case—”“Oh no! no!” cried Joy protestingly. “I should be worried to death. You must manage it for me in the future as you have done in the past. I could not possibly undertake such a task.”The lawyer smiled. “I was hoping that you would think of that course, though, for obvious reasons I did not care to suggest it. It will be much simpler for you merely to have monies paid into your account instead of occupying perhaps several hours per week in worrying over investments.” He laughed a little. “You would require an office and at least a couple of clerks, Joy.”“Oh dear!” laughed Joy, “that must never be.”“Then I will take the burden off your hands, and you will have to give me power of attorney.”“What is that?” inquired Joy, adding merrily, “I am discovering an abysmal ignorance in myself.” Sir Joseph explained, and the girl nodded. “Of course. There is no difficulty about that. It only gives you the right to continue to exercise the powers you have had up to now, and it will save me a great deal of worry. I suppose there will be another document to sign?”“Yes,” answered the lawyer smilingly. “One more document to sign. Fortunately I anticipated what your wishes would be; and I had it prepared.” He looked at his son. “We must have a witness, Adrian. Just ring for Benson, will you?”The young lawyer touched a bell, and a moment later a clerk entered.“Yes, Sir Joseph.”“In a moment, Benson. I want you to witness Miss Gargrave’s signature.”He went to the safe, took from it yet another document which he gave to the girl.“Read it, Joy.”“If I must,” answered Joy, and ran through it carelessly.Then she signed it, and the clerk having witnessed it and been dismissed, Sir Joseph gathered all the papers together, and locked them up. “Business is over for the day,” he said. “I’m going to take a holiday. You will lunch with meat the Ritz, Joy, you and Adrian. I shall take no denial.”“But there is Babette—” began Joy.“Oh, we will telephone to her, and pick her up on the way. We shall then be quite a complete little party, and tonight we will dine, and go on to a theatre afterwards. You will not have seen much acting, of late—”“None at all,” laughed Joy, “for three whole years.”“Then we must certainly go,” answered her uncle. “Let me see—ah, yes! There is the ‘Grizzly Cub,’ a Klondyke play, pure American and very strenuous and exciting. I have seen it once, but I should like to see it again, with some one who knows the country of the play. To me it seems very real, and if it has illusions for you who know the life, I shall know that it is really good. We will go there. Adrian, just tell Benson to ring up the Mitre and engage a box for me, and have my car brought round from the garage.”It was a merry party that lunched at the Ritz. There was not a hint of the care that had betrayed itself in the lawyer’s face in the solitude of his private room. He was the gay, debonair man of the world that all his acquaintances knew, and he exerted himself to make the lunch an agreeable one. But from time to time, he allowed his eyes to stray towards a table where a couple of young men were lunching with a lady. They seemed very interested in his own party, and presently hesaw the lady rise from her seat and walk towards his table. At the same moment Joy Gargrave looked up, and as she caught the young lady’s eyes, started impulsively from her seat.“You, Penelope!” she cried.“You, Joy!” mimicked the other. “I thought you were dwelling in the forest primeval?”“I arrived in London last night. I expect to stay a little time in England. The years of what my uncle calls my exile are over.” She glanced at the lawyer. “Do you know my uncle? No! Then I must introduce you. Uncle, this is Miss Penelope Winter, an old—”“You are wrong, Joy,” laughed the lady. “This is no longer Miss Penelope Winter. This is Mrs. Will Grasmore of Grasmore Grange, Westmorland.”“You are married?” cried Joy.Mrs. Will Grasmore waved a hand towards the table she had just left. “There sits the happy man, whose complete happiness began three months ago.”“Which—” began Joy, and then stopped suddenly, as a curious look came on her face. “Of course! I see! The other one is Geoffrey Bracknell, isn’t it?”“Yes,” laughed her friend, “and he is dying to renew the acquaintance he began in Westmorland four years ago! May I bring him and Will over? I see that, like ourselves, you are almost at the end of lunch. We might take coffee together.”For the fraction of a minute Joy hesitated. SirJoseph, who was watching her, noticed that hesitation, though he was the only one who did. Then Joy spoke.“Well, if you like, Penelope, and if my uncle doesn’t mind. I am his guest, and—”“Oh, Sir Joseph will not mind, I am sure,” answered Mrs. Winter, flashing a smile at the lawyer and assuming his consent, hurried back to her own table.“Did you say that the young man with Mr. Winter was named Bracknell?” asked Adrian Rayner suddenly.There was just a splash of colour in Joy’s cheeks as she replied shortly, “Yes!”“I wonder if he is any relation of that Mounted policeman who came to North Star, when—”“He is his cousin,” answered Joy quickly. “His father is Sir James Bracknell of Harrow Fell. Geoffrey is the second son.”“Ah! I remember them,” broke in Sir Joseph. “There was another son who disgraced himself and his family. He disappeared. I wonder what has become of him. The succession to that estate will offer a pretty tangle for somebody to unravel some day, Adrian.”His son nodded, but uttered no comment. His eyes were fixed on Joy, as if he found something particularly interesting in her demeanour at the moment. At his father’s words the splash of colour had ebbed swiftly from her cheeks leaving them rather pale, but Joy’s manner was perfectly self-possessed, and there was little to indicate that shewas passing through a moment of stress. Her cousin still watched her when the others joined them, and at the moment of meeting flashed a quick searching glance at Geoffrey Bracknell. The young man’s face was eager. There was a light in his eyes that told that Mrs. Winter’s statement about his wish to renew acquaintance with Joy had not been over-coloured, and as he marked it, Adrian Rayner smiled enigmatically to himself.Sir Joseph also noticed it, and it troubled him a little. He was thoughtful during the remainder of the lunch, and even more thoughtful when, on the evening of that same day, they again encountered young Bracknell in the foyer of the theatre. He was obviously waiting for them, and the lawyer was far from pleased to learn that he had taken the next box to his own. He was still less pleased when the young man made an excuse for visiting them between the acts, and it required all his skill to avoid an acceptance of the invitation to supper which he extended to Sir Joseph’s party.“My dear Bracknell, you are too late. Our supper is already ordered. On another occasion, perhaps, but tonight it is quite impossible.”“You did not tell me you had an admirer,” he said to Joy, rallying her a little time later.“An admirer!” Joy laughed. “Who—”“Young Bracknell! He is most obviously in love with you.”“Oh no! no!” whispered Joy quickly, all the laughter dying suddenly from her face. “You are mistaken. It ... it would be too ... too....”The sentence went unfinished, and Sir Joseph, noticing her face, did not press for the conclusion. He was silent for a little time, wondering what lay behind her sudden change of manner. Then he spoke again.“Young Bracknell is not your only admirer,” he said smilingly. “You have another.”“Indeed,” said Joy, very obviously embarrassed.“Yes! Adrian is very deeply in love. He confided the fact to me this morning.... I hope, my dear, that you will be able to listen to him, that you will be able to give a favourable—”“Oh!” interrupted Joy nervously, “you must not ask me, uncle. I shall never marry. Never!”“Never, my dear Joy! That, it is often remarked, is a very long time!” He smiled indulgently as he spoke, and then added, “I hope we may yet induce you to reconsider your very youthful decision.”Joy did not answer. Her face was very pale, and she sat staring at the stage with tragic eyes, not watching the actors, but visioning a body lying in the snow in the sombre woods at North Star.CHAPTER XIIA DASTARDLY DEED“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!”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.”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!”“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.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.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.“It was blown out!”“Blown out! What on earth do you mean, Louis?”“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 andze like, and I agree, and send two men of ze tribe with him to find Gargrave of North Star.“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.”“Pass it?” cried the corporal in astonishment.“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.“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,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....“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.“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.“‘We hav’ missed him,’ he say. ‘We return to Dawson.’“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.”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.“But what makes you so sure?” he asked at last.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.“Ah!”“You know what dat is? You hav’ before it seen?”“Yes!” answered Bracknell quickly. “It is dynamite. How did you come by it?”“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.”“Upon my word, Louis, I believe you are right.”“Dere is no question. It is so sure as ze rising of ze sun!”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.“Louis,” he asked abruptly, “what sort of a man was he whom Paslik and Sibou served?”“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.”The description was not very illuminating, and the policeman almost groaned.“His hair? did you mark the colour?”“It was like ze bear—what you call brown, ze brown of ze wood-nuts in autumn!”Brown! Dick Bracknell’s was brown, but then so was the hair of half the Anglo-Saxon race!As his mind clutched at this fact seeking escapefrom the awful thought which was taking possession of it, he frowned.“You know ze mans?” asked the half-breed.“No!” he cried violently. “No!”“All ze same,” said Chief Louis stolidly, “that mans he blow up ze trail.”And from that conclusion, at any rate, Roger Bracknell could find no escape.

CHAPTER XA DESPERATE SITUATIONAN HOUR LATERRoger Bracknell started on his way back to the police-post, in a not very happy frame of mind. The chief of Fort Pilgrim was a man with little tolerance for failure, and the corporal knew that when he made his report it would be received with frowns. That was inevitable, but there was nothing for it but to return. His cousin and the Indian Joe had taken very effective measures to prevent him following on their trail when they had left him with a depleted dog-team and with only sufficient rations to carry him as far as North Star Lodge. Sorry as he was for his cousin he yet resented the action which had left him helpless, and his failure rankled as he swung steadily forward on the southward trail. Before the end of the day, however, a thought came to him. Duty was duty, and if he could reach North Star Lodge, there would be dogs there, and he could requisition them in the King’s name, and return to the pursuit. It did not seem a very nice thing to contemplate, but his oath of service left him no option, whilst the officer at Fort Pilgrim was bound to look askance at the whole affair, if he returned to explain that Koona Dick was his cousin, and that he had escaped him. Besides, there was Joy to consider. She could never be safe from molestationwhilst Dick Bracknell was at large. It was even possible that the latter, finding the Territory growing too hot for him, might venture to follow her to England, and as her husband claim his rights. That must be prevented at all costs, even at the cost of Dick suffering incarceration in the penal prison at Stony Mountain.The end of the day, however, brought an unlooked-for event, which made an end of these half-formed plans. He had camped for the night, and having fed his dogs with the dried salmon-roe which formed their staple food, was preparing his own meal, when one of the animals gave a sudden sharp howl of pain. He looked hastily round, and saw the dog twisted in some kind of spasm, its backbone arched, its legs jerking in a strange fashion. He went to it, and as he approached the spasm ended, and the dog lay in the snow completely exhausted. He was stooping over it, wondering what was the matter when the other two dogs howled simultaneously, and he turned swiftly to see one of them leap straight in the air, and in a moment both of them were in spasms similar to the one he had already witnessed, and before his eyes one of them curled up like a bow, then suddenly relaxed, and lay stark and dead.A dark suspicion shot through his mind, as he jerked himself upright. The first dog was plainly at the point of death, whilst the third was twisted by spasms that could have but one ending. He knew that there could be no recovery, that he could do nothing for them, and in a swift impulse of mercy he drew his pistol and shot them. Then he strodeto the sled, and lifting the small bale of dog food carried it to the fire, and by the flames of the burning pine examined it carefully. He had not to look long before he came upon some small white crystals in the creases of the roe. They might be snow, they might be frost crystals, but he did not think that they were either, and selecting one of the smallest of the white specks he placed it on his tongue. It was exceedingly bitter in taste.“Strychnine!” he cried aloud, and then stood looking at the dead dogs with horror shining in his eyes. As he stood there one question was beating in his brain. “Who has done this thing? Who? Who?”His thoughts flew back to his cousin. Had he—No! He could not believe that; for whoever had placed the strychnine in the dog food, had callously planned to murder him. And bad as Dick Bracknell was, the corporal felt that his cousin would not have done a thing like this.“There’s that Indian—Joe,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From what Dick said he was afraid of me ... and he would have disposed of me at the beginning if he had had his way!” He was silent for a little time, then he nodded his head. “Yes! The Indian did it without Dick’s knowledge.”For the moment he refused to think further about the matter. About him was the gloom of the pines, with their pall of snow, and everywhere the terrible silence of the North. Alone and without dogs to carry his stores, the situation was altogether desperate; and to reflect upon it overmuchwas to court madness. So he put the thought of it from him for the time being, and after dragging the dead dogs into the shadow of the forest, resumed the preparation of his evening meal. When he had eaten it, he erected a wind-screen, and lying in his sleeping bag, with his feet to the fire, lighted a pipe, and once more considered the problem before him.It was at least four days’ journey to North Star Lodge, probably five or six, since he would have to carry the necessaries of life himself, and so burdened would not be able to travel fast. There was food for four days on the sled, and to make sure of reaching North Star, he would have to put himself on rations, and travel as fast as he could. Barring accidents there was an even chance of his getting through, but if any ill-chance arose then—He did not finish the thought. Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stretched himself down in the sleeping berth, and presently fell asleep.When he awoke it was still dark, and the fire was burning low. He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock. He stretched himself a little, and thrusting his arm out of the sleeping bag, he threw a couple of spruce boughs on the fire. The resinous wood quickly caught, and as it flared up he looked round. On the edge of the circle of light, which his fire cut out of the darkness, something caught his eye. He looked again. Two tiny globes of light, about three feet above the ground, appeared to be suspended on nothing. He watched them steadily, and for the briefest moment of time, saw them eclipsed, then they reappeared. He looked further. There were other twin globes of light,scattered all round, and, as the spruce crackled into flame, he caught sight of an animal’s head, and the outline of its form.“Timber-wolves!” he whispered to himself.Feeling for his automatic pistol, he lay waiting his opportunity. Undoubtedly, the bodies of his dead dogs had already served the savage beasts for a meal, and now they were watching him, perhaps already counting him their prey.He did not feel particularly afraid. He knew that the wolf is really a coward, and that unless driven by hunger, it seldom attacks man, but all the same he thought it wise to teach the beast a lesson. So when the shadowy form of one of the beasts moved, he sighted and fired. The wolf gave a yelp, jumped clean in the air, and dropped dead well within the circle of firelight. He looked round again. The watching eyes in the darkness had disappeared. Presently however they returned, and lying perfectly still, he saw a gaunt dog wolf slink out of the shadows towards its dead comrade, and fall on it with its teeth. Another followed and another, and a moment later there was a snarling tangle of furry beasts where the dead wolf had been.“Phew!” he whistled to himself, as he noted their disregard of the firelight, “they’re mad with hunger!”He emptied his pistol into the bunch, and the pack fell back, leaving three of its number dead in the snow. Of the first wolf nothing remained but the skull and tail. Behind the trees the snarling and yelping continued, and as he crept out of hissleeping bag, he conjectured that others of the beasts had been injured by his shots, and were falling a prey to their hungry companions. There was a serious look upon his face, as, crossing to the other side of the fire, he picked up the dead wolves, and one by one flung them into the darkness, where as his ears assured him they also became food for their famished pack-mates.He had meant to commence his journey at an early hour, but the presence of the wolf-pack forced him to reconsider his plans, and to delay until dawn. The interval he filled in by packing his stores in a convenient form for carrying, and with the aid of things from the sled and his sleeping bag he devised a knapsack, which whilst it bulked large was not really heavy. Then he breakfasted, and that done, as the dawn broke, looked round once more. On one side of him the wolves were still in the shadows of the trees, and as he turned to look on the other, his eye caught the package of poisoned salmon roe, which was still upon the sledge. A thought struck him.“The very thing!” he muttered, and going to the sled, he broke up the food with an ax and then scattered it in small portions about the camping place.“I shall bag some of them for certain,” he said, as he saw the wolves watching him. “When they find it they’ll bolt it like one o’clock.”The day had well broken when, adjusting his snowshoes, he shouldered his pack, and stepped out on the trail. None of the wolves were now in sight, but he had gone only a little way, when a sharp howl behind him, told him that they were stillabout. He looked back. A little spur of trees on the bank hid his late camp, but as he glanced back, a wolf leaped on the ice, ran howling a short way, then dropped in the snow. Other yelps of pain came from behind the screen of trees, and as the sounds reached him a sigh of satisfaction came in his eyes.“It’s working like a charm,” he said to himself. “There’s an end of Mr. Wolf for this trip, I fancy.”As he journed he kept a sharp look out, turning frequently to observe the trail behind him. Not a single wolf appeared, and through the short day he marched on, the solitary living thing in a landscape that was unutterably forlorn and desolate. The quick night drew on, and he decided to camp. Halting in a sheltered cove he felled a small spruce, gathered some dry twigs and built himself a fire, then he thrust his hand to his tunic pocket for matches. They were gone. He had lost them. For a minute or two he was filled with dismay, and real terror clutched at his heart-strings, for to be without means of making a fire in the desolate Northland, is to have entered the valley of the shadow of death.Then he recalled an old device of the Voyageurs, and proceeded to put it into execution. With his jack knife he cut some thin shavings of spruce, mixed them with a handful of dead lichen scraped from trees, and biting the bullets from a couple of cartridges shook the powder of one over the little heap that he had made, and with that from the other cartridge made a short train. Then he fired his pistol to light the train. The powder caught,spluttered and burned out without lighting the lichen and the pine-shavings, and the operation had to be performed three times before it was successful. He built up his fire, and when it was well going, and he was congratulating himself on his success a thought struck him. Hastily he examined his bandolier. He had but three cartridges left.As he weighed the metal shells in his hand, his face grew very serious. Each of them carried a message of death, but to him, as his sole means of making a fire, they were to him the bridge of life, and a precarious bridge at that. With at least three camps to make before he reached North Star Lodge, he recognized that the chances were almost desperate, and that only care and skill and a large slice of luck could carry him through. Very carefully he stowed the cartridges where they would be safe against damp or accidental loss, and then proceeded to cook his meal.The next morning he started an hour before dawn. Light snow was falling, but he could not afford to regard that, and on snowshoes he pressed forward steadily. It began to blow, and he sought the lee of the river-bank for shelter, then that happened which put a term to his journey. A great tree, well up the bank, collapsed under its weight of snow. Roger Bracknell caught the rending sound of its fall and instinctively leaped aside, but the snowshoes embarrassed him and he fell. A bough of the falling tree alighted on his right leg, snapping it like a pipestem, and pinning him down in the snow.Under the first shock of pain, he almost fainted,but in a minute or two recovered himself sufficiently to take stock of the situation. It was, as he instantly recognized, very desperate. He sat up, and tried to move the weight from his leg. The bough which held him fast was not a very thick one, but the weight of the tree was behind it, and with his hatchet he began to cut through the branch. Every stroke he made jarred him terribly, and more than once he had to desist, but at last the bough parted, and he was able to push the weight from his leg. He was, however, in little better case, since he could not stand upright; and to crawl would have been futile, even if the deepening snow had allowed the possibility of doing so.He looked round, and through the falling snow caught sight of the sombre pinewoods. They had a funereal look, and in their shadows brooded the menace of the North, which had surely overtaken him at last. Death was staring him in the eyes. He took out his pocket book, and made shift to write a note to his superior down at the Post. Then he took out his pistol, and loaded it with one of the cartridges that had held his life, but which now carried only death, swift and merciful. It was no use waiting. He held the pistol ready, and for a moment his thoughts strayed to Joy Gargrave. Would she ever hear? Would she guess that he—His thoughts broke off suddenly. Through the gloom of the falling snow he caught a sound of voices. Some one, it seemed, was urging a dog-team to greater efforts. Was he dreaming? He listened carefully. No! There it was again, andwith it came the yelp of a dog cut by a whip. A great wave of thankfulness rolled over him. He shouted and fired his pistol in the air. A moment later came an answering shout, and he called back again. Presently, out of the snow-murk emerged the forms of two men—Indians, and as they bent over him he lapsed into unconsciousness.

A DESPERATE SITUATION

AN HOUR LATERRoger Bracknell started on his way back to the police-post, in a not very happy frame of mind. The chief of Fort Pilgrim was a man with little tolerance for failure, and the corporal knew that when he made his report it would be received with frowns. That was inevitable, but there was nothing for it but to return. His cousin and the Indian Joe had taken very effective measures to prevent him following on their trail when they had left him with a depleted dog-team and with only sufficient rations to carry him as far as North Star Lodge. Sorry as he was for his cousin he yet resented the action which had left him helpless, and his failure rankled as he swung steadily forward on the southward trail. Before the end of the day, however, a thought came to him. Duty was duty, and if he could reach North Star Lodge, there would be dogs there, and he could requisition them in the King’s name, and return to the pursuit. It did not seem a very nice thing to contemplate, but his oath of service left him no option, whilst the officer at Fort Pilgrim was bound to look askance at the whole affair, if he returned to explain that Koona Dick was his cousin, and that he had escaped him. Besides, there was Joy to consider. She could never be safe from molestationwhilst Dick Bracknell was at large. It was even possible that the latter, finding the Territory growing too hot for him, might venture to follow her to England, and as her husband claim his rights. That must be prevented at all costs, even at the cost of Dick suffering incarceration in the penal prison at Stony Mountain.

The end of the day, however, brought an unlooked-for event, which made an end of these half-formed plans. He had camped for the night, and having fed his dogs with the dried salmon-roe which formed their staple food, was preparing his own meal, when one of the animals gave a sudden sharp howl of pain. He looked hastily round, and saw the dog twisted in some kind of spasm, its backbone arched, its legs jerking in a strange fashion. He went to it, and as he approached the spasm ended, and the dog lay in the snow completely exhausted. He was stooping over it, wondering what was the matter when the other two dogs howled simultaneously, and he turned swiftly to see one of them leap straight in the air, and in a moment both of them were in spasms similar to the one he had already witnessed, and before his eyes one of them curled up like a bow, then suddenly relaxed, and lay stark and dead.

A dark suspicion shot through his mind, as he jerked himself upright. The first dog was plainly at the point of death, whilst the third was twisted by spasms that could have but one ending. He knew that there could be no recovery, that he could do nothing for them, and in a swift impulse of mercy he drew his pistol and shot them. Then he strodeto the sled, and lifting the small bale of dog food carried it to the fire, and by the flames of the burning pine examined it carefully. He had not to look long before he came upon some small white crystals in the creases of the roe. They might be snow, they might be frost crystals, but he did not think that they were either, and selecting one of the smallest of the white specks he placed it on his tongue. It was exceedingly bitter in taste.

“Strychnine!” he cried aloud, and then stood looking at the dead dogs with horror shining in his eyes. As he stood there one question was beating in his brain. “Who has done this thing? Who? Who?”

His thoughts flew back to his cousin. Had he—No! He could not believe that; for whoever had placed the strychnine in the dog food, had callously planned to murder him. And bad as Dick Bracknell was, the corporal felt that his cousin would not have done a thing like this.

“There’s that Indian—Joe,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “From what Dick said he was afraid of me ... and he would have disposed of me at the beginning if he had had his way!” He was silent for a little time, then he nodded his head. “Yes! The Indian did it without Dick’s knowledge.”

For the moment he refused to think further about the matter. About him was the gloom of the pines, with their pall of snow, and everywhere the terrible silence of the North. Alone and without dogs to carry his stores, the situation was altogether desperate; and to reflect upon it overmuchwas to court madness. So he put the thought of it from him for the time being, and after dragging the dead dogs into the shadow of the forest, resumed the preparation of his evening meal. When he had eaten it, he erected a wind-screen, and lying in his sleeping bag, with his feet to the fire, lighted a pipe, and once more considered the problem before him.

It was at least four days’ journey to North Star Lodge, probably five or six, since he would have to carry the necessaries of life himself, and so burdened would not be able to travel fast. There was food for four days on the sled, and to make sure of reaching North Star, he would have to put himself on rations, and travel as fast as he could. Barring accidents there was an even chance of his getting through, but if any ill-chance arose then—He did not finish the thought. Knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stretched himself down in the sleeping berth, and presently fell asleep.

When he awoke it was still dark, and the fire was burning low. He looked at his watch. It was five o’clock. He stretched himself a little, and thrusting his arm out of the sleeping bag, he threw a couple of spruce boughs on the fire. The resinous wood quickly caught, and as it flared up he looked round. On the edge of the circle of light, which his fire cut out of the darkness, something caught his eye. He looked again. Two tiny globes of light, about three feet above the ground, appeared to be suspended on nothing. He watched them steadily, and for the briefest moment of time, saw them eclipsed, then they reappeared. He looked further. There were other twin globes of light,scattered all round, and, as the spruce crackled into flame, he caught sight of an animal’s head, and the outline of its form.

“Timber-wolves!” he whispered to himself.

Feeling for his automatic pistol, he lay waiting his opportunity. Undoubtedly, the bodies of his dead dogs had already served the savage beasts for a meal, and now they were watching him, perhaps already counting him their prey.

He did not feel particularly afraid. He knew that the wolf is really a coward, and that unless driven by hunger, it seldom attacks man, but all the same he thought it wise to teach the beast a lesson. So when the shadowy form of one of the beasts moved, he sighted and fired. The wolf gave a yelp, jumped clean in the air, and dropped dead well within the circle of firelight. He looked round again. The watching eyes in the darkness had disappeared. Presently however they returned, and lying perfectly still, he saw a gaunt dog wolf slink out of the shadows towards its dead comrade, and fall on it with its teeth. Another followed and another, and a moment later there was a snarling tangle of furry beasts where the dead wolf had been.

“Phew!” he whistled to himself, as he noted their disregard of the firelight, “they’re mad with hunger!”

He emptied his pistol into the bunch, and the pack fell back, leaving three of its number dead in the snow. Of the first wolf nothing remained but the skull and tail. Behind the trees the snarling and yelping continued, and as he crept out of hissleeping bag, he conjectured that others of the beasts had been injured by his shots, and were falling a prey to their hungry companions. There was a serious look upon his face, as, crossing to the other side of the fire, he picked up the dead wolves, and one by one flung them into the darkness, where as his ears assured him they also became food for their famished pack-mates.

He had meant to commence his journey at an early hour, but the presence of the wolf-pack forced him to reconsider his plans, and to delay until dawn. The interval he filled in by packing his stores in a convenient form for carrying, and with the aid of things from the sled and his sleeping bag he devised a knapsack, which whilst it bulked large was not really heavy. Then he breakfasted, and that done, as the dawn broke, looked round once more. On one side of him the wolves were still in the shadows of the trees, and as he turned to look on the other, his eye caught the package of poisoned salmon roe, which was still upon the sledge. A thought struck him.

“The very thing!” he muttered, and going to the sled, he broke up the food with an ax and then scattered it in small portions about the camping place.

“I shall bag some of them for certain,” he said, as he saw the wolves watching him. “When they find it they’ll bolt it like one o’clock.”

The day had well broken when, adjusting his snowshoes, he shouldered his pack, and stepped out on the trail. None of the wolves were now in sight, but he had gone only a little way, when a sharp howl behind him, told him that they were stillabout. He looked back. A little spur of trees on the bank hid his late camp, but as he glanced back, a wolf leaped on the ice, ran howling a short way, then dropped in the snow. Other yelps of pain came from behind the screen of trees, and as the sounds reached him a sigh of satisfaction came in his eyes.

“It’s working like a charm,” he said to himself. “There’s an end of Mr. Wolf for this trip, I fancy.”

As he journed he kept a sharp look out, turning frequently to observe the trail behind him. Not a single wolf appeared, and through the short day he marched on, the solitary living thing in a landscape that was unutterably forlorn and desolate. The quick night drew on, and he decided to camp. Halting in a sheltered cove he felled a small spruce, gathered some dry twigs and built himself a fire, then he thrust his hand to his tunic pocket for matches. They were gone. He had lost them. For a minute or two he was filled with dismay, and real terror clutched at his heart-strings, for to be without means of making a fire in the desolate Northland, is to have entered the valley of the shadow of death.

Then he recalled an old device of the Voyageurs, and proceeded to put it into execution. With his jack knife he cut some thin shavings of spruce, mixed them with a handful of dead lichen scraped from trees, and biting the bullets from a couple of cartridges shook the powder of one over the little heap that he had made, and with that from the other cartridge made a short train. Then he fired his pistol to light the train. The powder caught,spluttered and burned out without lighting the lichen and the pine-shavings, and the operation had to be performed three times before it was successful. He built up his fire, and when it was well going, and he was congratulating himself on his success a thought struck him. Hastily he examined his bandolier. He had but three cartridges left.

As he weighed the metal shells in his hand, his face grew very serious. Each of them carried a message of death, but to him, as his sole means of making a fire, they were to him the bridge of life, and a precarious bridge at that. With at least three camps to make before he reached North Star Lodge, he recognized that the chances were almost desperate, and that only care and skill and a large slice of luck could carry him through. Very carefully he stowed the cartridges where they would be safe against damp or accidental loss, and then proceeded to cook his meal.

The next morning he started an hour before dawn. Light snow was falling, but he could not afford to regard that, and on snowshoes he pressed forward steadily. It began to blow, and he sought the lee of the river-bank for shelter, then that happened which put a term to his journey. A great tree, well up the bank, collapsed under its weight of snow. Roger Bracknell caught the rending sound of its fall and instinctively leaped aside, but the snowshoes embarrassed him and he fell. A bough of the falling tree alighted on his right leg, snapping it like a pipestem, and pinning him down in the snow.

Under the first shock of pain, he almost fainted,but in a minute or two recovered himself sufficiently to take stock of the situation. It was, as he instantly recognized, very desperate. He sat up, and tried to move the weight from his leg. The bough which held him fast was not a very thick one, but the weight of the tree was behind it, and with his hatchet he began to cut through the branch. Every stroke he made jarred him terribly, and more than once he had to desist, but at last the bough parted, and he was able to push the weight from his leg. He was, however, in little better case, since he could not stand upright; and to crawl would have been futile, even if the deepening snow had allowed the possibility of doing so.

He looked round, and through the falling snow caught sight of the sombre pinewoods. They had a funereal look, and in their shadows brooded the menace of the North, which had surely overtaken him at last. Death was staring him in the eyes. He took out his pocket book, and made shift to write a note to his superior down at the Post. Then he took out his pistol, and loaded it with one of the cartridges that had held his life, but which now carried only death, swift and merciful. It was no use waiting. He held the pistol ready, and for a moment his thoughts strayed to Joy Gargrave. Would she ever hear? Would she guess that he—

His thoughts broke off suddenly. Through the gloom of the falling snow he caught a sound of voices. Some one, it seemed, was urging a dog-team to greater efforts. Was he dreaming? He listened carefully. No! There it was again, andwith it came the yelp of a dog cut by a whip. A great wave of thankfulness rolled over him. He shouted and fired his pistol in the air. A moment later came an answering shout, and he called back again. Presently, out of the snow-murk emerged the forms of two men—Indians, and as they bent over him he lapsed into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XIAN OLD ACQUAINTANCESIR JOSEPH RAYNER, as a solicitor, was at the very head of his profession, and was supposed to be trusted with more family secrets than any other man in England. The confidence in him was extraordinary, but no one could be found to urge that it was not merited, and it was notorious that he had averted more scandals and saved more reputations than any other half dozen men in his profession. Erring husbands, and wives deeply wronged, sought his advice, and to the husbands he was a man of the world, and to the wives a sympathetic counsellor, always against the extreme remedy of the divorce courts. To prodigal sons he was the dispenser of paternal allowances, and to the men caught in the toils of the blackmailer he was like a delivering providence. As a family solicitor he was unsurpassed, discreet as a cabinet minister at question time, and as secret as the grave. And in spite of his burden of secrets, usually as he walked abroad among men, he wore a jaunty air, as befitted a man with not a trouble of his own in the wide world.But one winter morning as he sat in his private office his brow was black with care, and his demeanour was as far removed as possible from the gayone which his confreres knew. Before him was a small ledger with a lock upon it, and a number of documents, and as he bent over them, from time to time he wrote figures upon a sheet of foolscap. Presently he began to add up the figures, and that done sat staring at the total.“Ninety-seven thousand,” he whispered to himself. “God! If anything were to come out!”He sat looking at the figures, tapping softly with his pencil, something like despair shining in his eyes.“Suppose Adrian’s fine scheme goes awry? Or suppose Joy refuses to sign?”He rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro, in the manner of a man whom nervousness has made restless. Once he stopped and glanced at the ledger, then nodded his head.“The others will be all right, if——”The whirr of the telephone bell on his desk interrupted his thoughts. Frowningly he picked up the receiver, and gave the stereotyped “Hallo!”“Is that really you, Adrian? I didn’t know you had arrived.... Last night you say.... I didn’t get your telegram. I was dining with the Chancellor, and went on to the theatre afterwards.... Yes, you are in time, though I have been praying for your arrival for days. Things are very tight, and that banker is getting nervous.... Yes, the sooner the better. In half an hour? That will do very nicely. I shall expect you both without fail. How goes your matrimonial scheme?... Um! Hangs fire a little does it, but you’re certain of the end. Well the earlier it is arranged, the better I shall be pleased. My nerves are not what they were. Butwe can talk the whole business over later. Thank heaven, I’m her guardian, and there’s only my consent to be obtained. What sort of a savage has she become in these three years?”As he listened to the reply to his last question a cynical smile came on his face. “Sounds as if you had fallen in love!... You have, hey? Well, well (he laughed a little), love is as good a qualification for matrimony as anything I know, except a thundering big bank account.... Yes, yes, I know.... I shall be waiting. That’s all, I think.”Putting down the receiver, he began to gather up the scattered papers on his desk, and after tying them together with tape, he placed them in a large envelope and sealed them with his private seal. Then he locked the books and placed both the book and the envelope in the safe. Care appeared to have fallen from him like a garment. He even hummed a little catch from the halls as he took from the safe a new set of papers. Any one looking at him would not have known him for the care-ridden man of ten minutes before. Once more he was the Sir Joseph Rayner, whom the city knew, smiling, cheerful, and exceeding prosperous.“That will do, I think,” he said as he arranged the papers on the desk. “Fortunately the girl has no business experience.”Then he went to a small cabinet in the room, and helped himself to a glass of port of a favourite vintage, and to while away the time smoked a couple of cigarettes, gazing into the fire with a musing look upon his face. At the sound of voices in the officeof the head clerk, he threw away his cigarette and turned to the door. A knock sounded, and the door opened.“Miss Gargrave and Mr. Adrian, Sir Joseph.”A moment later he was on his feet welcoming the travellers.“This is a pleasure, Joy. I did not know that you had arrived until half an hour ago, not having had the telegram which Adrian sent me. You look wonderfully well, and Adrian looks all the better for his vacation. Take this chair, Joy, and throw off your furs! The cigarettes are on the mantelpiece, Adrian, if Joy does not mind.”He looked at her with a smile and Joy shook her head.“Not in the least, Uncle Joseph! Adrian knows that!”“Then we can indulge. But how are you? You have not yet told me, though of course there is no need. You have the authentic hue of health in your cheeks, and goodness! what a woman you have become! I could almost find it in my heart to envy Adrian the long journey you have made together!” He laughed a little as he spoke, and glanced from Joy to his son. A slight frown showed itself on the young man’s face, and interpreting it rightly, Sir Joseph deftly took another line.“You have not found the journey too trying, I hope, my dear Joy? But I forget. Of course you are inured to difficulties and hardships at North Star, and a journey of four or five thousand miles does not daunt you as it would a city man like myself.”Joy laughed a little. “There was not much hardship once we struck the railway. A first-class Pullman and a state-room on a Cunarder are in themselves alleviations of the tedium of a winter journey!”Sir Joseph laughed with her. “Possibly! But it is not every one who would find them so. I think I could not undertake such a journey now. And I hope there will be no need for you to do so again. Now we have you this side of the herring pond, I hope we may keep you here for a very long time. Your days of exile are over, and North Star Lodge—”“Please, uncle,” Joy intervened quickly. “Please do not say anything against North Star. I think of it as my home. I was born there, you know, and I have not found these three years to be like years of exile—they have been full of happy days.”“Possibly,” laughed the lawyer, “but there are many sorts of happiness, and after the pleasures of the wilderness you will be the better fitted to appreciate the delights of civilization, since all things, as you know, gain by contrast.... But where is Miss La Farge? I thought—”“She is at the hotel. She was a little tired, but I think that was an excuse. She knew that I was coming here to do business—”“Of course! Of course! Very considerate of her I am sure; but there was no need for her to be so punctilious. But business is really of a very simple nature, merely the signing of a few documents which can be completed in under half an hour.” He waved a hand towards the desk. “Ihave anticipated your arrival, and everything is in order for your signature.”Joy glanced at the desk, and caught sight of the papers. “Perhaps you will explain what the situation is,” she said. “I am not sure that I understand.”“Certainly,” answered Sir Joseph with a suave smile. “It is not very complicated. Your father, as you know, left a very large fortune—something over a million pounds—in trust for you, and by his will made me your guardian and sole trustee. One of the conditions of the will was that for three years you were to live at North Star Lodge, and at the end of that time you were to be free to enter upon your inheritance. You have fulfilled the condition, and you now inherit. Indeed you ought to have done so some months ago, and as my trusteeship ended with the fulfilling of the conditions, there are certain actions of mine that ought to be regularized, and for which I shall require your signature.”“I do not quite follow,” said the girl.“It is very simple. You were not here to administer the estate, and though I had no authority from you, I was compelled to do so. Of course as your uncle and guardian there was really nothing else for me to do.”“Of course! Of course!” answered Joy hurriedly. “And you want my signature to—to put things right.”“Just that!” answered Sir Joseph smilingly.“Then the sooner you have it the better,” laughed Joy. “Shall I sign them at once?”“If you like,” answered the lawyer in casual tones, though there was a little flash of eagerness in his eyes.“It will take but a few moments.”He moved towards the desk, and as Joy rose from her seat near the fire placed a chair in position for her. The girl seated herself, glanced carelessly at the first document he placed before her, and then asked, “Where do I sign?”“Here!” answered the lawyer, indicating the place. Joy signed quickly. There were other papers that she did not even look at, but promptly signed each one in turn, as it was presented to her. When she had finished she laid down the pen with a little laugh.“I feel quite a woman of business.”“But you are not yet out of the wood,” laughed Sir Joseph. “There is another important matter to be settled, and that is the future management of the estate. It is now your own to do with as you like. You may wish to carry through all transactions relating to it yourself, in which case—”“Oh no! no!” cried Joy protestingly. “I should be worried to death. You must manage it for me in the future as you have done in the past. I could not possibly undertake such a task.”The lawyer smiled. “I was hoping that you would think of that course, though, for obvious reasons I did not care to suggest it. It will be much simpler for you merely to have monies paid into your account instead of occupying perhaps several hours per week in worrying over investments.” He laughed a little. “You would require an office and at least a couple of clerks, Joy.”“Oh dear!” laughed Joy, “that must never be.”“Then I will take the burden off your hands, and you will have to give me power of attorney.”“What is that?” inquired Joy, adding merrily, “I am discovering an abysmal ignorance in myself.” Sir Joseph explained, and the girl nodded. “Of course. There is no difficulty about that. It only gives you the right to continue to exercise the powers you have had up to now, and it will save me a great deal of worry. I suppose there will be another document to sign?”“Yes,” answered the lawyer smilingly. “One more document to sign. Fortunately I anticipated what your wishes would be; and I had it prepared.” He looked at his son. “We must have a witness, Adrian. Just ring for Benson, will you?”The young lawyer touched a bell, and a moment later a clerk entered.“Yes, Sir Joseph.”“In a moment, Benson. I want you to witness Miss Gargrave’s signature.”He went to the safe, took from it yet another document which he gave to the girl.“Read it, Joy.”“If I must,” answered Joy, and ran through it carelessly.Then she signed it, and the clerk having witnessed it and been dismissed, Sir Joseph gathered all the papers together, and locked them up. “Business is over for the day,” he said. “I’m going to take a holiday. You will lunch with meat the Ritz, Joy, you and Adrian. I shall take no denial.”“But there is Babette—” began Joy.“Oh, we will telephone to her, and pick her up on the way. We shall then be quite a complete little party, and tonight we will dine, and go on to a theatre afterwards. You will not have seen much acting, of late—”“None at all,” laughed Joy, “for three whole years.”“Then we must certainly go,” answered her uncle. “Let me see—ah, yes! There is the ‘Grizzly Cub,’ a Klondyke play, pure American and very strenuous and exciting. I have seen it once, but I should like to see it again, with some one who knows the country of the play. To me it seems very real, and if it has illusions for you who know the life, I shall know that it is really good. We will go there. Adrian, just tell Benson to ring up the Mitre and engage a box for me, and have my car brought round from the garage.”It was a merry party that lunched at the Ritz. There was not a hint of the care that had betrayed itself in the lawyer’s face in the solitude of his private room. He was the gay, debonair man of the world that all his acquaintances knew, and he exerted himself to make the lunch an agreeable one. But from time to time, he allowed his eyes to stray towards a table where a couple of young men were lunching with a lady. They seemed very interested in his own party, and presently hesaw the lady rise from her seat and walk towards his table. At the same moment Joy Gargrave looked up, and as she caught the young lady’s eyes, started impulsively from her seat.“You, Penelope!” she cried.“You, Joy!” mimicked the other. “I thought you were dwelling in the forest primeval?”“I arrived in London last night. I expect to stay a little time in England. The years of what my uncle calls my exile are over.” She glanced at the lawyer. “Do you know my uncle? No! Then I must introduce you. Uncle, this is Miss Penelope Winter, an old—”“You are wrong, Joy,” laughed the lady. “This is no longer Miss Penelope Winter. This is Mrs. Will Grasmore of Grasmore Grange, Westmorland.”“You are married?” cried Joy.Mrs. Will Grasmore waved a hand towards the table she had just left. “There sits the happy man, whose complete happiness began three months ago.”“Which—” began Joy, and then stopped suddenly, as a curious look came on her face. “Of course! I see! The other one is Geoffrey Bracknell, isn’t it?”“Yes,” laughed her friend, “and he is dying to renew the acquaintance he began in Westmorland four years ago! May I bring him and Will over? I see that, like ourselves, you are almost at the end of lunch. We might take coffee together.”For the fraction of a minute Joy hesitated. SirJoseph, who was watching her, noticed that hesitation, though he was the only one who did. Then Joy spoke.“Well, if you like, Penelope, and if my uncle doesn’t mind. I am his guest, and—”“Oh, Sir Joseph will not mind, I am sure,” answered Mrs. Winter, flashing a smile at the lawyer and assuming his consent, hurried back to her own table.“Did you say that the young man with Mr. Winter was named Bracknell?” asked Adrian Rayner suddenly.There was just a splash of colour in Joy’s cheeks as she replied shortly, “Yes!”“I wonder if he is any relation of that Mounted policeman who came to North Star, when—”“He is his cousin,” answered Joy quickly. “His father is Sir James Bracknell of Harrow Fell. Geoffrey is the second son.”“Ah! I remember them,” broke in Sir Joseph. “There was another son who disgraced himself and his family. He disappeared. I wonder what has become of him. The succession to that estate will offer a pretty tangle for somebody to unravel some day, Adrian.”His son nodded, but uttered no comment. His eyes were fixed on Joy, as if he found something particularly interesting in her demeanour at the moment. At his father’s words the splash of colour had ebbed swiftly from her cheeks leaving them rather pale, but Joy’s manner was perfectly self-possessed, and there was little to indicate that shewas passing through a moment of stress. Her cousin still watched her when the others joined them, and at the moment of meeting flashed a quick searching glance at Geoffrey Bracknell. The young man’s face was eager. There was a light in his eyes that told that Mrs. Winter’s statement about his wish to renew acquaintance with Joy had not been over-coloured, and as he marked it, Adrian Rayner smiled enigmatically to himself.Sir Joseph also noticed it, and it troubled him a little. He was thoughtful during the remainder of the lunch, and even more thoughtful when, on the evening of that same day, they again encountered young Bracknell in the foyer of the theatre. He was obviously waiting for them, and the lawyer was far from pleased to learn that he had taken the next box to his own. He was still less pleased when the young man made an excuse for visiting them between the acts, and it required all his skill to avoid an acceptance of the invitation to supper which he extended to Sir Joseph’s party.“My dear Bracknell, you are too late. Our supper is already ordered. On another occasion, perhaps, but tonight it is quite impossible.”“You did not tell me you had an admirer,” he said to Joy, rallying her a little time later.“An admirer!” Joy laughed. “Who—”“Young Bracknell! He is most obviously in love with you.”“Oh no! no!” whispered Joy quickly, all the laughter dying suddenly from her face. “You are mistaken. It ... it would be too ... too....”The sentence went unfinished, and Sir Joseph, noticing her face, did not press for the conclusion. He was silent for a little time, wondering what lay behind her sudden change of manner. Then he spoke again.“Young Bracknell is not your only admirer,” he said smilingly. “You have another.”“Indeed,” said Joy, very obviously embarrassed.“Yes! Adrian is very deeply in love. He confided the fact to me this morning.... I hope, my dear, that you will be able to listen to him, that you will be able to give a favourable—”“Oh!” interrupted Joy nervously, “you must not ask me, uncle. I shall never marry. Never!”“Never, my dear Joy! That, it is often remarked, is a very long time!” He smiled indulgently as he spoke, and then added, “I hope we may yet induce you to reconsider your very youthful decision.”Joy did not answer. Her face was very pale, and she sat staring at the stage with tragic eyes, not watching the actors, but visioning a body lying in the snow in the sombre woods at North Star.

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE

SIR JOSEPH RAYNER, as a solicitor, was at the very head of his profession, and was supposed to be trusted with more family secrets than any other man in England. The confidence in him was extraordinary, but no one could be found to urge that it was not merited, and it was notorious that he had averted more scandals and saved more reputations than any other half dozen men in his profession. Erring husbands, and wives deeply wronged, sought his advice, and to the husbands he was a man of the world, and to the wives a sympathetic counsellor, always against the extreme remedy of the divorce courts. To prodigal sons he was the dispenser of paternal allowances, and to the men caught in the toils of the blackmailer he was like a delivering providence. As a family solicitor he was unsurpassed, discreet as a cabinet minister at question time, and as secret as the grave. And in spite of his burden of secrets, usually as he walked abroad among men, he wore a jaunty air, as befitted a man with not a trouble of his own in the wide world.

But one winter morning as he sat in his private office his brow was black with care, and his demeanour was as far removed as possible from the gayone which his confreres knew. Before him was a small ledger with a lock upon it, and a number of documents, and as he bent over them, from time to time he wrote figures upon a sheet of foolscap. Presently he began to add up the figures, and that done sat staring at the total.

“Ninety-seven thousand,” he whispered to himself. “God! If anything were to come out!”

He sat looking at the figures, tapping softly with his pencil, something like despair shining in his eyes.

“Suppose Adrian’s fine scheme goes awry? Or suppose Joy refuses to sign?”

He rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro, in the manner of a man whom nervousness has made restless. Once he stopped and glanced at the ledger, then nodded his head.

“The others will be all right, if——”

The whirr of the telephone bell on his desk interrupted his thoughts. Frowningly he picked up the receiver, and gave the stereotyped “Hallo!”

“Is that really you, Adrian? I didn’t know you had arrived.... Last night you say.... I didn’t get your telegram. I was dining with the Chancellor, and went on to the theatre afterwards.... Yes, you are in time, though I have been praying for your arrival for days. Things are very tight, and that banker is getting nervous.... Yes, the sooner the better. In half an hour? That will do very nicely. I shall expect you both without fail. How goes your matrimonial scheme?... Um! Hangs fire a little does it, but you’re certain of the end. Well the earlier it is arranged, the better I shall be pleased. My nerves are not what they were. Butwe can talk the whole business over later. Thank heaven, I’m her guardian, and there’s only my consent to be obtained. What sort of a savage has she become in these three years?”

As he listened to the reply to his last question a cynical smile came on his face. “Sounds as if you had fallen in love!... You have, hey? Well, well (he laughed a little), love is as good a qualification for matrimony as anything I know, except a thundering big bank account.... Yes, yes, I know.... I shall be waiting. That’s all, I think.”

Putting down the receiver, he began to gather up the scattered papers on his desk, and after tying them together with tape, he placed them in a large envelope and sealed them with his private seal. Then he locked the books and placed both the book and the envelope in the safe. Care appeared to have fallen from him like a garment. He even hummed a little catch from the halls as he took from the safe a new set of papers. Any one looking at him would not have known him for the care-ridden man of ten minutes before. Once more he was the Sir Joseph Rayner, whom the city knew, smiling, cheerful, and exceeding prosperous.

“That will do, I think,” he said as he arranged the papers on the desk. “Fortunately the girl has no business experience.”

Then he went to a small cabinet in the room, and helped himself to a glass of port of a favourite vintage, and to while away the time smoked a couple of cigarettes, gazing into the fire with a musing look upon his face. At the sound of voices in the officeof the head clerk, he threw away his cigarette and turned to the door. A knock sounded, and the door opened.

“Miss Gargrave and Mr. Adrian, Sir Joseph.”

A moment later he was on his feet welcoming the travellers.

“This is a pleasure, Joy. I did not know that you had arrived until half an hour ago, not having had the telegram which Adrian sent me. You look wonderfully well, and Adrian looks all the better for his vacation. Take this chair, Joy, and throw off your furs! The cigarettes are on the mantelpiece, Adrian, if Joy does not mind.”

He looked at her with a smile and Joy shook her head.

“Not in the least, Uncle Joseph! Adrian knows that!”

“Then we can indulge. But how are you? You have not yet told me, though of course there is no need. You have the authentic hue of health in your cheeks, and goodness! what a woman you have become! I could almost find it in my heart to envy Adrian the long journey you have made together!” He laughed a little as he spoke, and glanced from Joy to his son. A slight frown showed itself on the young man’s face, and interpreting it rightly, Sir Joseph deftly took another line.

“You have not found the journey too trying, I hope, my dear Joy? But I forget. Of course you are inured to difficulties and hardships at North Star, and a journey of four or five thousand miles does not daunt you as it would a city man like myself.”

Joy laughed a little. “There was not much hardship once we struck the railway. A first-class Pullman and a state-room on a Cunarder are in themselves alleviations of the tedium of a winter journey!”

Sir Joseph laughed with her. “Possibly! But it is not every one who would find them so. I think I could not undertake such a journey now. And I hope there will be no need for you to do so again. Now we have you this side of the herring pond, I hope we may keep you here for a very long time. Your days of exile are over, and North Star Lodge—”

“Please, uncle,” Joy intervened quickly. “Please do not say anything against North Star. I think of it as my home. I was born there, you know, and I have not found these three years to be like years of exile—they have been full of happy days.”

“Possibly,” laughed the lawyer, “but there are many sorts of happiness, and after the pleasures of the wilderness you will be the better fitted to appreciate the delights of civilization, since all things, as you know, gain by contrast.... But where is Miss La Farge? I thought—”

“She is at the hotel. She was a little tired, but I think that was an excuse. She knew that I was coming here to do business—”

“Of course! Of course! Very considerate of her I am sure; but there was no need for her to be so punctilious. But business is really of a very simple nature, merely the signing of a few documents which can be completed in under half an hour.” He waved a hand towards the desk. “Ihave anticipated your arrival, and everything is in order for your signature.”

Joy glanced at the desk, and caught sight of the papers. “Perhaps you will explain what the situation is,” she said. “I am not sure that I understand.”

“Certainly,” answered Sir Joseph with a suave smile. “It is not very complicated. Your father, as you know, left a very large fortune—something over a million pounds—in trust for you, and by his will made me your guardian and sole trustee. One of the conditions of the will was that for three years you were to live at North Star Lodge, and at the end of that time you were to be free to enter upon your inheritance. You have fulfilled the condition, and you now inherit. Indeed you ought to have done so some months ago, and as my trusteeship ended with the fulfilling of the conditions, there are certain actions of mine that ought to be regularized, and for which I shall require your signature.”

“I do not quite follow,” said the girl.

“It is very simple. You were not here to administer the estate, and though I had no authority from you, I was compelled to do so. Of course as your uncle and guardian there was really nothing else for me to do.”

“Of course! Of course!” answered Joy hurriedly. “And you want my signature to—to put things right.”

“Just that!” answered Sir Joseph smilingly.

“Then the sooner you have it the better,” laughed Joy. “Shall I sign them at once?”

“If you like,” answered the lawyer in casual tones, though there was a little flash of eagerness in his eyes.

“It will take but a few moments.”

He moved towards the desk, and as Joy rose from her seat near the fire placed a chair in position for her. The girl seated herself, glanced carelessly at the first document he placed before her, and then asked, “Where do I sign?”

“Here!” answered the lawyer, indicating the place. Joy signed quickly. There were other papers that she did not even look at, but promptly signed each one in turn, as it was presented to her. When she had finished she laid down the pen with a little laugh.

“I feel quite a woman of business.”

“But you are not yet out of the wood,” laughed Sir Joseph. “There is another important matter to be settled, and that is the future management of the estate. It is now your own to do with as you like. You may wish to carry through all transactions relating to it yourself, in which case—”

“Oh no! no!” cried Joy protestingly. “I should be worried to death. You must manage it for me in the future as you have done in the past. I could not possibly undertake such a task.”

The lawyer smiled. “I was hoping that you would think of that course, though, for obvious reasons I did not care to suggest it. It will be much simpler for you merely to have monies paid into your account instead of occupying perhaps several hours per week in worrying over investments.” He laughed a little. “You would require an office and at least a couple of clerks, Joy.”

“Oh dear!” laughed Joy, “that must never be.”

“Then I will take the burden off your hands, and you will have to give me power of attorney.”

“What is that?” inquired Joy, adding merrily, “I am discovering an abysmal ignorance in myself.” Sir Joseph explained, and the girl nodded. “Of course. There is no difficulty about that. It only gives you the right to continue to exercise the powers you have had up to now, and it will save me a great deal of worry. I suppose there will be another document to sign?”

“Yes,” answered the lawyer smilingly. “One more document to sign. Fortunately I anticipated what your wishes would be; and I had it prepared.” He looked at his son. “We must have a witness, Adrian. Just ring for Benson, will you?”

The young lawyer touched a bell, and a moment later a clerk entered.

“Yes, Sir Joseph.”

“In a moment, Benson. I want you to witness Miss Gargrave’s signature.”

He went to the safe, took from it yet another document which he gave to the girl.

“Read it, Joy.”

“If I must,” answered Joy, and ran through it carelessly.

Then she signed it, and the clerk having witnessed it and been dismissed, Sir Joseph gathered all the papers together, and locked them up. “Business is over for the day,” he said. “I’m going to take a holiday. You will lunch with meat the Ritz, Joy, you and Adrian. I shall take no denial.”

“But there is Babette—” began Joy.

“Oh, we will telephone to her, and pick her up on the way. We shall then be quite a complete little party, and tonight we will dine, and go on to a theatre afterwards. You will not have seen much acting, of late—”

“None at all,” laughed Joy, “for three whole years.”

“Then we must certainly go,” answered her uncle. “Let me see—ah, yes! There is the ‘Grizzly Cub,’ a Klondyke play, pure American and very strenuous and exciting. I have seen it once, but I should like to see it again, with some one who knows the country of the play. To me it seems very real, and if it has illusions for you who know the life, I shall know that it is really good. We will go there. Adrian, just tell Benson to ring up the Mitre and engage a box for me, and have my car brought round from the garage.”

It was a merry party that lunched at the Ritz. There was not a hint of the care that had betrayed itself in the lawyer’s face in the solitude of his private room. He was the gay, debonair man of the world that all his acquaintances knew, and he exerted himself to make the lunch an agreeable one. But from time to time, he allowed his eyes to stray towards a table where a couple of young men were lunching with a lady. They seemed very interested in his own party, and presently hesaw the lady rise from her seat and walk towards his table. At the same moment Joy Gargrave looked up, and as she caught the young lady’s eyes, started impulsively from her seat.

“You, Penelope!” she cried.

“You, Joy!” mimicked the other. “I thought you were dwelling in the forest primeval?”

“I arrived in London last night. I expect to stay a little time in England. The years of what my uncle calls my exile are over.” She glanced at the lawyer. “Do you know my uncle? No! Then I must introduce you. Uncle, this is Miss Penelope Winter, an old—”

“You are wrong, Joy,” laughed the lady. “This is no longer Miss Penelope Winter. This is Mrs. Will Grasmore of Grasmore Grange, Westmorland.”

“You are married?” cried Joy.

Mrs. Will Grasmore waved a hand towards the table she had just left. “There sits the happy man, whose complete happiness began three months ago.”

“Which—” began Joy, and then stopped suddenly, as a curious look came on her face. “Of course! I see! The other one is Geoffrey Bracknell, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” laughed her friend, “and he is dying to renew the acquaintance he began in Westmorland four years ago! May I bring him and Will over? I see that, like ourselves, you are almost at the end of lunch. We might take coffee together.”

For the fraction of a minute Joy hesitated. SirJoseph, who was watching her, noticed that hesitation, though he was the only one who did. Then Joy spoke.

“Well, if you like, Penelope, and if my uncle doesn’t mind. I am his guest, and—”

“Oh, Sir Joseph will not mind, I am sure,” answered Mrs. Winter, flashing a smile at the lawyer and assuming his consent, hurried back to her own table.

“Did you say that the young man with Mr. Winter was named Bracknell?” asked Adrian Rayner suddenly.

There was just a splash of colour in Joy’s cheeks as she replied shortly, “Yes!”

“I wonder if he is any relation of that Mounted policeman who came to North Star, when—”

“He is his cousin,” answered Joy quickly. “His father is Sir James Bracknell of Harrow Fell. Geoffrey is the second son.”

“Ah! I remember them,” broke in Sir Joseph. “There was another son who disgraced himself and his family. He disappeared. I wonder what has become of him. The succession to that estate will offer a pretty tangle for somebody to unravel some day, Adrian.”

His son nodded, but uttered no comment. His eyes were fixed on Joy, as if he found something particularly interesting in her demeanour at the moment. At his father’s words the splash of colour had ebbed swiftly from her cheeks leaving them rather pale, but Joy’s manner was perfectly self-possessed, and there was little to indicate that shewas passing through a moment of stress. Her cousin still watched her when the others joined them, and at the moment of meeting flashed a quick searching glance at Geoffrey Bracknell. The young man’s face was eager. There was a light in his eyes that told that Mrs. Winter’s statement about his wish to renew acquaintance with Joy had not been over-coloured, and as he marked it, Adrian Rayner smiled enigmatically to himself.

Sir Joseph also noticed it, and it troubled him a little. He was thoughtful during the remainder of the lunch, and even more thoughtful when, on the evening of that same day, they again encountered young Bracknell in the foyer of the theatre. He was obviously waiting for them, and the lawyer was far from pleased to learn that he had taken the next box to his own. He was still less pleased when the young man made an excuse for visiting them between the acts, and it required all his skill to avoid an acceptance of the invitation to supper which he extended to Sir Joseph’s party.

“My dear Bracknell, you are too late. Our supper is already ordered. On another occasion, perhaps, but tonight it is quite impossible.”

“You did not tell me you had an admirer,” he said to Joy, rallying her a little time later.

“An admirer!” Joy laughed. “Who—”

“Young Bracknell! He is most obviously in love with you.”

“Oh no! no!” whispered Joy quickly, all the laughter dying suddenly from her face. “You are mistaken. It ... it would be too ... too....”

The sentence went unfinished, and Sir Joseph, noticing her face, did not press for the conclusion. He was silent for a little time, wondering what lay behind her sudden change of manner. Then he spoke again.

“Young Bracknell is not your only admirer,” he said smilingly. “You have another.”

“Indeed,” said Joy, very obviously embarrassed.

“Yes! Adrian is very deeply in love. He confided the fact to me this morning.... I hope, my dear, that you will be able to listen to him, that you will be able to give a favourable—”

“Oh!” interrupted Joy nervously, “you must not ask me, uncle. I shall never marry. Never!”

“Never, my dear Joy! That, it is often remarked, is a very long time!” He smiled indulgently as he spoke, and then added, “I hope we may yet induce you to reconsider your very youthful decision.”

Joy did not answer. Her face was very pale, and she sat staring at the stage with tragic eyes, not watching the actors, but visioning a body lying in the snow in the sombre woods at North Star.

CHAPTER XIIA DASTARDLY DEED“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!”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.”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!”“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.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.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.“It was blown out!”“Blown out! What on earth do you mean, Louis?”“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 andze like, and I agree, and send two men of ze tribe with him to find Gargrave of North Star.“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.”“Pass it?” cried the corporal in astonishment.“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.“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,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....“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.“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.“‘We hav’ missed him,’ he say. ‘We return to Dawson.’“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.”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.“But what makes you so sure?” he asked at last.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.“Ah!”“You know what dat is? You hav’ before it seen?”“Yes!” answered Bracknell quickly. “It is dynamite. How did you come by it?”“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.”“Upon my word, Louis, I believe you are right.”“Dere is no question. It is so sure as ze rising of ze sun!”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.“Louis,” he asked abruptly, “what sort of a man was he whom Paslik and Sibou served?”“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.”The description was not very illuminating, and the policeman almost groaned.“His hair? did you mark the colour?”“It was like ze bear—what you call brown, ze brown of ze wood-nuts in autumn!”Brown! Dick Bracknell’s was brown, but then so was the hair of half the Anglo-Saxon race!As his mind clutched at this fact seeking escapefrom the awful thought which was taking possession of it, he frowned.“You know ze mans?” asked the half-breed.“No!” he cried violently. “No!”“All ze same,” said Chief Louis stolidly, “that mans he blow up ze trail.”And from that conclusion, at any rate, Roger Bracknell could find no escape.

A DASTARDLY DEED

“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!”

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.”

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!”

“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.

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.

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.

“It was blown out!”

“Blown out! What on earth do you mean, Louis?”

“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 andze like, and I agree, and send two men of ze tribe with him to find Gargrave of North Star.

“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.”

“Pass it?” cried the corporal in astonishment.

“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.

“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,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....

“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.

“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.

“‘We hav’ missed him,’ he say. ‘We return to Dawson.’

“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.”

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.

“But what makes you so sure?” he asked at last.

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.

“Ah!”

“You know what dat is? You hav’ before it seen?”

“Yes!” answered Bracknell quickly. “It is dynamite. How did you come by it?”

“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.”

“Upon my word, Louis, I believe you are right.”

“Dere is no question. It is so sure as ze rising of ze sun!”

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.

“Louis,” he asked abruptly, “what sort of a man was he whom Paslik and Sibou served?”

“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.”

The description was not very illuminating, and the policeman almost groaned.

“His hair? did you mark the colour?”

“It was like ze bear—what you call brown, ze brown of ze wood-nuts in autumn!”

Brown! Dick Bracknell’s was brown, but then so was the hair of half the Anglo-Saxon race!

As his mind clutched at this fact seeking escapefrom the awful thought which was taking possession of it, he frowned.

“You know ze mans?” asked the half-breed.

“No!” he cried violently. “No!”

“All ze same,” said Chief Louis stolidly, “that mans he blow up ze trail.”

And from that conclusion, at any rate, Roger Bracknell could find no escape.

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