GATHERING UP THE THREADS.
In the cabin, recently occupied by Donald Frazer, they found the poke.
It was the mate to the one Dick had picked up off the floor of the
trading room at Half Way House earlier in the day. Frazer’s face fell
when Corporal Rand pulled it out of the pack lying in the corner.
“Gold—sure enough!” the policeman’s eyes sparkled. “You made a big haul
from somewhere, didn’t you, Frazer?”
The prisoner ignored the thrust.
“I came by it honestly.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“It’s mine and I’m going to have it. You can turn over that other poke
too. Walter MacClaren’s fault I didn’t take it all with me in the first
place. He had no right to drive me away from Half Way House at the point
of a gun. There isn’t a court in the land that wouldn’t exonerate me of
the charges you’ll bring against me.”
Corporal Rand laughed sarcastically.
“You talk like a fool.”
“We’ll see,” growled Frazer. “I’ve a right to fight for my own. No man
can keep from me by force what rightfully belongs to me.”
“Are you referring now to the gold?”
“Yes.”
“You really have the nerve to stand there and make an assertion like
that?” snapped the corporal “It was stolen and you know it.”
“You can’t prove it.”
“Oh yes, I can. Not very difficult either. The proof is less than a
hundred yards away.”
Donald Frazer went deathly pale.
“What’s that—hundred yards—you, you—do you know what you’re talking
about?”
“Yes,” grimly smiled the policeman. “I do. If you don’t believe me,
we’ll go there together and dig it up.”
Frazer staggered back as if from a blow. Every vestige of color drained
from his cheeks. In terror his hands went up clutching his throat.
“You—you know!” The sound that issued from his lips was a low breath of
agony.
“Yes, I know. A horrible crime! You, Brennan, McCallum and the two
Indians will have to answer for it, Frazer. Bit by bit, these boys here
have unearthed the evidence that will hang you as assuredly as I’m
standing here. Miller’s murder will not go unavenged.”
Frazer crumpled like a leaf and would have fallen had not Sandy caught
him. Dick whirled upon the mounted policeman at the mention of the
missing prospector’s name, for a full minute not able to speak. He, too,
was trembling violently over the very unexpectedness of the revelation.
“Miller!” he cried, when he had found his voice. “The man from Caribou
Lake! How do you know that?”
“By putting two and two together, Dick,” Corporal Rand answered
unhesitatingly. “To you boys belong most of the credit. The evidence I
had was inconsequential until it was added to what you had unearthed
yourselves.”
“I don’t think I quite understand,” puzzled Dick.
“Very well then, let’s review the case. Let’s start with Miller, the
prospector. At Caribou Lake last fall, Miller made a very rich strike.
Before the freeze-up, he had taken out over thirty thousand dollars
worth of gold. He remained at his claim all winter, rigging up
windlasses, trapping in his spare time, preparing for the active
resumption of work in the spring. Late in March, he suddenly decided
that he needed more equipment and tools. When Jim Langley visited Miller
at Caribou Lake on March twenty-third, the latter explained to his
friend that he was setting out for Fort Laird on the twenty-fifth, just
two days later. Miller showed Langley two pokes filled with gold—the
gold he had mined the previous fall—and told Langley that he was taking
it with him.
“From that point, we almost lose trace of Miller. Setting out by dog
team from Caribou Lake, he failed to arrive at his destination. The last
seen of him was on April third, between Thunder River and Lynx Lake, by
an Indian named Henri Karek. The prospector was in good health and had
plenty of grub, the Indian claimed.
“I do not know whether you remember or not, but between April third and
April tenth we had one of the warmest chinooks we have ever experienced
so early in the year. The trails were running water and most of the snow
in the open melted. From Lynx Lake to Fort Laird, a distance of
eighty-five miles, there is a lot of open country and two small rivers,
which flood badly during the wet season. Now on the other hand, between
Lynx Lake and Half Way House, a distance of a hundred and twenty miles,
there are no rivers at all and the trail threads its way through heavy
forests that protect the snow.”
Corporal Rand paused. “Do you follow me?” he asked.
Dick and Sandy nodded eagerly.
“Yes, yes, Corporal. Please go on.”
“That chinook will explain why Miller didn’t continue on his way to Fort
Laird. Swollen rivers to cross, poor trail. Remember he had a sledge and
dog team.”
“So he changed his mind and came on to Half Way House,” Sandy
interrupted.
“Naturally he would,” the policeman replied. “Put yourself in his place.
Wouldn’t you have done the same?”
“Yes.”
“And don’t forget he had two large pokes of gold. Deducing that he came
on to Half Way House, what happened? Well, for one thing, he was robbed.
It is something more than mere coincidence that Frazer has, or I should
say, had two pokes of gold in his possession. The gold was hidden in a
secret place. Isn’t that true?” Corporal Rand addressed Dick.
“Yes, it’s quite true.”
“Now we’ve come to your discovery of the pit in the cellar. What was in
this pit? More gold? No. Furs? Possibly, but not very likely. One need
not keep fur so carefully hid. Mr. Frazer, with perfect impunity and no
fear of detection, could have kept stolen fur in the company’s
warehouse. So, by elimination and deduction, we arrive gradually at a
startling conclusion, namely that the contents of that pit—something
that was kept in two burlap sacks—was even of more importance to Mr.
Frazer than the gold.”
“How did you make that out?” Sandy again interrupted.
“I’ll prove it to you. When Mr. MacClaren discharged Frazer and drove
him away from the post at the point of a gun, there were two things that
the latter was unable to take away with him: the gold hid in the office
and the sacks concealed in the pit. If the gold had been of more value
to Frazer than the contents of the pit, he’d have tried to get the gold
first, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, he would,” agreed Sandy.
“But instead of trying to get the gold first, he sent the Mekewai
brothers to procure the two sacks. Why?”
“Yes, yes, why?” blurted Sandy.
“Because he was terribly afraid that in his absence someone would
stumble upon what he had hidden in the cellar.”
“I can’t make it out,” Sandy scratched his head. “Can you, Dick?”
“Yes,” Dick whispered through white lips. “I understand now. God help
the man that did it. Don’t ask, Sandy—don’t ask. It’s too unutterably
horrible. For your own peace of mind, it is better that you should never
know.”