THE CORPORAL HEARS NEWS
DURING the weeks of his convalescence in Chief Louis’ smoking
tepee, Roger Bracknell spent much of his time in reflecting on the
news which the chief had given him. Reviewing the story calmly and
dispassionately, he could find nothing to weaken the conclusion which
the half-breed himself had reached. The dynamite and the winter
thunder, with the description of the broken trail and the strange
conduct of the unknown man in deliberately over-running Rolf Gargrave’s
camp, were almost conclusive evidence. Some one had planned that Rolf
Gargrave should die; and his death had been as surely a murder as if
the man who had planned it had taken a rifle with which to do the deed.
Who was the man?
As often as he asked himself this question, the corporal found his
thoughts reverting to his cousin. Had Dick Bracknell, having married
Rolf Gargrave’s daughter, deliberately planned the murder of the
millionaire? His heart revolted at the thought, but he could not
escape from it. Dick had been hard pressed. He was already a fugitive
from justice when he had arrived in the North and, so far as the
corporal knew, that arrival had been a secret one. He would be quite
unknown--even to Rolf Gargrave. No one would suspect him, and the plan
he had chosen was itself so novel, that but for the Indians noticing
his absence from the camp, and carrying the sticks of dynamite back to
Chief Louis, it must have escaped detection.
The more the corporal thought of it, the more black seemed the case
against his cousin. Rolf Gargrave was a clever man, and powerful, and
he had had his own plans for his daughter. Dick Bracknell must have
known that when he heard how Joy had been trapped into marriage, he
would be very wrathful, and calculating on the father’s intervention
he must have decided to get rid of him, in the hope of sooner or
later trading upon Joy’s inexperience of the world. One day, whilst
he was reflecting on the problem, unable to touch certainty anywhere,
a thought occurred to him, and when Chief Louis entered the tepee he
promptly asked a question--
“Louis, when was it that the stranger called at your camp for guides to
help him to find Rolf Gargrave? I mean what time of the year was it?”
The chief considered for a moment. Then he answered gravely. “It was
two moons before ze ice break up.”
“You are sure?” asked the corporal.
“Certain!”
“That would be March or a little later,” said the corporal
thoughtfully. “And Dick fled from England about Christmas. If he came
straight through he might do it comfortably.”
“Dick! Who ees dat?” asked the chief quickly.
“He is the one man I know who may have been interested in Rolf
Gargrave’s death. You may have heard of him? He is known in the North
as Koona Dick!”
“I hav’ not him seen, unless he vas ze stranger mans who come to
my camp dat day. But of him I hav’ heard. He is bad mans, he want
shooting. He sell whiskey--mooch whiskey, to ze Porcupine Sticks, an’
dey fight till seven be dead in ze snow. Also he take their catch of
fur for ze whiskey, an’ when ze winter it come, dey freeze, an’ ze
babes die. Yes, of him, I have heard, an’ he is very bad mans. So he
is ze mans dat come to my lodges dat day, an’ dat blow up ze trail for
Rolf Gargrave so dat he die.”
“I have not said so yet,” answered the corporal thoughtfully, “but I am
afraid that there can be little question of it. Some day when I meet
him I shall put the question to him plainly, and learn the truth.”
“You know dis mans, Koona Dick?”
“Yes! He is my cousin.”
As he received the information the half-breed flashed a quick glance of
sympathy.
“Le diable!” he said. “Dat is strange. But so it does befall. One
pup of ze litter he ees a good dog, and he grows to ze collar-work
naturally; but anoder he is bad, he snarl like ze wolf, he is a thief,
he will not do ze work. So is it with ze sled-dogs and with men! It is
passing strange, but I hev’ often beheld it, and it is so!”
The corporal nodded his assent. He had often wondered at the crooked
strain which had sent his cousin on wild courses to dishonour,
but could find no consolation in the thought that given certain
circumstances the way of dishonour was almost inevitable. He rose from
the couch of skins, and moving stiffly towards the fire, thrust in a
spruce twig, and with it lit his pipe. Then he turned to the chief.
“I wonder how soon I shall be able to take the trail, Louis?”
The half-breed shook his head. “Not yet. Ze leg dat hav’ been broken,
it is not good for snow-shoe work. No! It ache like le diable! You must
wait--wait till ze ice break up, then you go down ze river in a canoe.
Dat will be ze easy way. Yes.”
A mutinous look came on Roger Bracknell’s face. Having so long lived an
active life, he was growing tired of the monotony of the encampment,
and as he felt the strength returning to his leg was more and more
inclined to make the attempt to reach civilization as represented by
the police-post. There was news to send to Joy Gargrave, news that
might profoundly affect her life, and it was desirable that she should
receive it at the earliest possible moment.
“I do not think that I shall wait until then, Louis. They will give
me up for lost, at the post, and besides I have news for a certain
person--”
“Is the news good?” interrupted the chief. For a moment the corporal
did not reply. Was the news he had to send Joy Gargrave good? In one
way, yes! It would suffice to remove any lingering doubt as to the
effect of the shot that she had fired when she had gone to meet Dick
Bracknell in the wood. He would be able to assure her, on the evidence
of Dick himself, that she was not responsible for the mischief that
had been done. That assurance, as he knew, would mean the lifting of a
weight of apprehension from Joy’s heart. In another way, however, the
news was bad. Dick Bracknell was still alive, and that meant that she
was still bound to him, and that on the first favourable opportunity he
might assert himself. His mind was still balancing the good and evil of
the case, when Louis, who had been watching his face, spoke again.
“There is no need to speak. Ze news it is not good! Therefore there is
not any cause for haste. Ill news does not grow worse for keeping, and
the trail it is bad these days, for there is mooch snow.”
“Nevertheless, I shall make the endeavour, Louis! I will borrow a man
and a dog team and meat from you, and in one week I will take the
trail. If I find it too much for me, I can return.”
The chief nodded. “As you please. Ze dogs are yours, also ze meat an ze
mans, though ze hunters are from ze camp just now. But if you mus’ go,
you mus’. It is le diable in ze race that drives you forth, corp’ral.”
“The devil in the race?” laughed Bracknell. “I do not understand,
Louis. What do you mean?”
“I mean ze unrest that dwells in ze men of your tribe. It drives them
forth, for good or ill, to ze conquest of ze lands. It makes them seek
ze stick which runs through ze earth----”
“The pole, you mean, Louis.”
“Ze pole, yes! And when got, what good? It makes them dat they cannot
sit by ze fires in warm tepees, but must go hunt ze bald-faced bear,
or dig ze frozen earth for gold dat somewhere white squaw may fling it
from ze window.”
“Yes!” laughed the corporal. “You put the truth--rather brutally. We
are rather given that way. But it isn’t the devil, Louis, it is the
genius and instinct of our race for conquest that drives us--that and
the dream of the home-woman, I suppose.”
Chief Louis nodded. “Oui! maybe; and you haf’ ze dream corp’ral.”
Corporal Bracknell stopped his perambulation of the hut, and stared at
his companion.
“Now how the dickens do you know that, Louis?”
“I have seen it in your eyes. You speak of Rolf Gargrave, an’ twice,
only twice you hav’ speak of Gargrave’s daughter, but there were dreams
in ze eyes then, and a soft note in ze voice, and I know dat she is
what you call ze home-woman. Oui! I know dat is so.”
The corporal’s face flushed, and he did not deny it. For one moment as
he stood there, he had a vision of Joy Gargrave, young and beautiful
and a fit mate for any man, and in that moment there were dreams in
his eyes. Three seconds later realities asserted themselves, and the
soft light died from his eyes. He gave a little bitter laugh, and
without speaking resumed his perambulations. Chief Louis watched him
for a moment then he said tentatively, “There be difficulties ahead,
corp’ral.”
“Yes,” nodded Bracknell, “grave difficulties! What would you do, Louis,
if you wanted a maid to wife?”
“I should offer a large price--blankets, guns, tobac!”
Roger Bracknell laughed at the notion of offering a large price for Joy
Gargrave, and then mooted the real difficulty.
“But if it was not a matter of price, Louis, rather of another man!
What then?”
“Then I would him fight. Always maidens are caught with strength. They
love a man. Dat is ze law of life and of mating. Ze strong wolf in ze
pack he hav’ ze pick an’ ze strong bull-moose he hav’ ze herd; an’ ze
strong man he take ze maid. I have looked on ze world and so is it!
Yes! Love like all dings else is ze spoil of ze strong!”
Bracknell did not reply for a moment. In that hour the law of the
primeval wilds appealed to him strongly, but he knew that it was not
the way for him.
“Yes,” he said, “it is the law of the wilds, but not of my race. I
carry a law that is the law of man, and he who kills whether for love
or hate dies therefor. The thing is impossible!”
Chief Louis grunted disapprobation. “Ze law of ze wild is better. For
dat reason I dwell in ze lodges of my mother’s people, where ze strong
rule.”
He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and without adding more passed
out of the tepee. Roger Bracknell still continued his perambulations,
exercising his injured leg, and as he walked his mind was busy with
what he felt was to become the problem of his life. He loved Joy
Gargrave. He confessed it frankly to himself. He had loved her since
that day when in the woods at North Star she had offered him her hand
as a token that she counted him among her friends! But what good was
it? The whole thing was so hopeless so long as Dick Bracknell lived.
And if he died, would the outlook be any the less hopeless? He could
not tell, but he was afraid not; for friendship was not love, and Joy
Gargrave, as he was sure, was not a woman to give her affection easily.
As he thought despair gripped him, and the tepee’s skin walls seemed
too narrow a prison-house. He threw on his fur coat and mittens and
went outside. Driven by his thoughts, he left the encampment, and,
walking stiffly, moved down the river trail. He had walked perhaps a
mile and a half, when out of the woods broke a couple of laden sledges,
and two men of the tribe. They were from the hunters, and as they
passed they saluted him gravely, according to the manner of their race.
“How! How!”
He responded in kind, and continued to walk on. He had proceeded but
a little way however when a thought occurred to him. These men had
been away on the main river. They might have news of the outer world.
Instantly as the thought came to him, he turned in his tracks and began
to return to the encampment. When he reached there the two hunters
were not to be seen, but when he entered his own tepee he found Chief
Louis sitting by the fire, smoking. There was an impassive look on his
face, but in his eyes was a light that could not be hidden, and the
white man knew that the chief was excited. The corporal did not remark
upon the fact, however, but deliberately filled his pipe, and seating
himself, smoked on as if he had noticed nothing. After a little time
Louis spoke.
“Ze hunters they hav’ sent meat, mooch meat!”
“Yes,” answered Bracknell. “I met two men of the tribe just now.”
“There is meat for a potlach (feast), but dat is not ze way of my
people. We are not as ze wolves which eat all, even ze bones, an’ then
run hungry until a new kill is made.”
“There is much wisdom in such prudence,” answered Bracknell, wondering
when the half-breed would unfold his news.
“It is ze way of ze white mans, and it is ze way of ze wise, therefore
do we eat and leave meat that we may eat again.”
The corporal nodded, but said nothing, and after a pause Chief Louis
spoke again. “Of ze two men you met, one was Sibou.”
“Ah! Sibou, who with Paslik went as guide with the stranger who wished
to overtake Rolf Gargrave?”
“Oui! Sibou, who went with ze stranger mans who blow ze bottom out of
ze trail that Rolf Gargrave die!”
Roger Bracknell waited. He felt that he was on the verge of some
revelation, but he concealed his impatience and maintained an
unperturbed demeanour, knowing that such would commend him to his host.
The half-breed puffed stolidly at his pipe for a full minute, then he
spoke again.
“Sibou brings not meat alone, he brings news.”
“News.”
“Oui! Of ze stranger mans who dynamite ze trail!”
“Is that so?”
“Dat is ze news which Sibou bring to me. He say dat six days ago, ze
stranger mans come to ze hunting camp to buy meat. He have with him
fine dogs and two bad Indians. He offer for meat one good rifle and
many cartridges, an’ Sibou sell him meat. Also he know him for ze
stranger mans; but ze stranger he does not know Sibou, whose face was
last winter mauled by a bald-faced grizzly to whom he did not give ze
trail. The stranger mans he camp with the hunters for ze night, and ze
two Indians they smoke with Sibou and ask questions, many questions.”
“Yes,” said Bracknell, as the chief paused. “What about?”
“hey ask about a white mans of ze name of Koona Dick!”
“Great Scott!”
“Also they ask if anything be known of anoder white mans a policemans
who is lost, an’ Sibou, whose tongue is a silent one, ask ze name of ze
policemans.”
“Did he get it?” asked the corporal quickly.
“Oui! Ze name was Corporal Bracknell, which is you.”
“By Jove, yes! But who------”
The half-breed checked him by raising his hand, and continued, “Sibou
hav’ in mind dat ze trail was blown up for Rolf Gargrave, and he is
cautious. He told of your sled which was found, and of ze dead wolves,
but he say nodings dat we find you an’ dat you are with me; and
presently the two bad Indians go back to the stranger mans who is in a
tepee which Sibou has set for him. Sibou he follow, and he lie in ze
snow outside ze tepee, and with his knife he cut a hole in the tepee
dat he may see and hear. Ze stranger mans is by ze fire, and Sibou see
ze face of him, whilst his men talk. When they tell of ze sled and ze
dead wolves, ze white mans he smile as a man well pleased; an’ dat is
everything, except dat next morning he go north with ze meat he hav’
bartered for. Such is ze tale of Sibou. What tink you, corporal?”
“Think! It is no time for thinking, it is the time for action. There’s
some infernal work afoot, and I start on that man’s trail tomorrow.
Whatever his game may be now--and it’s a mystery that passes my
comprehension--he’s the murderer of Rolf Gargrave, and I’ll get him if
I follow him to the Pole! But the story puzzles me! Those Indians asked
about Koona Dick. Why should they do that?”
The chief shook his head. “Dat I cannot tell.”
“It’s odd, very odd! Koona Dick is the one man who may reasonably be
suspected of a motive for getting rid of Rolf Gargrave. That I know,
but----”
He broke off as a thought occurred to him, and then remarked
thoughtfully, “The question may have been a mere bluff of Dick’s. He
may after all have recognized Sibou and set his men to ask the question
in order to discover whether your man had any knowledge of his name!
Yes, that may be it! But I will find him, and I will learn the truth.
Louis, can I have a team and stores for the morning? And Sibou also? He
knows the man and I do not. Of course the service will be paid for from
Regina.”
The chief nodded his head. “Ze dogs are yours, with the stores, also
Sibou goes with you. But you will find ze trail hard, for dat leg he is
not yet strong.”
“It will grow stronger every day, and with Sibou to pack the trail I
shall do well. I start at dawn in the morning.”
“Then,” said Louis, rising, “I will go, and ze teams select for you. Ze
dogs shall be of ze best.”
He went out leaving Roger Bracknell in a whirl of conflicting thoughts.